The Book: A Mystic Garden

imageIn 2006 Gunilla Norris published this book which now in 2015 lies flat
on my desk. The spine is long gone from the years of being a resource
for me at the change of seasons.

“In the heat of late summer and early fall the garden needs so much water.
In the heat of a life the inner thirst grows. The more we put out, the more
we need to be filled with living water. On our own we can do very little,
and that not for long.

Thirst is a good prayer.
Be true to your longing.”

Each season over these years since ’06 I have returned to this small, now flat book.
I share it with you this morning. The familiar sunrise will shortly show up.
Wherever you find beauty, dear ones, let that be where you find love and energizing power.

” The garden waits for this water. Our lives wait for Presence to pour in.”
………from A MYSTIC GARDEN, Working with Soil, Attending to Soul, by Gunilla Norris, 2006.

always with love,

Towering Heat Clouds

imageIT’S HERE.

That summer heat that says,”let’s let go, let go of all imagined cares,and just lie on the grass and watch the huge clipper ships of clouds go sailing by.”

Here are a few lines from the poet to help us allow this conscious choice:

“Caught summer is always an imagined time.

Time gave it, yes, but time out of any mind.

There must be prime

In the heart to beget that season, to reach past rain and find

Riding the palest days

It’s perfect blaze.”
……………………………………the last lines from a poem
entitled My Father Paints the Summer by RICHARD WILBUR.

Thank you for listening.
Always love,

Sensual Summer

Painting by Katie Kindilien. katiekindilien
Painting by Katie Kindilien. katiekindilien

According to the calendar we are coasting the curve to Autumn already.
I’l bet you and I are only just getting started to enjoy this delayed season!

So, let it be so, let it be joyous, unplanned, spontaneous, and rich.

Let the words of Mary Oliver give us permission:

“Sixty-seven years, oh Lord, to look at the clouds,
the trees in deep, moist summer,

daisies and morning glories
opening every morning

their small, ecstatic faces —
Or maybe I should just say

How I wish I had a voice
like the meadowlark’s,

sweet, clear, and reliably
slurring all day long

from the fencepost, or the long grass
where it lives

in a tiny but adequate hut
beside the mullein and the everlasting,

the faint pink roses
that have never been improved, but come to bud

then open like little soft sighs
under the meadowlark’s whistle, its breath-praise,

its thrill song, its anthem, its thanks, its
alleluia, Alleluia, oh Lord.”

………………………… MARY OLIVER, quoted in the book,
A Dream of Summer, selected by Robert Atwan, and titled:
While I Am Writing a Poem to Celebrate Summer, the
Meadowlark Begins to Sing.

Open your window early, and take it in.

always with love,