imageAt 4am I awoke, looked out my window, and
across the parking lot I saw 3 large deer silently
walking east at the far edge. I went back to bed
but could not sleep, so got up again,
looking for today’s inspiration, and found it:


That day I saw beneath dark clouds,
the passing light over the water
and I heard the voice of the world speak out,
I knew then, as I had before,
life is no passing memory of what has been
nor the remaining pages in a great book
waiting to be read.

It is the opening of eyes long closed.
It is the vision of far off things
seen for the silence they hold.
It is the heart after years
of secret conversing,
speaking out loud in the clear air.

It is Moses in the desert
fallen to his knees before the lit bush.
It is the man throwing away his shoes
as if to enter heaven
and finding himself astonished,
opened at last,
fallen in love with solid ground.”

……….DAVID WHYTE, from his book of poetry
called River Flow, 1984-2007, page 31.

The power of creative expression through art
of any kind to pierce through to the heart’s place,
we are so blessed.

always with love,



I’d already picked up the book, chosen the poem and headed
for the computer when I glanced at the cover of the book:

New & Selected Poems

Wow, bridging into a new century and moving along.  As now in
February, 2014, we seem to be bridging into a new time,
at least weather-wise.
Back to the poem:

“Come down drenched, at the end of May,
with the cold rain so far into your bones
that nothing will warm you
except your own walking
and let the sun come out at the day’s end
by Slievenaglasha with the rainbows doubling
over Mulloch Mor and see your clothes
steaming in the bright air.

Be a provenance
of something gathered, a summation of
previous intuitions, let your vulnerabilities
walking on the cracked, sliding limestone,
be this time, not a weakness, but a faculty
for understanding, what’s about
to happen.

Stand above the Seven Streams,
letting the deep down current surface
around you, then branch and branch
as they do, back into the mountain,
and if you were able for that flow,
say the few necessary words
and walk on, broader and cleansed
for having imagined.”

…………..DAVID WHYTE, from the section of that
book of poems, entitiled “Ireland”.

What stays with me, to begin with, is “nothing will warm you
except your own walking”.  When I begin with that, I know
I will find that flow of my own.

always with love,

Painting by Lenny Moskowitz
Painting by Lenny Moskowitz


The room today will be brimming over with love for the family of one boy whose star briefly shown in our midst.

I turn to the poet for the words I cannot find myself, to offer Holly, Joe and Kelsey some heart’s ease:

Jupiter in the western sky
and my
son walking
with the whole arc
of the sea behind him.

Above his head
the fishing pole
bent as if to catch
the day-lit star,
on the broad horizon.

The mere shape of him
in silhouette
I love so much.

The whip of his wrist
and rascal slant
of his cap

like some
of love I deciphered
long ago
and read to myself
again and again.

When I first heard
him in the fluid darkness
before his birth,
calling to his mother and I
from the yet unknown
and unseen world
to which he belonged,

I could not know that
slant of his
face or hand.
I could not know
how he would speak
to me.

Our love then was
for an unknown promise,

but just as strong
as if the promise was known.

May all our promises
from now
be just as strong.
– DAVID WHYTE, from his book,
River Flow.

Love is present, always and all ways.
with deepest love,



This Autumn there have been big winds. I see the
trees whirl with invisible currents that carry neither
snow nor rain. Very strange to one who used to be
out at the crack of dawn to run.

I remember my granddaughter getting up very early
to be out on the river and row. YES!

A poem can make it happen, even now:


From the northeast
undercurrents stirred by wind
ripple south
under the kayak
and with each rise
the boat lifts
to the dark clouds
covering Spieden,

with hips awash
and bow submerged,
each stroke
balanced on unseen pressures lives for a moment
in the shoulders

and with the first sound
of indrawn breath,
the heart begins to flow
and become liquid,
spinning through the arms
like molten glass,

out here
life is a vibrant wire
pulled tight
between two opposing limbs

and it sings to the touch of the ocean.”

………DAVID WHYTE, from his book,
River Flow, 1984-2007

It is just after 3 a.m., when all the trees are still.
Perhaps this poem has touched your dreaming.
It keeps me company and the night seems young.

always with love,


The dawn is a pale blue through the silhouetted
darkness of the trees. I cannot see the sky from
here, yet the poet tells me more is there than
eye can see.


Above the mountains
the geese turn into
the light again

painting their
black silhouettes
on an open sky.

Sometimes everything
has to be
enscribed across
the heavens

so you can find
the one line
already written
inside you.

Sometimes it takes
a great sky
to find that

first, bright
and indescribable
wedge of freedom
in your own heart.

Sometimes with
the bones of the black
sticks left when the fire
has gone out

someone has written
something new
in the ashes
of your life.

You are not leaving,
even as the light
fades quickly.
You are arriving.”

………….DAVID WHYTE, from his book of poems,
River Flow. (1984-2997)

A new week begins. May I be awake to that!

always with love, Mom/Mimi/Toni/Antoinette

“Someone has written something new in the ashes of your life.”
Art by Amanda Cass


We say “hello” to summer this week. Ah, finally!
In the midst of beginnings I realize we also are saying
“good-by” to what has been an unusual springtime.
There is room on any threshold for a pause to
acknowledge the transition.

