Beauty has the power to heal us.
The divine beauty of nature can heal us.
Beauty of a flower,
of moonlight over the ocean,
of the colors of autumn.
As I walk through this broken world,
I carry the shattered pieces of my heart
and they become like a constellation within,
lighting my path forward
to see beauty everywhere.
In every face,
Every flower,
Every tree,
Every rock.
Every step on this Earth is taken in a sacred place.
When the darkness of despair
finally gives way
to that small sliver of light,
I pull my eyes upward
toward the source of the light
And inward
to my heart,
knowing the two are connected.
I grab the edge of the light
and I hold tight
And let it bring me back to this indelible world.
Click for the Video of The Thing Is by Ellen Bass
BY ELLEN BASS
to love life, to love it even
when you have no stomach for it
and everything you’ve held dear
crumbles like burnt paper in your hands,
your throat filled with the silt of it.
When grief sits with you, its tropical heat
thickening the air, heavy as water
more fit for gills than lungs;
when grief weights you down like your own flesh
only more of it, an obesity of grief,
you think, How can a body withstand this?
Then you hold life like a face
between your palms, a plain face,
no charming smile, no violet eyes,
and you say, yes, I will take you
I will love you, again.
I have rediscovered Haiku poetry, a Japanese form of short poetry. In the English language, Haiku is written according to the number of syllables: Three lines with 17 syllables. 5-7-5. Japanese does not have syllables. So, Haiku is written in what are durational sound units, sounds of equal duration. In English, syllables can be of differing duration.
I think I love Haiku so much for a couple of reasons. First, because of my analytical side. The counting of syllables and the effort it takes to fit a moment of life into 17 syllables is very satisfying to this woman whose favorite class in school (way back when) was math. Many poets of Haiku in English think of this 17-syllable rule as a suggestion, and my older self is just fine with coloring outside the lines.
Second, Haiku helps me to reel in my errant thoughts and focus them like a light beam onto one moment, one object, a simple thing. This is a type of meditation for me. It has helped me, especially during these uncertain times.
Noticing the smallest of things and being grateful for them, however fleeting, is what I attempt to hold in my hands as I walk through life now.
Here are a few Haiku poems focusing on grief and gratitude. I hope you find comfort in them.
A Japanese Poem Translated by Takashi Kodaira and Alfred H. Marks
At the deepest point
of grief, somebody nearby
breaks a withered branch
by Kobayashi Issa (1763-1828)
In a world
Of grief and pain,
Flowers bloom –
Even then.
By Rev. Deb Vaughn
Just a single leaf…
One of many in autumn
A tree remembers
By Emily Thiroux Threatt
Remembering joy
Gazing into his brown eyes
We laughed together
by Hannah Spencer
“Not Fair”
How cruel my heart
is!… To persist in beating
although you’re gone…
by Dina Televitskaya
“Smile”
It has flown to me.
And it has given me grief.
It was your sad smile.
by P.S. AWTRY
“Not As Strong As She Seems”
formidable dam
a breach in the night
dread torrent of tears
by Paula Goldsmith
“Squirrel Time”
My cute furry friend
Eating nuts until the end
Chasing all your friends
Unknown
Morning fog rolls in
Not as dark as yesterday
Or the day before
By Diane Yoza
My white coffee cup
So full of aroma
Sips to warm my heart
by David Byrne
“Beauty”
Ah, beauty must die
Impermanent flower
Showing gratitude
by Romeo Naces
“Grateful Sigh”
…soil, sky and sea sigh
gratitude from low and high
we, us, you and I…
by Line Gauthier
“Summer Whispers”
summer whispers
in the garden of my life
~ chants of gratitude
by Dietra Reid
“Appreciation of Colors”
shades enlightened light
gratitude to primary
secondary thanks
by Suzy @ suzysomedaysomewhere.blogspot.com
Changing seasons drift
A twisting kaleidoscope;
Life, a Thankful gift
What do I know of how to forge a path forward as the world is once again swept away in the wave of war? What do I know of the significance of my life, a life, anyone’s life during these times?
One man’s dark dream can unleash such suffering onto the world that his name will live in infamy.
Another man’s courage can inspire millions and change the course of history. Both names are written forever in the scarred and sacred journey of humanity.
It is easy to see the influence of lives such as these on our planet.
But what of the rest of us?
Those of us who live quietly? Who will never be globally influential or famous?
What can we do in times such as these?
What is there for us to do?
What do I know of such things?
I know of the beauty of the butterfly on the wind.
I know its life is short and quiet. I know its life is essential to our world.
I know the spiritual teachers of the past and present speak of the imperativeness of our connection to Spirit.
Our own spirit and the Great Spirit, God, Allah, Gaia, whatever name one chooses.
As the past week has sent me into the depths of despair for the suffering that has been unleashed onto the Ukrainians, people I have never met, I sit in the embers of my hopelessness and try to hold tight to that which connects me to Spirit. I pray for mercy and beauty and humanity. I pray that those lost in the darkness of their own soul will find the string that connects them to love and the Divine. I pray that they hold tight to that string. And one by one, we can weave together a new path for humanity and all life on Earth. Then perhaps there will be no more war.
I leave you with this poem by Parker Palmer. Hold tight to your string.
The Grace Tree 