Unknown's avatar

may what i do

I caught this pink ski bunny carving her own path among the downhill racers we were watching.  On her pink helmet was a tuft of pink netting, the kind you’d find holding up a ballerina’s tutu!  She was a fearless little warrior in pink tulle.

I believe in all that has never yet been spoken.
I want to free what waits within me.
so that what no one has dared to wish for
may for once spring clear
without my contriving.

If this is arrogant, God, forgive me,
but this is what I need to say.
May what I do flow from me like a river,
no forcing and no holding back,
the way it is with children.

Then in these swelling and ebbing currents,
these deepening tides moving out, returning,
I will sing you as no one ever has,
streaming through widening channels
into the open sea.

Rilke’s Book of Hours: Love Poems to God

translated by Anita Barrows and Joanna Macy

Unknown's avatar

recoil

The bow bent remembers home long,

the years of its tree, the whine

of wind all night conditioning

it, and its answer – Twang!

To the people here who would fret me down

their way and make me bend:

by remembering hard I could startle for home

and be myself again.

William Stafford: The Way It Is: New & Selected Poems

There is a stretch that inevitably comes from trying to hold an experience with equanimity.  From the moment we wake up there will be a long line of people willing us to bend around their tautness.

What to do?

Bend.

Bend to that point of being useful, of creating space between bow and string so that the Twang is a single, resonant note of your mutual liberation.

Thank you for practicing,

Genju