Let's Think about It

It's better (best, even)

that I not think.

For too long I've allowed the cerebral

to guide me,

and the result has been

nothing to write home about.

No, from here on

(and I wonder how long that "on" will be)

it'll be me and the heart,

the feeling,

the sensing.

Oh, I might need to filter

the occasional event through the brain,

but my clear intention is to keep the brain

out of it.

Once I drop the thinking

there'll be a lot of sinking

into the softness of what can be soft;

into the pain of what is and cannot be otherwise;

into the pure joy of tiny sights and scenes;

into the wonders that arise from

accepting radical benevolence as a watchword.

 

 

 

Copyright © 2022 Ann Tudor
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Envy

Despite long years of being aware of it,

I still tend to personalized and compare,

thereby

(I have to admit this)

diminishing the impact of the original event.

 

For example,

Mary Oliver's wren in the privet

singing his prayer with enthusiasm

awakens my envy.

I don't have a privet hedge,

let alone one that's home to a singing wren.

I don't walk out the door of a morning

notebook in hand

to record the early beauties of a day—

because eight months of the year

it's too friggin' frigid to go out.

 

I see how this envy

corrodes my soul

and diminishes the joy

that I could otherwise take

from hearing about

the heart-stopping song

of a wren.

 

 

Copyright © 2022 Ann Tudor
Musings blog: http://www.scenesfromthejourney.blogspot.com

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Yearning

Sometimes I think we humans yearn to the exclusion of all else. Instead of living, we yearn for the next thing. Instead of noticing, or resting, or dwelling in the embers of our sometimes fiery hearts, we yearn. We could imagine worlds of pleasure made from the very stones beneath our trudging feet. But no. We yearn for what we don't have. Can't have, even, because . . . because life.

 

To yearn is not a sin or a fault. But to the extent that such yearning prohibits us from being in our life, it is a waste.

 

 

 

Copyright © 2022 Ann Tudor
Musings blog: http://www.scenesfromthejourney.blogspot.com

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Epiphanies

Anything, any time, any place can be the stuff of epiphanies. It's limiting to think that an epiphany will come to you only while you are meditating. The whole point of an epiphany is that it comes unexpectedly.

 

I guess you can prepare for one. Writers are often advised to seat themselves at the desk for, say, two hours every day, whether or not they find something to write about during those hours. The idea is that they will be "ready" when the Muse comes. They will have prepared themselves, paid the dues; and they will eventually be rewarded.

 

Epiphanies may be the same. It is probably true that an epiphany can come to you while you wash the dishes or hang out the clothes. But one is more likely to arrive if you have regularly and assiduously primed the pump by meditating or praying or otherwise making yourself available to the workings of Spirit (or God or Grandmother Earth).

 

I live for epiphanies. I am greedy for them beyond belief. More intense than a sugar addict's yearning for a Snickers bar is my insatiable desire for a transcendent moment. And like any addict, I do not find my appetite sated when I experience such a moment. On the contrary. Once I know it can happen (it happened recently, in fact) then I immediately crave another hit. It's a lucky thing that I never tried drugs, because I can't answer for how I would have dealt with my desire.

 

No, I'm lucky that my jones is for epiphanies. I can watch and wait for the next even while reliving the previous ones. The mind's eye is useful for remembering. And although memory isn't always reliable in my case, even lost memories will eventually resurface.

 

 

Copyright © 2022 Ann Tudor
usings blog: http://www.scenesfromthejourney.blogspot.com

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