Discovery

Gradually, all is slowing down from the frenetic after-shocks of
a holiday season that was followed by the chaos of the shifting
plates of our planet.

All over the world, help is on its way to Haiti.

Here at home, I can with gratitude pause and look around me.
How am I responding to the shifting plates of my own life?
I turn to poetry:

“WINTER CHILD

Myself at my door
like Blake
at home in his
heaven
my own heart
newly opened
by the news
and my face
turned upward
and innocent
toward them.

All the stars
like a great crowd
of creation singing

above the blessed house.”

………DAVID WHYTE,
from Songs For Coming Home.

And my voice among them, singing with that great crowd.
Two days ago, my throat started to close and I knew
I had to sing ,too, for the way my own heart has opened
as I’ve released all critical memory of changes.

I cannot choose the youth’s “Bring it on!” to change.
I do instead choose the unknown future that even now is
forming. I live across the road from the lights on I-95,
so I cannot see the stars. And yet, I know they are there.

On this cold winter night I claim the right to hope and to joy
and to the fullness for all possibiity around change to be an
opening for joy’s song.

Surely, that is a way of coming home.

with love …
Mom/Mimi/Toni/Antoinette

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