Where the Spirit Is
Sometimes I feel I could live to be a very old man. Sometimes I feel I already have. Sometimes I feel the end is near, as it always has been. Sometimes I feel quite young, a boy laughing where the spirit is. . [ 1647 ]
Sometimes I feel I could live to be a very old man. Sometimes I feel I already have. Sometimes I feel the end is near, as it always has been. Sometimes I feel quite young, a boy laughing where the spirit is. . [ 1647 ]
I don’t mind being simple. The earth is simple. Crumble me. Turn me with a shovel. See me full of worms and roots. . [ 1644 ]
Leaves crisp where they’ve fallen, grass growing through. Winter’s a love story. We are too. . [ 1643 ]
So perfect, so still — did you die, little bird, or were you cured by the cold? . [ 1636 ]
My heartbeat, the wind in the trees, the sounds of the squirrels and birds, the sigh of traffic on Interstate 5, the ringing in my ears, the kettle on to boil, the flushing of the toilet, voices in the street — these, along with every whisper within and beyond, are the music of my life. They’re my silence, too. How easily, effortlessly, they will end. . [ 1634 ]
On one hand, there’s discomfort, which tells me something’s wrong, or isn’t fully healed. On the other, there’s fear the discomfort will grow worse, or won’t end. But fear is a self-fulfilling prophecy. What I fear is intensified and prolonged by my fear. If I fear long enough, I will fear until my death. And if my fear is the fear of death, I will die fearing that. In this […]
this life’s a child’s balloon / you never know / when she’ll let go . [ 1619 ]
Letting go the precious image of oneself — the habit, the mask, the careworn cloak — isn’t this the fear of death? And if it is, why not let go now and be completely free, like the wind that blows and snow that falls? In life and deed — why not be a wise old child? . [ 1609 ]
Ask the body — Is there a difference between the fear of pain, the fear of rejection, the fear of poverty, the fear of loss, the fear of death? . [ 1597 ]
the wind scours the eaves and here’s the pipe my uncle smoked before he was killed in the war . [ 1551 ]