Beannacht — John O’Donohue

My good friend Francine sent me this blessing. May it bless you, too.

Beannacht / Blessing

John O’Donohue

For Josie, my mother

On the day when
the weight deadens
on your shoulders
and you stumble,
may the clay dance
to balance you.

And when your eyes
freeze behind
the grey window
and the ghost of loss
gets into you,
may a flock of colours,
indigo, red, green
and azure blue,
come to awaken in you
a meadow of delight.

When the canvas frays
in the currach of thought
and a stain of ocean
blackens beneath you,
may there come across the waters
a path of yellow moonlight
to bring you safely home.

May the nourishment of the earth be yours,
may the clarity of light be yours,
may the fluency of the ocean be yours,
may the protection of the ancestors be yours.

And so may a slow
wind work these words
of love around you,
an invisible cloak
to mind your life.

John O’Donohue

from Echoes of Memory (Transworld Publishing, 2010) reproduced by permission of the author’s Estate

“You do not have to be good” — Mary Oliver, 1935-2019

I won’t even try to eulogize the fabulous Mary Oliver — too many people have already done it for us. But here, just in case you missed it, is NPR’s tribute, and the poem that adorned my office door back in my teaching days:

Wild Geese

You do not have to be good.
You do not have to walk on your knees
for a hundred miles through the desert repenting.
You only have to let the soft animal of your body
love what it loves.
Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.
Meanwhile the world goes on.
Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain
are moving across the landscapes,
over the prairies and the deep trees,
the mountains and the rivers.
Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,
are heading home again.
Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,
the world offers itself to your imagination,
calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting–
over and over announcing your place
in the family of things.

 

 

photo by Denis Linine, via pexels.com

“Because once someone dared”

I keep Rainer Maria Rilke’s Book of Hours near my bed, and this morning I opened it and read this poem.

 

Because once someone dared
to want you,
I know that we, too, may want you.

When gold is in the mountain
and we’ve ravaged the depths
till we’ve given up digging,

it will be brought forth into day
by the river that mines
the silences of stone.

Even when we don’t desire it,
God is ripening.

I, 16

Where I’m Reading Now

On this coming Sunday, 18 November 2018, at 4 p.m., I’ll be reading at Village Books with my friend, poet Jayne Marek. (Click on the Village Books link to read their page on the event.)

I’ll be reading from Body My House, and it would be so wonderful to see you there!