in which we quicken to the call to rouse from our soul’s deep slumber, the very essence of Elul, the month when we turn toward the holiness of the coming Days of Awe. . .
Beautiful August and morning reflection. It synched with a poem that was considered in my online morning meditation group, particularly the last lines.
I particularly was struck because I was fortunate to spend yesterday at the Obama Center. It is a powerful experience. I left struggling with emotions because it reflected where were we had “been” and I wondered how in God’s name we have come to “here”. Your observations have given me a map of sorts. I am also guided by an observation from a member of the group. She said “we are made up of atoms of love”. May we move through August with love and thoughtfulness and hope.
oh, my, honey!!!! bless you for bringing poetry to the table (and can i just add: holy mackerel was it worth it to move my little chairs over to ol' substack rather than its old house/home where somehow the gremlins kept keeping you from chiming in. because a chime from the Wise One, lamcal for the ages, is a chime to treasure.) as for obama stirrings, i hold onto the solid faith that somehow we will find our way again, as a country, as a people of good, good hearts. may it be so....
I awaken to this rapture…"somehow mournful, joyous, triumphant and pleading", the sensommer churr of the katydid at once a Song of Songs, "for love is as strong as death... Many waters cannot quench love; rivers cannot sweep it away” when I am my beloved’s and my beloved is mine.
Beautiful August and morning reflection. It synched with a poem that was considered in my online morning meditation group, particularly the last lines.
I particularly was struck because I was fortunate to spend yesterday at the Obama Center. It is a powerful experience. I left struggling with emotions because it reflected where were we had “been” and I wondered how in God’s name we have come to “here”. Your observations have given me a map of sorts. I am also guided by an observation from a member of the group. She said “we are made up of atoms of love”. May we move through August with love and thoughtfulness and hope.
August Morning
BY ALBERT GARCIA
It’s ripe, the melon
by our sink. Yellow,
bee-bitten, soft, it perfumes
the house too sweetly.
At five I wake, the air
mournful in its quiet.
My wife’s eyes swim calmly
under their lids, her mouth and jaw
relaxed, different.
What is happening in the silence
of this house? Curtains
hang heavily from their rods.
Ficus leaves tremble
at my footsteps. Yet
the colors outside are perfect--
orange geranium, blue lobelia.
I wander from room to room
like a man in a museum:
wife, children, books, flowers,
melon. Such still air. Soon
the mid-morning breeze will float in
like tepid water, then hot.
How do I start this day,
I who am unsure
of how my life has happened
or how to proceed
amid this warm and steady sweetness?
oh, my, honey!!!! bless you for bringing poetry to the table (and can i just add: holy mackerel was it worth it to move my little chairs over to ol' substack rather than its old house/home where somehow the gremlins kept keeping you from chiming in. because a chime from the Wise One, lamcal for the ages, is a chime to treasure.) as for obama stirrings, i hold onto the solid faith that somehow we will find our way again, as a country, as a people of good, good hearts. may it be so....
I awaken to this rapture…"somehow mournful, joyous, triumphant and pleading", the sensommer churr of the katydid at once a Song of Songs, "for love is as strong as death... Many waters cannot quench love; rivers cannot sweep it away” when I am my beloved’s and my beloved is mine.
for love is stronger, isn't it? stronger than death i've found......
Love this so much. Just what I needed. And a very good morning to you. Xo
and to you, too, sweet love….