Michele George Resounding

Wondering

Resound — Sat, 14 Nov 2009 10:02:25 +0000

I can walk on the shore and I can see the ducks go by, but that was well after this moment was caught. Funny, a moment in time that allows the next moment to be present in my heart. It was my son’s birthday…some years ago….we were in a place of special beauty in Toronto, you have to know you’re going there or you’ll never get there….except by those surprises that do come to us and lead us to a new place and a place for celebration. We sat in silence in the gray density of that pre-dawn quiver…and the sun did come and the ducks swam by, a family led by mum.

We had breakfast…hard-boiled eggs and crackers and interesting bread made by the friend who had shown us the way to the wonderful place.

We are taken to places where, if we pay attention, and are willing to wait, we can see throught the rising fog of night that burns its way into the motes of watery drops transformed so the daylight can give us the right to put one foot in front of the other without so much of an effort, with the joy of the changes that are so profound that we need the change of night to day to remember that this is a moment that reminds us of a doorway…always there…always willing to allow us to enter. Why do I forget to step across the threshold? And this time of day. So much oxygen! I am allowed to breathe the joys of life without even being aware. I can be healed by this profundity.

Now what if I were? Aware…..would my breathing change, or would I simply rejoice…..I wonder.

Doubt Is A Funny Thing

Resound — Wed, 11 Nov 2009 10:16:36 +0000

I don’t know….what is it about me? Could it be the way I…Naw, there’s no possible way to open the door, the hinges are too rusty…
Fed up…not full…fed up…still with a burning hunger…not heartburn, perhaps a burning heart.
Up to here.
Here! Joke. Where I am digging a well.
That’s here.
Where I am smelling the rose that was given as a gift.
That’s here.
But I doubt it’s a wayward tale.
It smells like a rose. No doubt about it.
I remember the sound of the rose.
That’s me, going mmmmmmmm…..
When did youlast smell the roses?
I’m going to find some water…it needs my help to keep on being itself for a while longer.

Today’s about learning

Resound — Mon, 05 Oct 2009 10:17:35 +0000

All I can do is try. And how do I best do that in this particular situation? I ask! For help!
From someone who knows better than I.

Now, I know better than others in certain, shall we say, tributaries of the Great River. And they who wish to paddle their kayaks up my small outreach, they ask for my help. And I offer what is granted me to give.

All is right with the world. We are here to serve. And it’s a mighty river, with all the answers somewhere, but my, a mighty tribute of tributaries. Isn’t that what you call them? Like a gaggle of geese? A tribute of tributaries….

I Only Need to Show Up

Resound — Tue, 18 Aug 2009 10:27:35 +0000

The sun goes down in the wide screen frame
Of my generous living room window.
These days! Oh, life!
With a joyful play of gratitude for a day
Of luminosity
A gleeful symphonic eruption
Only once in all of time to be played
In this gathering of movements.
A coming attraction of tomorrow’s
New Day.
The composer hunched,gathering notes
In urgent racing heartbeat panic,
Even as the conductor waves a magic wand,
And a roar, ragged, smooth, jagged edges
Whisper
Beckoning.
A ululation,
A belly laugh
A chord of more nods and echoes
Than even God
Was ready for.

I watch as I dissolve
Into the
Hues
And cry.
I have no wish to hold on.
I marvel at this
Recognition.
I feel grown up
As a child dressed in secret
Having raided the beautiful mother’s closet,
Dared to stand tall
In high heels of some
Creature who donated its
Breath
So its skin can cover mine
And raise me above the others.

Here comes the final moment,
The climax
The saffron, scarlet, fuschia
Whirled arpeggios
Outside my window
Rise ever higher to the finality
Of evensong.

And I stroke the several minks,
Each one
Holding the tail of its next of kin
In a mouth
That once ate other foods.
I stroke the forbidden fur.

The music trembles
Ever without my window,
With a force,
Death itself.
And I am
Unafraid,
Although wrapped in ecstatic dread.

The swirls are now no longer shocked and stunning bursts
On the wide screen,
But striations
Stretched
Wide, wider
And how can all this possibly
Reach so far?
The end is in sight.
My eyes a camera
Full of the sonority
Of a life well lived.
A chorale that was
Which holds my secrets
All my sins
My goodness
And my aching need.
My holiness,
Yes,
My profanity produced
Through years,
Eons of the sun going down.

But, oh, I thank thee, Lord,
For this mirror I’ve been granted
Cracks and all.
Oh, one more lie.
There is a tinge of sorrow.
I know I’d keep these sunsets if I could,
Locked in a box
Pandora style.
Knowing the day would come
When they’d be
Unleashed
On an unsuspecting world.

Simone Weil

Resound — Sat, 18 Jul 2009 10:28:16 +0000

A beloved being who disappoints me.
People owe us what we imagine they will give us.
We must forgive them this debt.
To accept the fact that they are other than the creatures of our imagination
Is to imitate the renunciation of God.
I also am other than I imagine myself to be.
To know this is forgiveness.

Watch a One Year Old

Resound — Wed, 03 Jun 2009 10:28:50 +0000

by Rumi

Anger rises when you’re proud of yourself.
Humble that. Use

the contempt of others, and your
own self-regarding, to change, like

the dog-barking lion rather, enjoy
the hurt longer. Watch a one-year-

old, how it walks, the slow wisdom
there. Sometimes a sweet taste

makes you sour and mean. Listen
to the voice that says, “It was for

you I created the universe”. Then
kill and be killed in love. You’ve

been two dogs dozing long enough!