a ritual to start the work week
let beats given be breaths taken
blows dealt be unknowns known
even brief pauses can open
us to growth ungotten
how using the yellow to slow
not speed lets fear recede
how yielding can be shielding and
waiting can be gaining
love notes
a ritual to start the work week
Unearth the shards of millennia-old
jugs to hold space for creations to come.
Remember: what barley gives the water,
the water gives to us. Imagine wounds
sewn into our skin and soaring. Reborn.
love notes
a ritual to start the work week
we’re never not we
can’t stop weing our ways
with each other and often
when we forget we fail
or fumble over weness
we hadn’t yet perceived
we is the water within us
the ground we stand upon
and the air we breathe
yet we need more than we
can offer each other
and while we can’t be weless
we can be meful as well
indeed our wefulness grows
when I ignite me and you
in your inextinguishability
light you
love notes
a ritual to start the work week
What if —
and I know
I’ve been telling you
often
of the virtues
of openness
of the joys
of yes anding
of the love
of flow
but lately
and maybe only sometimes
facing all this
noise and nonsense
— no?
love notes
a ritual to start the work week
smoking wicks and steamy mirrors
show little more than remnants
blurry outlines of what
we thought we knew
overcast’s edge creeps closer
revealing moment by moment
millimeters and miles of sky
that far away seas turn blue
foggy memories jockey
for focus tumbling over
each other to fill the distance
between me and you
love notes
a ritual to start the work week
like far flung tumbleweed,
uprooted, hunched and haunted
from wandering, from peering
through its tangled limbs at
a world that won’t stop spinning,
unable to see the splendor,
so caught up in the framing
of its own broken branches
love notes
a ritual to start the work week
Head east toward sunrise,
toward rootedness, toward home.
Turn left onto your own path
away from the throngs.
Follow signs of your joy
and in deference to your feet
arrive and arrive —
achieve, reach and be.
love notes
a ritual to start the work week
Love does, doesn’t it?
Writes the song and plays it
Sows the field and reaps it
Builds the nest and empties it
Raises the gun as well as the white flag
Takes as well as it gives
Hides as well as it shines
— better, in fact —
Nuzzles deep into the marrow
To be copied and indelible
Ever asking the question
And waiting
As long as it must
For an answer
love notes
a ritual to start the work week
Divinity can’t be taken from us, friends —
carved away by practiced hands,
edited out as a typo or forgotten
like ghosts or silent letters. Our
wholeness and our holiness flows
past frustrations, through deletions,
over our errors, smoothing their edges.
Comfort not in our connectivity, but
in our continuity — the flower
and the bed, the ink sown into
the page — and rest, friend. Rest.
love notes
a ritual to start the work week
The comfort in circles, in cycles, in growth
still chills in long winter nights.
Still pangs and oozes in the pruning.
Still sizzles and melts in the flames.
To comfort in change
is to ache and to break
and to love
that we won’t be the same.
love notes
a ritual to start the work week
Dregs of the year’s cheers
dry semi-circles
in bottoms of cups —
incomplete and primed
possibilities.
love notes
a ritual to start the work week
