The Music of the Morning

The distant beep beep beep of a backing-up garbage truck
Residual rivulets of rain on the roof
Ringing in my ears

A Benedictine monk was told to repeat a Psalm over and over in his head
When it was all he could hear, he asked his superior what then.
Repeat it until you become it.

Without the outside distractions of beeping and running water,
the ringing becomes all consuming.
How can I turn down the dissonance and resonate with the truth?



Both Sides Now

There are two sides to me.

One side,
so dedicated to hope and wanting to believe in its existence.
In life.
The opportunity for joy at every corner
despite the struggles.
In the goodness of humanity.

The side that must be so strong
it survives
in spite of

the other side.

A dark pessimism,
the cloud of depression
that tells me it won’t work,
you won’t find joy.
You will constantly struggle and be weighted down by me.

I am the first side.
The second side haunts me like a shadow.
It won’t win, but it makes things a hell of a lot harder.

* thanks to Joni Mitchell for title inspiration πŸ˜‰

I Am Proud

I see how you drag gray gunk out from under the drain plug with a q-tip
I see how you scrape dark purple nail polish from the bathroom tile
I see the smile you give,

the squeeze of a hand,

the rub of a knee.

How you tackle the monotonous and never-ending mountain of laundry

How you give and give and give
to the point of an extinguished flame

I see how tired you are
yet you keep getting up,
keep going.

I see how you love your children.
You think I don’t notice, but I do.
I see how you bear your pain for them.

Let me bear your pain for you.


The bounce in the step
the joy bubbling up and over
through words, demeanor, joie de vivre

The hearty laugh
blossoming at the core, rolling out in waves
infectious, contagious, sanctifying – us

The conscious breath
undulating and growing with each notice
the physical embodiment of our existence

It fills us –
if we watch for it
if we train our eyes with a gentle gaze
if we open our heart to the gifts around us

It imbues us with a calming peace
and a loving embrace

We can all glide through life with a little grace


Dogs barking
mammoth bees buzzing
The clunk of a workman’s van
The low, distant rumble of a jet

A child singing
A man whistling
A car passing

Why is it so easy to be out there
rather than focus in here

I don’t know if I’m scared of the work
or what I’ll find

Smash the Taskmaster

I will not feel guilty for doing what the Spirit moves me to at any given time.
I will revel in the mindless work of plucking pine needles from fingers of moss.
I will lose myself in the monotony.
I will let my mind drift along meandering paths –

    not to the should’ve, could’ve, would’ves.

I will write for the pleasure of it,

    not the drudgery.

I will not let unfinished business ruin the relish of the deal on the table.

There is no sense in feeding our souls if we are constantly counting calories.


Breaking Ground

Jennifer Butler Basile

Jennifer Butler Basile

Nature, fate, the universe, the Spirit – has a way of prevailing.

While we humans fret that we may impede it,
that if we do not clear the ground and make way,
the right way will not progress –
we give ourselves too much power, too much credit.

All shall move forward on its own course.
We just need to stay that course.


I wonder if God intended our minds to race

to rush from the wonders of the universe to a bit of ham stuck in our teeth

the tick of the speedometer to the sun glinting in our eyes to the trickle of guilt in our hearts

Love, lust, and what to have for dinner

Are we to let it run roughshod over our mental terrain
or train it to a specific point?

Focus or freedom?

How much is intentional
and how much is divine inspiration?

Stream of consciousness
clogged waterway.

And how do we pull the plug?

Relearning Life

People in their right minds – or moods anyway – don’t anticipate their next inevitable bad day. The appearance of them every once in a while proves their unfortunate existence, but people in their right minds don’t dread bad days on a daily basis.

I don’t dread such days either. I live down days every day of my life.

A good day is the out of the norm experience for me.

The words, I feel good, dawn as a surprise, a foreign thought and sensation.

What should be the modus operandi of my life, with the occasional interruption of shitty days, becomes a cause for suspicion. A lightness of mood, a clarity of mind, becomes the bone of contention. That is the square peg for the round hole – rather than the overall scheme being the problem.

I feel my psyche has sucked me into a trap; luring me closer with the promise of bright light and fresh air, only to drape me in cobwebs deeper and darker than before. Instead of experiencing a ‘ lightness of being’, I drag around the weight of fear – that it won’t last, that my life will never be the way it was before the clouds.

. . . That we should all bask in the warmth of sunshine on our skin . . .

Irham Anshar

Irham Anshar

Mind Games


What is it about the anxious mind that creates a sense of urgency where there really need not be one?


Yes, we are busy.

Yes, there are things to do,

schedules to adhere to the insides of our minds,

errands to be run,

appointments to be met.


But what is it that turns that mind into a manic maelstrom?


That makes setting priorities an absolute impossibility,

that makes logic ooze out our ears,

that brings the piles of ‘pending’ into focus, yet nothing else.


The urgency is not in response to anything urgent at all;

it is the anxious mind’s way of attempting to exert control over –

an over-scheduled life?

a transitional phase?

poor planning and posturing on our part?


We go and go and go

until –



Reality smacks us on our asses?

A Tahitian vacation beckons?

We find the right cognitive behavioral therapist and drugs?


The unwitting interference of fate may be the only solution,

for we’re far too busy worrying to actively pursue any other option.



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