Friends,
I hope you’re doing well.
I’ve been thinking lately about the chaos of the world, the violence in places like Gaza and Ukraine and Pakistan and India. I’ve been thinking about the fear we carry here in America in the face of all that is drastically changing in our systems.
These practices are for our spiritual nourishment, yes. But they are not done in a vacuum; we write to ourselves and also to the world. We enter deeply into our stories as we enter into the stories of others. I have to remind myself of this often, and I’m reminding you here, too.
Write poetry about injustice, hate, oppression. Write poetry about moving water and the land. Write about all of it, and bring it together as your sacred human experience.
Today it might be nice to do a spiritual practice alongside your poem.
If you’ve got the space and time, set a ten to fifteen minute timer and listen to or watch this YouTube video of a stream. Think about what senses are activated by this exploration of a stream, what you feel in your body, your heart, your soul.
What does a stream speak to you?
And how does a stream tend to us in chaotic times?
A stream is not a river. It is not an ocean. It won’t overtake you, overpower you. It will simply wash your feet.
I dipped my toes in first, knowing that once immersed there was no going back, no dryness that could keep me from this absolutely perfect moment, this ankle-deep baptism, this tender reminder that all I need to do is stop and surrender to the steadily flowing stream every once in a while, simply to find myself again in its ancient and powerful embrace.
The hike was long
A wrong turn
Turned into hours
Until we turned on each other.
Went our own directions
I followed the ragged trail
Of switchbacks around
The side of the mountain.
Then heard the sound
I first mistook for wind in the canopy
Of the adjoining forest
Until it drew closer
And around the next bend
A stream trickled down the hillside
Over pebbles and rocks
Around moss-covered boulders
And 100-year tree trunks
Undaunted by centuries of elements
It seemed, as though it was there
All along.
I stopped, knelt down,
Rested my palm
On a rock, smoothed
By the flow of water, of time
Felt the coolness wash over me
Scooped the water into my hands
Drew the water to my face
And I sat
Allowing the full weight of me
To stop, to relax
Into the soft earth
Absorb the sound of infinity,
And surrender to the divine mystery
Of the journey ahead.
The stream
On and on it goes
Each day
It keeps on journeying
Bubbling along
Over and around rocks and stones
It keeps flowing.
From source,
To river,
On out to sea.
It keeps going
On its journey.
Every day,
Every night,
Always moving,
Never stopping.
I wonder if it ever gets tired?
It keeps going
I wonder about the unseen force
That keeps it moving-
On its journey-
Day after day.