I am a wanderer. I would say that I am a seeker, but sometimes I have no idea what I might be seeking, so I will stick with wanderer. This blog is more a public journal than anything. I don't claim to have life figured out. I simply stumble from mystery to mystery, and share my reflections along the way. Sometimes I feel burdened, and trudge. Sometimes? Well sometimes grace breaks through, and its time to dance.
Monday, August 28, 2017
At the end of all
Stillness is vital to the world of the soul. If as you age
you become more still, you will discover that stillness can be a great
companion. The fragments of your life will have time to unify, and the places
where your soul-shelter is wounded or broken will have time to knit and heal.
You will be able to return to yourself. In this stillness, you will engage your
soul. Many people miss out on themselves completely as they journey through
life. They know others, they know places, they know skills, they know their
work, but tragically, they do not know themselves at all. Aging can be a lovely
time of ripening when you actually meet yourself, indeed maybe for the first
time. There are beautiful lines from T. S. Eliot that say:
'And the end of all our exploring
Will be to arrive where we started
And know the place for the first time.'
John O'Donohue
Excerpt from ANAM CARA
________________________________
The clinical notes are done
The car has found its way home
The TV is off
Horses are fed
And dog and cats sprawl on the porch in the heat of
a hot august night
slowly the mind slows
and the body settles
quietly soul does inventory
thoughts wander randomly
and carelessly through the mind
thoughts about things finished
and unfinished
about love experienced and yearned for
good memories flourish
but memories of past hurts as well
and from time to time
feelings of failure
or resentment surface
but in the silence I watch those thoughts drift by
like boats on a river
and quietly just work to let them go
drifting away
meanwhile the mountain looms into the sky
a fawn awkwardly stumble after its mother
and a hawk screams its protest
at my foolishness
and I suspect
yours too
and I return
to stillness
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