You who would heal your heart:
learn to look at all things, including yourself,
in context and in contrast
as though standing on a hill watching the hues and suffusion of a sunrise.
You who would heal your heart:
practice holding everything gently together, along with yourself,
knowing that it cannot be your task or duty to heal another’s heart.
Your understanding of these things may be as clouded glass,
but this will not impede your hope or compassion
or your willingness to serve.
You’ll know you’re on your way
when you hear the wren say hello
and when the courageous arbutus acknowledges your presence;
and when the turkey vultures sitting on page wire fences by industrial bays
make a joke about your hat
and you laugh;
and when you walk alone on a wild shore and through your feet
feel the earth breathe,
you’ll know you’re well on your way.
And those that berate and belittle and betray will no longer occupy your heart
for it will have been filled with finer things
without you noticing.
Every heart needs healing. Learning to look, and practicing holding…. difficult and essential skills.
And, Steve, I wonder about the story/s that gave rise to this poem – the pain and the healing….
Yes, thanks Sam.
In this song I hear Thomas Hardy’s “The Darkling Thrush” flinging his soul upon growing gloom and acknowledge a blessed Hope for which I am unable to describe with words.
In this song I hear Thomas Hardy’s “The Darkling Thrush,” “flinging his soul upon the growing gloom,” and taking “Hope”.
I love the comparison, although it humbles. Thank you Ray.
Apology. I guess I didn’t post the first comment and thought it was lost until I posted the second. I hear the turkey vultures joking about my hat.
Smiling.
Breathing deeply these words … thank you, Steve.
Thank you Melanie. (Breathing with you.)
This resonates so much with me Stephen, such beautiful wisdom.
These words know me already, and I am friends with them. Thank you.
Thank you Emily. Your words touch me.
perfect timing… thank you.
Thank you Adela.