Thursday, June 16, 2022

Building Project

Because it happened, certain gates were shut;

A door opened.

                                                          From “The Parcel” by Robert Bly


Looking back at shut gates accomplishes nothing.

You walked through the open door, into new life,

laid a foundation, built,

tore down, rebuilt, a process repeated

until the house was truly yours.

Now dwell there, inhabit it fully,

fill it with light and joy. It is your home.

Who cares what others think of it?

It fits you perfectly.

Thursday, June 9, 2022

Deep Questions

Here it is,

Eight thousand years later, and I still remember.

                                                          From “Looking at the Stars,” by Robert Bly


How much is stored in the memory of our bodies?

I wonder what I’ve carried for thousands of years, unconsciously,

events of ancient times that have shaped who I am.

When I look at the full moon, or watch the sun rise

what is triggered in my being,

how many sunrises are stored within?


What wildness lies deep in my DNA, at the core of my identity?

When I walk through the forest am I bridging

gaps in my soul, traveling neural pathways

ancient as earth itself?

What, finally, will I know of myself

when I come to the end of knowing?

Thursday, June 2, 2022


Each time a story ends

There is such a long pause before another begins.

                                                          --Robert Bly, from “Looking at the Stars”


Those pauses seem interminable, even if only days:

the pause between test and result,

diagnosis and treatment plan, breach of trust

and forgiveness, death and resurrection.

Though the new story may truly start

at the end of the old, there is a time,

disorienting, when one knows not what to do,

when you are frozen in limbo,

when no path is visible. The shock

of ending holds us fast, and though painful,

it is good to be held, to be kept from

stumbling any deeper into the chasm

between stories. The pause has its own story.