Tara Lemieux, Buddhist Author, Spiritual Mentor…Friend.
There is
just this.
A quiet
motionlessness;
effortless in
its capacity –
to find, to heal.
To bring us
home
to that one
true source;
limited only by
the aperture of
perspective.
Find it and
you shall
finally know
your peace.
In this life,
there is always
another way;
though, very few
second chances
to embrace
this life
as you always
dreamed
but never once
dared.
In peace, my sweet friends,
Namaste ❣
She wore diamonds in a trail against her neck; glistening with the radiance and promise of new day.
Cascades of gratitude, wrapped within the fortitude of morning.
We bend our will with joyous anticipation; a beacon of hope through the promise of resilience.
This ‘sheath that holds our soul’ in the end, reveals our purpose.
In peace, my loves…
Namaste ❤️
Shall I know you as I do the rain; a tempered softness within the sweet cascades?
Bounded only to this fleeting impermanence; of life, of love, of ‘ever after.’
To which the will, at mind’s behest; though paling through this endlessness.
Of inner voice strengthened through tempoed pace; and will restored through milky grey.
Shall I know you as I do the rain; as glory shining brighter than any praise might claim.
In peace, my loves…
Namaste ❤️
There’s a place not far from here; I know it well.
Where stillness lay upon a field of softened green, and the morning light ushers a peace within.
High atop the Red Maple, a songbird swoons; “look at the day, look at the day!” While below, the yellow orb spider toils delicately at her loom.
There’s a place not far from here; I know it well.
Where crystalline stream wraps the aimlessness of ‘root’, and the speckled fawn dare not challenge this fleeting grace.
Beyond the hills, a heron rests; captivated by the boundlessness of evergreen cast in mirrored ‘glass’.
Though the body may tire through wearied pace, rest assured…
The restless heart shall know its place.
In peace…
Namaste ❤️
Each day we’re presented an invitation; a joy, a blessing, a cherished introspection.
Fleeting glimpses, at best – yes; though serving our connection to this much greater whole.
In this moment we are infinite beings; limited only by our willingness to transcend.
We are grace, personified; shifting, glimmering cascades of the Divine’s inner light.
And, we are a manifestation of its eternal glory.
In peace…
Namaste ❤️
My darlings, this morning a passage from one of my favorite poets, Ellen Bass – a reminder to hold faith even in the most uncertain of times.
Based upon the messages received as of late, I felt it worthwhile to share.
To love life, indeed – even in those desperately delicate moments when our way forward seems improbable, at best.
And ours is to find enough to believe.
Namaste ❤️
“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 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.”
~ Ellen Bass
My darlings, I wanted to share a poem today – one of my favorites, in fact. For some reason, it resonates with me today – speaking to that nearly indiscernible voice within, the one that gets us through.
I do hope you enjoy this lovely piece.
Much love, and Namaste ~
Solar Eclipse
Each morning
I wake invisible.I make a needle
from a porcupine quill,
sew feet to legs,
lift spine onto my thighs.I put on my rib and collarbone.
I pin an ear to my head,
hear the waxwing’s yellow cry.
I open my mouth for purple berries,
stick on periwinkle eyes.I almost know what it is to be seen.
My throat enlarges from anger.
I make a hand to hold my pain.My heart a hole the size of the sun’s eclipse.
I push through the dark circle’s
tattered edge of light.All day I struggle with one hair after another
until the moon moves from the face of the sun
and there is a strange light
as though from a kerosene lamp in a cabin.I put on a dress,
a shawl over my shoulders.My threads knotted and scissors gleaming.
Now I know I am seen.
I have a shadow.I extend my arms,
dance and chant in the sun’s new light.I put a hat and coat on my shadow,
another larger dress.
I put on more shawls and blouses and underskirts
until even the shadow has substance.– by Diane Glancy
Our True Heritage
The cosmos is filled with precious gems.
I want to offer a handful of them to you this morning.
Each moment you are alive is a gem,
shining through and containing earth and sky,
water and clouds.
It *needs* you to breathe gently
for the miracles to be displayed.
Suddenly you hear the birds singing,
the pines chanting,
see the flowers blooming,
the blue sky,
the white clouds,
the smile and the marvelous look
of your beloved.
You, the richest person on Earth,
who have been going around begging for a living,
stop being the destitute child.
Come back and claim your heritage.
We should enjoy our happiness
and offer it to everyone.
Cherish this very moment.
Let go of the stream of distress
and embrace life fully in your arms.
– Thich Nhat Hanh
This precious moment needs you, my loves – to bear witness, to the wonderment of being.
You are a brilliant source of light, my darlings, shining through this seemingly impenetrable darkness…to find your way ‘home’, once again…
And share, your richness with this world.
One of my most favorite passages from poet, Mary Oliver – whose words capture so brilliantly the beauty of this natural world.
Whether it’s the sweetness of a hummingbird pausing just a moment longer, or the thrilling contrast of sunflowers against the far off black oaks…her imagery has the power to captivate, and steal even the most hardened heart away.
