The Return July 21, 2008

I’m indulging in the simple pleasures right now. Watching movies: I saw both The Dark Knight (great but, well, dark) and Mamma Mia! (a whole lot of rip-roaring fun) this weekend; reading books: I’ve embarked on a journey of reading all of Agatha Christie’s books in chronological order; and sitting around with my feet very firmly up.

This poem came to my attention last week posted on a bulletin board in the hallway shared by a bookstore and restaurant in Half Moon Bay. It conjured up similar feelings to those I’ve had over this past year’s journey. As I post it today, I’m hoping it will help me to motivate to spread my wings back out and set out on a new leg of my journey soon. And perhaps it will work that way for you, too. Namaste.

The Return
by Geneen Marie Haugen

Some day, if you are lucky,
you’ll return from a thunderous journey
trailing snake scales, wing fragments
and the musk of Earth and moon.

Eyes will examine you for signs
of damage, or change
and you, too, will wonder
if your skin shows traces

of fur, or leaves,
if thrushes have built a nest
of your hair, if Andromeda
burns from your eyes.

Do not be surprised by prickly questions
from those who barely inhabit
their own fleeting lives, who barely taste
their own possibility, who barely dream.

If your hands are empty, treasureless,
if your toes have not grown claws,
if your obedient voice has not
become a wild cry, a howl,

you will reassure them. We warned you,
they might declare, there is nothing else,
no point, no meaning, no mystery at all,
just this frantic waiting to die.

And yet, they tremble, mute,
afraid you’ve returned without sweet
elixir for unspeakable thirst, without
a fluent dance or holy language

to teach them, without a compass
bearing to a forgotten border where
no one crosses without weeping
for the terrible beauty of galaxies

and granite and bone. They tremble,
hoping your lips hold a secret,
that the song your body now sings
will redeem them, yet they fear

your secret is dangerous, shattering,
and once it flies from your astonished
mouth, they–like you–must disintegrate
before unfolding tremulous wings.

Photo: “Dreams of a Journey,” origianlly uploaded by Laura Chifiriuc

Standing in the place you were born for June 30, 2008

You are the music while the music lasts.
~T. S. Eliot

Have you ever had that feeling where you know that what you’re doing right now, in this moment, is exactly what you need to be doing, absolutely necessary for you to be doing, an integral part of the cosmic dance? Everything just flows, you open your mouth and the right words come out, you feel content from head to toe, completely plugged in and radiant.

Of course, we all know what it feels like not to be in that place, doing work that feels like a drudgery, that feels disconnected and kludgey and just plain not fun. It’s the subject of countless happy hours with co-workers, phone calls with friends, and journal entries. But when you have the good feeling, the absolutely right-on feeling, what do you do with it? Do you talk about it with the same passion, give it the same amount of energy all that negative feeling was allotted? Or do you hold it in, feeling for whatever reason that it is something to be kept to yourself, maybe protected, maybe savored, but shared with only a few and glossed over at best? It’s as if as a society we really just can’t get enough of that icky feeling. We use it as part of our bonding with friends and co-workers, and have an uncomfortable feeling when we’re around people who are happy, genuinely content with their work.

I feel blessed to have experienced being in the place I was born for just yesterday, and I’m still a little high from it. Man, oh, man, I genuinely believe if more people were doing their work, feeling that feeling, a paradigm shift would take place. I can feel that shift taking place within me around the other pieces of the pie that make up the bigger picture of my work. I was gifted with an experience this morning where I had the opposite sense the work I was doing, where everything was a struggle and I could feel discontentment radiating out from my core. The timing was perfect as coming off of that high from yesterday made me much more conscious of it. I now know that I have some work to do there to ascertain whether it was just resistance being thrown up or if it was genuine discord. If it’s the former, then it’s time for me to clear my channel and pave the way for the work to flow through me. If it’s the latter, then I will need to find a way to extricate myself from that work gently yet expediently.

It’s a gift, really, to be able to recognize in the moment what isn’t working for you so that you can take the steps to shift the situation. Some of those steps may be relatively small, dealing with your approach to the work or the people involved with a project. And some of those steps will be relatively large, requiring a career change or a leap of faith into the unknown. But whatever it takes to get you on the track towards doing your life’s work, the work you were truly born to be doing, is well worth it. What steps can you take this week or even today to help bring you into alignment with your true calling? Even if it’s the teeniest baby step you can image, give yourself the gift of taking one this week. Let me know how it goes! Namaste.

Photo: “shining through,” originally uploaded by jim simonson

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The Sonnets to Orpheus May 27, 2008

The Sonnets to Orpheus, Part Two, XII

by Ranier Maria Rilke

Want the change. Be inspired by the flame
where everything shines as it disappears.
The artist, when sketching, loves nothing so much
as the curve of the body as it turns away.

What locks itself in sameness has congealed.
Is it safer to be gray and numb?
What turns hard becomes rigid
and is easily shattered.

Pour yourself out like a fountain.
Flow into the knowledge that what you are seeking
finishes often at the start, and, with ending, begins.

Every happiness is the child of a separation
it did not think it could survive. And Daphne, becoming a laurel,
dares you to become the wind.