The intelligence of nature

tree

How surely gravity’s law,
strong as an ocean current,
takes hold of even the strongest thing
and pulls it toward the heart of the world.

Each thing – each stone, blossom, child – is held in place.

Only we, in our arrogance,
push out beyond what we belong to
for some empty freedom.

If we surrendered
to earth’s intelligence
we could rise up rooted, like trees.

Instead we entangle ourselves
in knots of our own making
and struggle, lonely and confused.

So, like children, we begin again
to learn from the things,
because they are in God’s heart;
they have never left him.

This is what the things teach us: to fall,
patiently trusting our heaviness.
Even a bird has to do that
before he can fly.

Rainer Maria Rilke, Book of Hours, II, 16

Seeing the magic today

tree light

The world is full of magic things

patiently waiting for our senses to get sharper

wb Yeats

 

Darkness and light

File:Sally Gap R115-R759 crossroads.jpg

One does not become enlightened by imagining figures of light,

but by making the darkness conscious

Jung

Today is Lá Féile Bríde, St. Brigid’s Day,  celebrated on the ancient Celtic festival of Imbolc, a word meaning perhaps “in the womb”, and linked with the feminine, fertility and the birth of lambs.  The Celts were much more in touch with the rhythms of nature and with symbols than we are, and so lit fires in the darkness to mark the fact that they had arrived at the midway point between the winter and the spring solstice. They celebrated the lengthening days and the early signs of Spring,  in a declaration of trust that the darkness of winter was not going to last. It was the start of a period of planting and birth: a time for looking forward and beginning again. For us too, some form of death and rebirth is always happening in our inner selves, even if we are unaware of it.   We are never really in just one place, but always somewhat in-between, re-working our own myths and adding depth and meaning to our journey.

For last year’s words
belong to last year’s language
and next year’s words
await another voice.

And to make an end
is to make a beginning

T.S. Eliot, Little Gidding

Not defined

tree hill

What I want most

is to spring out of this personality

then to sit apart from that leaping.

I have lived too long where I can be reached

Rumi

photo Glendalough June 18, 2015

Learning to be calm

File:GouganeBarraReflectionCC20.jpg

Now and again the earth begins to desire rest. And in the weeks of autumn especially it shows its disposition to calm, to what feels like a stasis, a pause. The ocean retains its warmth, while high white cloud-boats ride out of the west. Now the birds of the woods are often quiet, but on the shore, the migrating sanderlings and plovers are many and vocal, rafts of terns with the year’s young among them come with the incoming tides, and plunge into the waves, and rise with silver leaves in their beaks. One can almost see the pulsing of their hearts, vigorous and tiny in the trim of white feathers.  Where I live, on the harbor edge of the Cape’s last town, perfect strangers walking along the beach turn and say to each other, without embarrassment or hesitation: isn’t it beautiful.

Mary Oliver, Where I Live

photo mozzercork @ flickr

 

Sunday Quote: Sit and be still

glendalough

Sit and be still
until in the time
of no rain you hear,
beneath the dry wind’s
commotion in the trees,
the sound of flowing
water among the rocks,
a stream unheard before,

and you are where
breathing is prayer

Wendell Berry, Sabbaths 2001