[Image: “Light filling the gap,” by Rodrigo Filgueira; found it on Flickr, naturally, and used here under a Creative Commons license (thank you!). I like the shape of this image — the horizontal extreme — and the extravagant use of darkness. But maybe my favorite thing, oddly, is the clock ticking away in the shadows.]
From whiskey river (italicized portion):
Daddy Longlegs
Here, on fine long legs springy as steel,
a life rides, sealed in a small brown pill
that skims along over the basement floor
wrapped up in a simple obsession.
Eight legs reach out like the master ribs
of a web in which some thought is caught
dead center in its own small world,
a thought so far from the touch of things
that we can only guess at it. If mine,
it would be the secret dream
of walking alone across the floor of my life
with an easy grace, and with love enough
to live on at the center of myself.
(Ted Kooser [source])
…and:
We walk around awash in unseen worlds and forces. Sound waves, electromagnetic waves, the subatomic universe, the human aura, the famous quantum soup. All of these are examples of real things that we don’t see. Not only do they exist, they impact our lives continuously, they influence us, they affect us all the time.
Compassion too is real, it’s a solid physical thing, as powerful as gravity, and it affects outcome, turns one thing into another. Compassion, and the lack of compassion, affect us all the time. The fear we feel in the middle of the night can be traced to a lack of this “force.”
When there isn’t enough compassion being generated (either for ourselves as individuals or in the world in general), we become unbalanced; we suffer from it as we would from a lack of fresh air and clean water. It is not an incidental element, it is mandatory. We will not survive without it.
(Patricia Anderson [source])
Not from whiskey river:
When, in the daytime, I sit on my meditation bench (or, on worse days, lie on the rug) and allow all my “selfing” to thin out, I find I don’t have to dig up energy in order to manufacture a feeling of care. Once I simply drop the belief that I am a good judge of what is important (“Obviously, my thoughts are important, and the sound of traffic is not”), the intimacy of hearing—really hearing—the sounds of wheels on the road, seeing the sun on the wooden floor, and feeling my breath come and go call me out of my small self. Offering that pure and open attention feels a little bit like giving a gift. Perhaps attention is ultimately the only thing we can give.
(Julie Nelson [source])
…and:
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I’m a tranquilizer.
I’m effective at home.
I work in the office.
I can take exams
on the witness stand.
I mend broken cups with care.
All you have to do is take me,
let me melt beneath your tongue,
just gulp me
with a glass of water.I know how to handle misfortune,
how to take bad news.
I can minimize injustice,
lighten up God’s absence,
or pick the widow’s veil that suits your face.
What are you waiting for—
have faith in my chemical compassion.You’re still a young man/woman.
It’s not too late to learn how to unwind.
Who said
you have to take it on the chin?Let me have your abyss.
I’ll cushion it with sleep.
You’ll thank me for giving you
four paws to fall on.Sell me your soul.
There are no other takers.There is no other devil anymore.
(Wislawa Szymborska [source])
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