I have chosen a poem by David Whyte to share today:

“F O R G I V E

I arrived at last, five hours before she died,
through airport and grounding fog at Heathrow
and the crowded irrelevance of King’s Cross.
On the train north toward her I read the paper
with a close, obsessive, intelligence,
knowing I couldn’t face the relevance of the day.
Amid a crowd, we live a strange anonymous maturity,
not knowing how deep inside the body,
or how, with each turned leaf of experience
the word ‘mother’ lies waiting to be read again.
In the paper there was no news of her going,
no witness to the courageous continuation
beneath the mask to breathe until I got there.
I travelled as freely in my health as she
struggled mightily to wait, as if we held together,
so far apart, and each in our struggle
opposing corners of creation.
She would let go of her corner
of our world only when she saw me again
for a last time. Imagine then,
the necessity for rest
before the great sweep
of her unspoken life into mine.”

………..DAVID WHYTE, from his book of poems,
River Flow, 1984-2007

In there not a strength in the simple acceptance of
what’s so? To honor and acknowledge what’s so and
then to heal by walking through the pause, resting
of necessity, as often as needed.

I am a mother. I had a mother who chose not to say
good-by years ago after major surgery. She took one
look at the nursing home across from Norwalk Hospital,
and she thought, ‘no way!’ and she quietly left this world,
just before they served her first dinner,
without saying a word to any of us.
My mother, who loved words, somehow set an example
by her own great sweep of her lifetime’s choice of
how to go.

Always with love,

Pause to acknowledge the transition….
Painting: “My Sweet Rose” by John William Waterhouse


This was written on the eve of the first day of Spring.

I think of each of you, joining me at odd hours for a
poem, a reminder, a thought with which to begin this
day, and the next.

We, in Southwestern Connecticut, have been spared the
weather harshness of a winter this year. Yet, for so
many the winter months have contained challenges as
bitter and demanding as ever.

Today, with Spring ‘arriving’ tomorrow, March 20th,
this winter has ended with a major shift in the lives
of my daughter Sandy and her husband,Cliff. Health
issues have inspired them to renew their marriage
vows, and to see them moving forward with renewed
intention and energy.

For them and and for others who may be experiencing
this opening to release the past and welcome today,
I offer this poem:

” W I N T E R C H I L D

Myself at my door
like Blake
at home in his
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 home.”

……………DAVID WHYTE, from new & selected poems,
1984-2007, also already shared with you before this
in January, 2010.

always with love,


"my own heart
newly opened.."


There are so many small changes, recently and more to
come, that I can’t truly get the long view that encourages
me to let the little details go. It’s possible that this is not
just me. It’s possible that those sun flares I hear about
do affect us in such a broad way that it seems to be
about me, when it’s not. It’s about us.

I turn to the poets who have sustained change with such
nobility. Strange word, nobility, and yet that is what we
are called to express right now. Listen:

“A garden inside me, unknown, secret,
neglected for years
the layers of its soil deep and thick.
Trees in the corners with branching arms
and the tangled briars like broken nets.

Sunrise through the misted orchard,
morning sun turns silver on the pointed twigs.
I have woken from the sleep of ages and I am not sure
if I am really seeing, or dreaming,
or simply astonished
walking toward sunrise
to have stumbled into the garden
where the stone was rolled from the tomb of longing.”

…….DAVID WHYTE, from his poem entitled,
Easter Morning in Wales.

Thank you for listening. May your day be good.

with love,

"A garden inside me, unknown, secret, neglected for years.."


It’s been 10 days of focusing on essentials, ever
toward a simpler balance, as I’ve moved through
a miasma of seasonal illness, finally feeling myself

Refreshed by 4 hours of sleep, I got up just now
to reach again for a poem. thoughts of other years’
solstice observations, rituals, some as old as the
years I’ve lived, push forward.

“Home for the holidays”, always a theme.
Whom, then, to reach for? … David Whyte:

“Y O U D A R K N E S S

You darkness from which I come,
I love you more than all the fires
that fence out the world,
for the fire makes a circle
for everyone
so that no one sees you anymore.

But darkness holds it all:
the shape and the flame,
the animal and myself,
how it holds them,
all powers, all sight-

and it is possible: its great strength
is breaking into my body.

I have faith in the night.”


That line, ‘its great strength is breaking into my body’,
supports and carries me.
I felt left naked by darkness, for so many nights,
grateful for the dream-time that is healing me.

You will choose other lines to respond to, for sure.
I was so delighted to happen on two poets who have
cast light on all my comings and goings!

Welcome, this dawning festival of Light.

with love …


Sometimes I have to remember that what’s ahead,
directly as on a calendar, does not have to be my
primary concern, as in walking forward into the
holidays coming up.

I do find myself singing some old Christmas songs
that merrily play away on radio and mall domain.
Yet today, I’m minded to remember the summer.

Take a deep breath, and step out with me:

“Walked out this morning
into a broad green garden
with the rising sun in my eyes
and the first hint of the day’s heat
touching my face,
feeling as broad as the garden
and young as the day
and soaking up the heat
in my black tee-shirt,
walked straight forward
out of the gate,
through the wood,
along the river,
toward the mountain
and thought of the future
I could make in the world
if I walked toward it
like this,
with my face toward the hills
and my eyes full of light
and the earth sure
and solid beneath me,
walking on
with a fierce anticipation
and a faithful expectation,
with the sun and the rain
and the wind on my skin
and the old sense
I remember at twenty
of many paths
breaking from one path.

As if the body could walk
as if we all could walk
and keep on walking
from one path to another,
noting and loving again
the wonders
of the turning world….
that’s what we’ll do,
practicing as we go.”

…………….DAVID WHYTE, from his book of poems,
River Flow, 1984-2007

That mention of the ‘black tee-shirt’ is what
caught me, since I do have a favorite short-sleeved
tee that I feel so at home in. It’s sitting on my
summer shelf.
Any day, any time.
My choice, practicing with a warm sweater over it.

with love …