Mindfulness + Writing

Compassion by Miller Williams Have compassion for everyone you meet even if they don't want it. What seems conceit, bad manners or cynicism is always a sign of things no ears have heard, no eyes have seen. You do not know what wars are going on down there where the spirit meets the bone. From The Ways We Touch , University of Illinois Press, 1997

A Mark of Resistance by Adrienne Rich Stone by stone I pile this cairn of my intention with the noon's weight on my back, exposed and vulnerable across the slanting fields which I love but cannot save from floods that are to come; can only fasten down with this work of my hands, these painfully assembled stones, in the shape of nothing that has ever existed before. A pile of stones: an assertion that this piece of country matters for large and simple reasons. A mark of resistance, a sign. From Collected Poems 1950-2012 Norton, 2016.

Snowflake by William Baer Timing's everything. The vapor rises high in the sky, tossing to and fro, then freezes, suddenly, and crystalizes into a perfect flake of miraculous snow. For countless miles, drifting east above the world, whirling about in a swirling free- for-all, appearing aimless, just like love, but sensing, seeking out, its destiny. Falling to where the two young skaters stand, hand in hand, then flips and dips and whips itself about to ever-so-gently land, a miracle, across her unkissed lips: as he blocks the wind raging from the south, leaning forward to kiss her lovely mouth. From Borges and Other Sonnets Truman State University Press, 2003.

Patience by Kay Ryan Patience is wider than one once envisioned, with ribbons of rivers and distant ranges and tasks undertaken and finished with modest relish by natives in their native dress. Who would have guessed it possible that waiting is sustainable— a place with its own harvests. Or that in time's fullness the diamonds of patience couldn't be distinguished from the genuine in brilliance or hardness. From   The Best of It: New and Selected Poems Grove Press, 2011

Trust by  Thomas R. Smith It’s like so many other things in life    to which you must say no or yes.                                     So you take your car to the new mechanic.    Sometimes the best thing to do is trust.    The package left with the disreputable-looking    clerk, the check gulped by the night deposit,    the envelope passed by dozens of strangers—    all show up at their intended destinations.    The theft that could have happened doesn’t.    Wind finally gets where it was going    through the snowy trees, and the river, even                when frozen, arrives at the right place.                         And sometimes you sense how faithfully your life    is delivered, even though you can’t read the address. From Waking Before Dawn  Red Dragonfly Press, 2007

Lessons from Darkness by Anita Barrows I'm afraid of the darkness, and the hole in it; and I see it sometime of every day!          —Martin Luther, in   Luther Everything you love will perish. Try saying this to yourself at breakfast, watching the amber-colored tea swirl in the teapot. Try it on the tree, the clouds, the dog asleep under the table, the sparrow taking a bath in the neighbor's gutter. A magician’s act:   Presto! On a morning you feel open enough to embrace it imagine it gone. Then pack the child’s lunch: smooth the thick peanut butter, the jeweled raspberry preserves, over the bread. Tell yourself the world must go on forever. This is why you feed her, imagining the day—orderly— unfolding, imagining what you teach her is true. Is something she will use. This is why, later, you will go out into the garden, among the calendula, rosemary, hibiscus, run your finger along the trunk of hawthorn as though it were the body

Thinking by Danusha Lameris Don’t you wish they would stop, all the thoughts swirling around in your head, bees in a hive, dancers tapping their way across the stage? I should rake the leaves in the carport, buy Christmas lights. Was there really life on Mars? What will I cook for dinner? I walk up the driveway, put out the garbage bins. I should stop using plastic bags, visit my friend whose husband just left her for the Swedish nanny. I wish I hadn’t said Patrick’s painting looked “ominous.” Maybe that’s why he hasn’t called. Does the car need oil, again? There’s a hole in the ozone the size of Texas, and everything seems to be speeding up. Come, let’s stand by the window and look out at the light on the field. Let’s watch how the clouds cover the sun, and almost nothing stirs in the grass. From Poetry of Presence: An Anthology of Mindfulness Poems  Grayson Books, 2017.

The Offering by Laura Foley These woods on the edges of a lake are settling now to winter darkness. Whatever was going to die is gone— crickets, ferns, swampgrass. Bare earth fills long spaces of a field. But look: a single oak leaf brown and shining like a leather purse. See what it so delicately offers lying upturned on the path. See how it reflects in its opened palm a cup of deep, unending sky.