This is a poem that has stayed with me, arousing
conflicting emotions, sometimes hopeful, sometimes
totally unbelieving, yet always a dream to attain.
Here it is again:


The time will come
when, with elation,
you will greet yourself arriving
at your own door,
in your own mirror,
and each will smile at the other’s welcome
and say, sit here. Eat.
You will love again the stranger who was your self.
Give wine. Give bread.
Give back your heart
to itself, to the stranger who has loved you

all your life, whom you ignored
for another, who knows you by heart.
Take down the love letters from the bookshelf,

the photographs, the desperate notes,
peel your own image from the mirror.
Sit. Feast on your life.”


This has been a pressured week, completing financial records,
putting order in clutter, not a lot of fun, wondering why I do any
of this at all! The ‘homework’.

And then, out of the blue this week, three dreams simply clear
and uncluttered, landed me straight in the middle of the poem.

All of that, exactly as it was written, happened to me, all of it.
My daughters may rest easy. I’m lining up the wine and the
bread and my heart for that feast of a life.

If it can happen to me, it can happen to you, too.
Sit. Read it again.

with love …


I had no idea how much the daily sounds of my home town create
for me a stage for my life. I awake at night and hear the low hum of
traffic going by on I-95. Sometimes it’s a train whistle that awakens
me, and I go back to sleep, somehow softened.

Even the sound of the refrigerator has a rythym to it that I hear and
know that all’s well.

The poet , teacher and writer Ralph Waldo Emerson echoed this
awareness in August of 1841 when, as a young man of 38, he

“The trumpet-like
lowing of a cow —
what does that speak to in me?
Not to my understanding.

Yet somewhat in me
and loves it well..”

These lines from a man who taught us to listen to our own inner
conscience, not as the selfish desire to ‘do our own thing’, but as
the sober intuition of the heart to rise above circumstances and
find the noble path.

(I found this in the book, EMPHATICALLY EMERSON, by Frank

The sounds of a lowing cow come back to me from my childhood
summers spent in a mountain valley in the New York State Catskills.
These were sounds that created the landscape of my life.