The words below are written by my friend, Doug…posted by him on Facebook. I asked permission to re-post those words here because it seems that so many of us are searching for whatever bits of beauty we can find at this time.
“I have been taking longer and longer walks. The weather today is warm, but with a steady breeze that makes it pleasant. So after lunch I took a walk, just to be out and about.
Restless, curious, I abandoned my usual routes and decided to cross over the main street near our house and do some exploring. This rewarded me with a lovely neighborhood of winding, interlocked streets where older ranch-style homes, all of which were well maintained, sat in manicured lawns like dowagers blissfully unaware of their advanced age.
My stride past these homes was brisk, purposeful; but then something brought me to a halt.
It was music. The soft tones of a piano’s lower keys came to my ears like a gossamer hitchhiker on the wind. I had to stop and listen. The notes were slow, sometimes hesitant; it was obvious I was not hearing a recording but rather a live performance.
While competent, the player was no maestro. However, that didn’t matter. Man or woman, who cares. Alone? Playing for someone? It really made no difference. I only knew that a person was in the house to my left playing a tune on the piano. But for some reason I had the distinct impression they were alone, playing solely for themselves. That was my version of the story. Who knows what the truth is.
But in my version, they were alone. Or so they thought. Because unknown to them, there I was outside on the sidewalk listening. Appreciating. Smiling at the vision expressed by the tune’s composer; at the skill of the craftsmen who had labored to build the piano; at the ability, the ‘ear’, of the last technician who had tuned it; and at the person now playing it — likely for their own comfort judging by the soulful nature of the tune being played — smiling at how all that combined creative energy had come together to stop a random stranger, me, in his tracks.
It was not so much an interruption of my walk, as it was an interlude. A moment of comfort for the anonymous player and the random stranger who would likely never meet in person. But for a brief moment we were linked, as every person is linked: by the invisible thread of our common humanity.
Today, for me, that thread was vibrating like a piano string. I could not help but experience an harmonic response. And the remainder of my walk was lighter for it…”
“And the people stayed home. And read books, and listened, and rested, and exercised, and made art, and played games, and learned new ways of being, and were still. And listened more deeply. Some meditated, some prayed, some danced. Some met their shadows. And the people began to think differently.
And the people healed. And, in the absence of people living in ignorant, dangerous, mindless, and heartless ways, the earth began to heal.
And when the danger passed, and the people joined together again, they grieved their losses, and made new choices, and dreamed new images, and created new ways to live and heal the earth fully, as they had been healed.” ~~ Kitty O’Meara
“Grandma once gave me a tip:
During difficult times, you move forward in small steps.
Do what you have to do, but little by bit.
Don’t think about the future, not even what might happen tomorrow. Wash the dishes.
Take off the dust.
Write a letter.
Make some soup.
Do you see?
You are moving forward step by step.
Take a step and stop.
Get some rest.
Take another step.
Then another one.
You won’t notice, but your steps will grow bigger and bigger.
And time will come when you can think about the future without crying. Good morning.”
Elena Mikhalkova, “The Room of Ancient Keys”
It is possible that things will not get better
than they are now, or have been known to be.
It is possible that we are past the middle now.
It is possible that we have crossed the great water
without knowing it, and stand now on the other side.
Yes: I think that we have crossed it. Now
we are being given tickets, and they are not
tickets to the show we had been thinking of,
but to a different show, clearly inferior.
Check again: it is our own name on the envelope.
The tickets are to that other show.
It is possible that we will walk out of the darkened hall
without waiting for the last act: people do.
Some people do. But it is probable
that we will stay seated in our narrow seats
all through the tedious denouement
to the unsurprising end- riveted, as it were;
spellbound by our own imperfect lives
because they are lives,
and because they are ours.
~~ Robyn Sarah ~~
So beautiful… 🙂
I cannot tell you
how the light comes.
What I know
is that it is more ancient
That it travels
across an astounding expanse
to reach us.
That it loves
what is hidden
what is lost
what is forgotten
or in peril
or in pain.
That it has a fondness
for the body
for finding its way
for tracing the edges
for shining forth
through the eye,
I cannot tell you
how the light comes,
but that it does.
That it will.
That it works its way
into the deepest dark
that enfolds you,
though it may seem
long ages in coming
or arrive in a shape
you did not foresee.
may we this day
turn ourselves toward it.
May we lift our faces
to let it find us.
May we bend our bodies
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“Compassion hurts. When you feel connected to everything, you also feel responsible for everything. And you cannot turn away. Your destiny is bound with the destiny of others. You must learn to either carry the Universe or be crushed by it. You must grow strong enough to love the world, yet empty enough to sit down at the same table with its worst horrors.” ~ Andrew Boyd