Friday November 20 — the Work Day poetry list is back from its November break and G Stockhausen is heading home to DC
{see G Stock’s Caring Bridge message}
Sharp winds and, compared with an idyllic 1st half of November autumn, cold air is blowing around today: it’s easy to imagine Winter on its way despite today’s brilliant sunshine: 1-3 inches is predicted for tomorrow. I looked for a poem about winter and found that I’d posted a good one exactly 1 year less 1 day ago (Nov 21, 2014). The more I read David Whyte, the more I become a fan. His “The Winter of Listening” reminds me of a splendid one-liner written decades ago by the mystic Thomas Merton.
“There is no way of telling strangers they are all walking around shining like the sun.”
Have a blest weekend.
john sj
Today’s Post “The Winter of Listening”
No one but me by the fire,
my hands burning
red in the palms while
the night wind carries
everything away outside.
All this petty worry
while the great cloak
of the sky grows dark
and intense
round every living thing.
What is precious
inside us does not
care to be known
by the mind
in ways that diminish
its presence.
What we strive for
in perfection
is not what turns us
into the lit angel
we desire,
what disturbs
and then nourishes
has everything
we need.
What we hate
in ourselves
is what we cannot know
in ourselves but
what is true to the pattern
does not need
to be explained.
Inside everyone
is a great shout of joy
waiting to be born.
Even with the summer
so far off
I feel it grown in me
now and ready
to arrive in the world.
All those years
listening to those
who had
nothing to say.
All those years
forgetting
how everything
has its own voice
to make
itself heard.
All those years
forgetting
how easily
you can belong
to everything
simply by listening.
And the slow
difficulty
of remembering
how everything
is born from
an opposite
and miraculous
otherness.
Silence and winter
has led me to that
otherness.
So let this winter
of listening
be enough
for the new life
I must call my own.
David Whyte
