Skip to main content

Blessed Be


(Francesca Woodman- Then at one point _Providence, Rhode Island 1978)



Bless the quiet mornings when no one is up and I am alone.

Bless the still, tall trees outside my window.

Bless the bright stars in the night sky. Bless the stillness.

Bless the pile of dishes, and bless my lover, who will do the dishes today. Bless the way he will pile them haphazardly and precariously to dry, and not dry, on and off the rack.

Bless the used green tea bags, and the red polka dot bowl with remnants of cottage cheese in it.

Bless the empty bottle of wine. Bless the half full bottle of wine. Bless the Netflix documentaries.

Bless the exhaustion. Bless the warmth of two bodies sleeping beside each other. Bless the waking up from a good dream.

Bless the surge of tenderness you feel for another human being. Bless the kisses.

Bless the quiet before a day full of talk and doing. Bless the quiet after a day full of talk and doing.

Bless the pile of poetry books.

Bless the Marimekko ceramic mugs.

Bless the bowl of fruit, and the english muffins. Bless the butter dish and the cutting board with crumbs on it. Bless the withered veggies in the crisper drawer.

Bless the dark of the night.

Bless the imagination.

Bless the neighbour's yappy dog.

Bless the car tire that is losing air. Bless intentions.

Bless the cold air that means snow is coming soon.

Bless the long, cold, still, deep winter blustering in after a long summer of out of control wildfires.

Bless each change.

Bless the desire for something new.

Bless the yoga classes I never go to.

Bless the not seeing eye- to eye.

Bless the unavoidable growth.

Bless the yearning to be alive and awake.

Bless the quitting of Christmas.

Bless the new bottle of druid bubble bath in cinnamon, ginger, and ylang yang. Bless the lavender essential oil.

Bless the songs. Bless the piano.

Bless the hand aching from writing.

Bless the squeaky noises the fridge makes.

Bless small groups. Bless people that really care. Bless true, unadulterated kindness.

Bless the misunderstandings. Bless the love that swells up anyway.

Bless all the cats. And all the horses. And all the full moons. And the snowstorms.

Bless brunches, and new friendships, and plaid shirts, and the calendar.

Bless the magic of living. Bless the darkness that teaches me about the magic.

Bless all the past lives. Bless the ancestors. Bless all the people who live from their hearts. Bless all the brave ones. Bless all the shy ones. Bless all the bold ones. Bless all the open ones. Bless all the kind ones. Bless the Dalai Lhama, whose only religion is kindness, in a world filled with violence.

Bless the tarot cards. Bless my birthday month. Bless the Autumn. Bless chocolate, and purple orchids, and beloved childhood books.

Bless the fierce learning curve of self love.

Bless asking for help.

Bless the roots.

Bless the efforts.

Bless the dance.

Bless the smiles.

Bless the cracking open.

Bless the wholeness.

Bless it all.

Blessed be.

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

The Raw Beauty of Life

"You are like a leaf blowing around in the eye of a hurricane. Life has really landed on you. It's amazing to see how you carry it." -Ryan Hartley Life is like a dark night, and a star-lit soul peering into a jar of fireflies. We are free and bound at the same time.  It is the collected moments that you are present to, which create a beautiful life.  Observing the steam rise in curls from a mug of green tea, the pattern of sunlight streaming through a leaf, the warmth of someones lips on yours, the crinkle at the corner of the eyelids in a child's smile, the moment you jump into a cold lake.  This is life.  And yes - the moments where you are curled up in a ball on the floor, your body heaving with sobs. The moments where you are called out. The dark parts of yourself that you encounter, and choose to integrate. The times you see someone doing something you wish you were doing and feel jealous. Life is not a tea party that we dress up f...
2 comments
Read more

The face of tomorrow

The face of tomorrow is shining and laughing. It is washed fresh.  It has all the laugh lines, the love cracks. It has the deep purple moons under the eyes, from all the sleepless nights, the crying eyes. But somehow the moons make it even more beautiful. They are beams of life, shooting out, mellowing, illuminating. Everything is illuminated in this face of tomorrow. Everything is forgiven. It is fresh now. In it, I believe all things are possible. All things are new. I am old enough to learn that it has always been this way. Now is tomorrow. Yesterday is now. It is all the same. But my soul has had time to grow. I can now appreciate tomorrow as today. Tomorrow looks like living my life exactly the way I want to. Not how other people say I should. My face has been washed in tears, and bathed in smile-light. And now it recognizes that both (tears and smiles) are equally valuable. The face of tomorrow (now) is awash with pleasure. It is flushed with desire. It is li...
Post a Comment
Read more

When loneliness comes stalking

“When loneliness comes stalking, go into the fields, consider the orderliness of the world.”   -Mary Oliver When loneliness comes stalking, I wait. I welcome it. I look in its face. I leave room in my heart. It comes stalking like a striped tiger through the tall grass. That is not so bad. If you are okay with being pounced on, and becoming part of the earth again. Burning bright at night, it stalks me. Dimly, during the day, it stalks me. It comes from within, and without. It is part of the whole. When it comes, it comes as a reminder. A reminder that I am not alone. It proves the paradox. It ushers in all the people who have gone before; all the other ones who have been stalked by loneliness. We are all here together. Even alone, we are together. When it comes stalking, I am ready. I am well stocked with books, and maps, a compass, and a telescope to look at the stars. And then I remember that I am stardust, too. When loneliness comes stalking...
Post a Comment
Read more