Archive for March, 2008


We’re on the edge of spring. Nature’s palette is mostly shades of brown with accents of ice. Streams are swollen in Black Rock Forest; ponds are still frozen. Our first crocus opened yesterday.


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The remembrance of
the potential of the universe
before the Holy One created it–
the harmony of opposites,
the awareness of the void.
I recreate this original peace in you
with my presence.
I release this peace by my
constant inner forgiveness and letting go.
I surround you with this peace,
and you feel a fire of love kindled in
your hearts.

The thing-world–the universe of
levels, planes, particles, and separation–
cannot give peace the way I do.
Diversity gives the gift of
forms fulfilling their purpose
then passing away:
a peace of separation.
I give peace with the awareness of
the whole story of sacred unity,
an ongoing creation
moving ahead of, with, and behind us
like a caravan.
Let your heartbeat
carry this remembrance.
When you feel this peace,
the center of your passion
can never be forced or limited,
neither inflated nor deflated.
You cannot be carried away by fear
nor hemmed in by grief.
You are always coming to standing
at the beginning,
reverberating peace
around you
without limit.

Aramaic translation

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On the way home from Los Angeles, I bought An Hour to Live, an Hour to Love at LAX. It’s a small book, by Richard and Kristine Carlson. I was already feeling sad to leave Sara, Sean, Gatsby and little Dashiell behind. Reading this book in the airport brought tears to my eyes…and reminded me of the preciousness of our time together in this human journey and how each day, each moment is all that we have.

Maybe it’s aging, maybe it’s just grandmotherly sentimentality…I have a much stronger sense of urgency about communicating love and appreciation to family, friends and Spirit. This poem is from the back of the book and stands as a poignant reminder of our impermanence.


If I knew it would be the last time that I’d see you fall asleep,
I would tuck you in more tightly, and pray the Lord your soul to keep.
If I knew it would be the last time that I’d see you walk out the door,
I would give you a hug and kiss, and call you back for just one more.

If I knew it would be the last time I’d hear your voice lifted up in praise,
I would tape each word and action, and play them back throughout my days
If I knew it would be the last time, I would spare an extra minute or two,
To stop and say “I love you,” instead of assuming you know I do.

So, just in case tomorrow never comes, and today is all I get,
I’d like to say how much I love you, and I hope we never will forget.
Tomorrow is not promised to anyone, young or old alike,
And today may be the last chance you get to hold your loved one tight.

So, if you’re waiting for tomorrow, why not do it today?
For if tomorrow never comes, you’ll surely regret the day
That you didn’t take that extra time for a smile, a hug, or a kiss,
And you were too busy to grant someone, what turned out to be their one last wish.

So hold your loved ones close today, and whisper in their ear,
That you love them very much, and you’ll always hold them dear.
Take time to say “I’m sorry,” “Please forgive me,” “thank you” or “it’s okay”.
And if tomorrow never comes, you’ll have no regrets about today.


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The weight of the world
is love.
Under the burden
of solitude,
under the burden
of dissatisfaction

the weight,
the weight we carry
is love.

Who can deny?
In dreams
it touches
the body,
in thought
a miracle,
in imagination
till born
in human—

looks out of the heart
burning with purity-
for the burden of life
is love,
but we carry the weight
and so must rest
in the arms of love
at last,
must rest in the arms
of love.

No rest
without love,
no sleep
without dreams
of love—
be mad or chill
obsessed with angels
or machines,
the final wish
is love
—cannot be bitter,
cannot deny,
cannot withhold
if denied:

the weight is too heavy

—must give
for no return
as thought
is given
in solitude
in all the excellence
of its excess.

The warm bodies
shine together
in the darkness,
the hand moves
to the center
of the flesh,
the skin trembles
in happiness
and the soul comes
joyful to the eye—

yes, yes,
that’s what
I wanted,
I always wanted,
I always wanted,
to return
to the body
where I was born.


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Arrived home from Los Angeles this morning at 1:35 am…still on CA time and not ready to go to sleep. When I finally drift off, I dream of Dashiell…holding him, watching him make so many silly, adorable faces in his sleep. I wake up missing him.

This poem is for Sara, his Mom…


Last night I walked back and forth,
his small head heavy against my chest,
round eyes watching me in the dark
his body a sandbag in my arms
I longed for sleep but couldn’t bear his crying
so bore him back and forth until the sun rose
and he slept. Now the doors are open,
noon sunlight coming in,
and I can see fuchsias opening.
Now we bathe. I hold him, the soap
makes our skins glide past each other.
I lay him wet on my thighs, his head on my knees,
his feet dancing against my chest,
and I rinse him, pouring water
from my cupped hand.
No matter how I feel, he’s the same,
eyes expectant, mouth ready,
with his fat legs and arms,
his belly, his small solid back.
Last night I wanted nothing more
than to get him out of my arms.
Today he fits neatly
along the hollow my thighs make,
and with his fragrant skin against mine
I feel brash, like a sunflower.


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I’ve become that grandmother. You know the one. She has a “BRAG BOOK” in her purse and, without the slightest provocation, she pulls it out and walks you through each picture of her grandchild or grandchildren…not really caring if you express interest…certainly never inquiring to see if you want to view these pictures…she just, with the utmost pride, displays them…something I’m about to do.


This is Dashiell after his first bath at home with his proud parents…


Beautiful baby toes…


So content!

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This is for Sean, who instantaneously became a phenomenal Dad. His patience, his presence and his capacity to soothe and swaddle and juggle work and family…well, just awesome!


Tadpole, it’s not time yet to nag you
about college (though I have some thoughts
on that), baseball (ditto), or abstract
principles. Enjoy your delicious,
soupy womb-warmth, do some rolls and saults
(it’ll be too crowded soon), delight in your early
dreams — which no one will attempt to analyze.
For now: may your toes blossom, your fingers
lengthen, your sexual organs grow (too soon
to tell which yet) sensitive, your teeth
form their buds in their forming jawbone, your already
booming heart expand (literally 
now, metaphorically later); O your spine,
eyebrows, nape, knees, fibulae,
lungs, lips… But your soul,
dear child: I don’t see it here, when
does that come in, whence? Perhaps God,
and your mother, and even I — we’ll all contribute
and you’ll learn yourself to coax it
from wherever: your soul, which holds your bones
together and lets you live
on earth. — Fingerling, sidecar, nubbin,
I’m waiting, it’s me, Dad,
I’m out here. You already know
where Mom is. I’ll see you more directly
upon arrival. You’ll recognize
me — I’ll be the tall-seeming, delighted
blond guy, and I’ll have 
your nose.


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