Poetry
Yoga and Poetry. What do they share? Both require being attentive, staying engaged, and directly encountering your own experience.
From the start, possibly 5,000 years ago in India, yoga was always much more than the physical practice but a meditative practice seeking the inner self.
Cultivating an awareness of the distinction between the false self– the ego - and the true self - that which makes you, you – is the lifelong practice.
Poetry is a beautiful vehicle for this same exploration. It’s short, ambiguous, open to interpretation. Poetry is both direct and somewhat elusive.
Peace of Wild Things by Wendell Berry
When despair for the world grows in me
and I wake in the night at the least sound
in fear of what my life and my children’s lives may be,
I go and lie down where the wood drake
rests in his beauty on the water, and the great heron feeds.
I come into the peace of wild things
who do not tax their lives with forethought
of grief. I come into the presence of still water.
And I feel above me the day-blind stars
waiting with their light. For a time
I rest in the grace of the world, and am free.
Over the Weather by Naomi Shihab Nye
We forget about the spaciousness
above the clouds
but it's up there. The sun's up there too.
When words we hear don't fit the day,
when we worry
what we did or didn't do,
what if we close our eyes,
say any word we love
that makes us feel calm,
slip it into the atmosphere
and rise?
Creamy miles of quiet.
Giant swoop of blue.
Little Rescues by L.E. Bowman
coffee/ sunlight / a smile / a laugh
a kiss on the forehead / a call from a friend
one of those lingering hugs that mothers give
the first hint of fall / the first touch of spring
any sign that change is coming
water / nature / a long, steaming bath
soft, gentle lips / open, familiar hands
a home cooked meal
a deep, cleansing breath
flowers / forgiveness / movement
rest
music - especially if it inspires you to dance
Next Time by Mary Oliver
Next time what I'd do is look at
the earth before saying anything. I'd stop
just before going into a house
and be an emperor for a minute
and listen better to the wind
or to the air being still.
When anyone talked to me, whether
blame or praise or just passing time,
I'd watch the face, how the mouth
has to work, and see any strain, any
sign of what lifted the voice.
And for all, I'd know more -- the earth
bracing itself and soaring, the air
finding every leaf and feather over
forest and water, and for every person
the body glowing inside the clothes
like a light.