“Most mornings I’m up to see the sun, and that rising of the light moves me very much, and I’m used to thinking and feeling in words, so it sort of just happens. I think one thing is that prayer has become more useful, interesting, fruitful, and … almost involuntary in my life,” she says. “And when I talk about prayer, I mean really … what Rumi says in that wonderful line, ‘there are hundreds of ways to kneel and kiss the ground.'”
I, too, and moved by the morning light. And, like her, my spirit has been immeasurably moved by these instances where the earth becomes the divine.
My dears, when we are able to observe deeply in this way – our connection to this world becomes unbreakable.
It’s been said that poet Mary Oliver “stands quite comfortably on the margins of things, on the line between earth and sky, the thin membrane that separates human from what we loosely call animal.”
And, I, could think of no better tribute.
My dears, on this day – I invite you to share in the love of her words.
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“Eat bread and understand comfort.
Drink water, and understand delight.
Visit the garden where the scarlet trumpets
are opening their bodies for the hummingbirds
who are drinking the sweetness, who are
thrillingly gluttonous.
For one thing leads to another.
Soon you will notice how stones shine underfoot.
Eventually tides will be the only calendar you believe in.
And you will hear the air itself, like a beloved, whisper
Oh let me, for a while longer, enter the two
Beautiful bodies of your lungs…
The witchery of living
is my whole conversation
with you, my darlings.
All I can tell you is what I know.
Look, and look again.
This world is not just a little thrill for your eyes.
It’s more than bones.
It’s more than the delicate wrist with its personal pulse.
It’s more than the beating of a single heart.
It’s praising.
It’s giving until the giving feels like receiving.
You have a life–just imagine that!
You have this day, and maybe another, and maybe
still another…
We do one thing or another; we stay the same, or we
change.
Congratulations, if
you have changed.
Let me ask you this.
Do you also think that beauty exists for some
fabulous reason?
And, if you have not been enchanted by this adventure–
your life–
what would do for you?
What I loved in the beginning, I think, was mostly myself.
Never mind that I had to, since somebody had to.
That was many years ago.
Since then I have gone out from my confinements,
though with difficulty.
I mean the ones that thought to rule my heart.
I cast them out; I put them on the mush pile.
They will be nourishment somehow (everything is nourishment
somehow or another).
And I have become the child of the clouds, and of hope.
I have become the friend of the enemy, whoever that is.
I have become older and, cherishing what I have learned,
I have become younger.
And what do I risk to tell you this, which is all I know?
Love yourself. Then forget it. Then, love the world. ”
― Mary Oliver, Evidence: Poems
[blockquote source=”Jimmy Stewart”]”After [Beau] died there were a lot of nights when I was certain that I could feel him get into bed beside me and I would reach out and pat his head. The feeling was so real that I wrote a poem about it and how much it hurt to realize that he wasn’t going to be there any more.’”[/blockquote]
When legendary film actor Jimmy Stewart visited Johnny Carson on the set of The Tonight Show, he shared with him one of his many other loves.That is, his love of poetry….and, more so, of a little dog named “Beau.”
At first, the audience giggled with delight – but it had a much different effect towards the end.
It’s impossible to put into words that which happened next – becoming one of the most touching tributes between a man and his beloved dog.
I’ll Never Forget a Dog Named Beau
by Jimmy Stewart
He never came to me when I would call
Unless I had a tennis ball,
Or he felt like it,
But mostly he didn’t come at all.
When he was young
He never learned to heel
Or sit or stay,
He did things his way.
Discipline was not his bag
But when you were with him things sure didn’t drag.
He’d dig up a rosebush just to spite me,
And when I’d grab him, he’d turn and bite me.
He bit lots of folks from day to day,
The delivery boy was his favorite prey.
The gas man wouldn’t read our meter,
He said we owned a real man-eater.
He set the house on fire
But the story’s long to tell.
Suffice it to say that he survived
And the house survived as well.
On the evening walks, and Gloria took him,
He was always first out the door.
The Old One and I brought up the rear
Because our bones were sore.
He would charge up the street with Mom hanging on,
What a beautiful pair they were!
And if it was still light and the tourists were out,
They created a bit of a stir.
But every once in a while, he would stop in his tracks
And with a frown on his face look around.
It was just to make sure that the Old One was there
And would follow him where he was bound.
We are early-to-bedders at our house — I guess I’m the first to retire.
And as I’d leave the room he’d look at me
And get up from his place by the fire.
He knew where the tennis balls were upstairs,
And I’d give him one for a while.
He would push it under the bed with his nose
And I’d fish it out with a smile.
And before very long He’d tire of the ball
And be asleep in his corner In no time at all.
And there were nights when I’d feel him Climb upon our bed
And lie between us,
And I’d pat his head.
And there were nights when I’d feel this stare
And I’d wake up and he’d be sitting there
And I reach out my hand and stroke his hair.
And sometimes I’d feel him sigh and I think I know the reason why.
He would wake up at night
And he would have this fear
Of the dark, of life, of lots of things,
And he’d be glad to have me near.
And now he’s dead.
And there are nights when I think I feel him
Climb upon our bed and lie between us,
And I pat his head.
And there are nights when I think I feel that stare
And I reach out my hand to stroke his hair,
But he’s not there.
Oh, how I wish that wasn’t so,
I’ll always love a dog named Beau.