leaving is not enough; you must - stay gone. train your heart - like a dog. change the locks - even on the house he’s never - visited. you lucky, lucky girl. -you have an apartment - just your size. a bathtub -full of tea. a heart the size - of Arizona, but not nearly - so arid. don’t wish away - your cracked past, your - crooked toes, your problems - are papier mache puppets - you made or bought because the vendor - at the market was so compelling you just- had to have them. you had to have him. - and you did. and now you pull down - the bridge between your houses. - you make him call before - he visits. -- you take a lover - for granted, you take - a lover who looks at you - like maybe you are magic. makethe first bottle you consume - in this place a relic. place it - on whatever altar you fashion - with a knife and five cranberries. - don’t lose too much weight.- stupid girls are always trying - to disappear as revenge. and you - are not stupid. you loved a man- with more hands than a parade - of beggars, and here you stand. heart - like a four-poster bed. heart like a canvas. - heart leaking something so strong- they can smell it in the street.
The pure and simple Truth is rarely pure, and never simple.
I have never known who or what I am supposed to be. The only thing I know for sure, is that I am supposed to be more than I have been.
Each morning when I open my eyes I say to myself; I, not events, have the power to make me happy or unhappy today. I can choose which it shall be. Yesterday is dead, tomorrow hasn’t arrived yet. I have just one day, today, and I’m going to be happy in it.
...The ability to both engage and disengage without fear at the appropriate moment is also tantamount to my creativity and outcome.
Your life unfolds in proportion to your courage.
Teach us to walk the soft Earth as relatives to all that live.
As a single footstep will not make a path on the earth, so a single thought will not make a pathway in the mind. To make a deep physical path, we walk again and again. To make a deep mental path, we must think over and over the kind of thoughts we wish to dominate our lives.
Science does not know it’s debt to imagination.
We have calcium in our bones, iron in our veins, carbon in our souls, and nitrogen in our brains. 93 percent stardust, with souls made of flames, we are all just stars that have people names.
Souls that resemble attract inevitably.
No man really knows about other human beings, the best he could do is to suppose they are like himself.
Mortgage payments. Voting. Car insurance. Taking that car to the mechanic. Networking. Time in suburbia. Child-rearing. Matching dishes and place settings. Retirement accounts. Scrapbooks. Arguing about politics. Vacuum cleaners, lawn mowers. Wills, living wills. Dinner parties, flirtations. Loan modification. Midlife meltdowns. Taxes. Marriage. Adultery. Shame. Cholesterol. Fiber. Sympathy cards. Renewing a driver’s license. Squinting at small print.
Both God and the universe are all-encompassing, complex, and deceptive. I am a tiny speck that can actually wrestle with these abstractions. That I can learn so much while remaining so small is humbling, but inspiring.
...If you are interested in something, no matter what it is, go at it at full speed ahead. Embrace it with both arms, hug it, love it and above all become passionate about it. Lukewarm is no good. Hot is no good either. White hot and passionate is the only thing to be.
Earth our mother, breathe forth life all night sleepingnow awakeningin the eastnow see the dawnEarth our mother, breathe and wakesleaves are stirring all things movingnew day cominglife renewing.
At a certain point you say to the woods, to the sea, to the mountains, the world, Now I am ready. Now I will stop and be wholly attentive. You empty yourself and wait, listening. After a time you hear it:there is nothing there. There is nothing but those things only, those created objects, discrete, growing or holding, or swaying, being rained on or raining, held, flooding or ebbing, standing, or spread. You feel the world’s word as a tension, a hum, a single chorused note everywhere the same. This is it: this hum is the silence.
When the spent sun throws up its rays on cloudAnd goes down burning into the gulf below, No voice in nature is heard to cry aloudAt what has happened. Birds, at least, must knowIt is the change to darkness in the sky.Murmuring something quiet in her breast, One bird begins to close a faded eye;Or overtaken too far from his nest,Hurrying low above the grove, some waifSwoops just in time to his remembered tree.At most he thinks or twitters softly, “Safe!”Now let the night be dark for all of me.Let the night be too dark for me to seeInto the future. Let what will be, be.