Poetry

Last night I took a few hours to myself.

I sat in a cafe, ate simple food, and wrote page after page in my journal. I even did a writing exercise (observation) for a few pages. Bliss!

Then I went to Marshall's to try to get some tops to cover my foobs. I can't wear V or scoop necks and too many of my shirts reveal this ugly aspect of my chest. I found a couple of things; I will probably need a couple more. I'm tired of my chest, and I deserve to feel okay about my body, and this helped a little.

And then I bought two Mary Oliver books of peotry. I purchased "New and Selected Poems: Volume One" and her brand new book, "Red Bird." They make my heart sing.

Love Sorrow (from Red Bird by Mary Oliver)

Love sorrow. She is yours now, and you must
take care of what has been
given. Brush her hair, help her
into her little coat, hold her hand,
espcially when crossing a street. For, think,

what if you shold lose her? Then hyou would be
sorrow yourself; her drawn face, her sleeplessness
would be yours. Take care, touch
her forehead that she feel herself not so

utterlly alone. And smile, that she does not
altogether forget the world before the lesson.
Have patience in abundance. And do not
ever lie or ever leave her even for a moment

by herself, which is to say, possibly, again,
abandoned. She is strange, mute, difficult,
sometimes unmanageable but, remember, she is a child.
And amazing things can happen. And you may see,

as the two of you go
walking together in the morning light, how
little by little she relaxes; she looks about her;
she begins to grow.

more poetry

This is actually the Prayer of St. Francis of Assisi. I recently rediscovered it in, of all places, a Sarah McLachlan album. She sings a beautiful version of it.

Lord make me an instrument of your peace,
Where there is hatred let me sow love.
Where there is injury, pardon.
Where there is doubt, faith.
Where there is despair, hope.
Where there is darkness, light.
And where there is sadness, joy.

O divine master grant that I may
not so much seek to be consoled as to console;
to be understood as to understand;
To be loved as to love
For it is in giving that we receive-
it is in pardoning that we are pardoned.
And it's in dying that we are born to eternal life.
Amen

Another poem

This one was sent to me by Lori - thank you, Lori!

The Real Work

It may be that when we no longer know what to do
we have come to our real work,
and that when we no longer know which way to go
we have come to our real journey.
The mind that is not baffled is not employed.
The impeded stream is the one that sings.
- © Wendell Berry

Poetry

I am relaxing by sitting at the computer while Tessa plays; plus, I got a great break from cooking because I made way too much for dinner last night so Ryan got lunch today and Tessa and I got great leftovers (sweet and sour shrimp; a Cooking Light recipe that I tried out and am now in love with). Ryan's out with Paul, so it's just the two of us tonight.

I bumped into this poem and love it:

Everything is Waiting for You by David Whyte

http://www.woodmoorvillage.org/2008/04/everything-is-w.html

And now Tessa is going to watch a video (I keep screen time to a minimum, really I do!) and I am going to pick up the painting project that I left off. The Landahls are coming tomorrow and I'd just love it if the guest bathroom looked less peach. ;-)

Tomorrow I'll hardly be able to move after all fo this activity today!