On the day when
the weight deadens
on your shoulders
and you stumble,
may the clay dance
to balance you.
And when your eyes
freeze behind
the grey window
and the ghost of loss
gets in to you,
may a flock of colours,
indigo, red, green,
and azure blue
come to awaken in you
a meadow of delight.
When the canvas frays
in the currach of thought
and a stain of ocean
blackens beneath you,
may there come across the waters
a path of yellow moonlight
to bring you safely home.
May the nourishment of the earth be yours,
may the clarity of light be yours,
may the fluency of the ocean be yours,
may the protection of the ancestors be yours.
And so may a slow
wind work these words
of love around you,
an invisible cloak
to mind your life.
© John O'Donohue. All rights reserved
(from Echoes of Memory)
The Irish poet, priest and philosopher John O'Donohue passed away several years ago, but his benediction poem is perfect for St. Patrick's Day with its notions of homecoming, moonlight, calm waters and comfort.
On the day when
the weight deadens
on your shoulders
and you stumble,
may the clay dance
to balance you.
And when your eyes
freeze behind
the grey window
and the ghost of loss
gets in to you,
may a flock of colours,
indigo, red, green,
and azure blue
come to awaken in you
a meadow of delight.
When the canvas frays
in the currach of thought
and a stain of ocean
blackens beneath you,
may there come across the waters
a path of yellow moonlight
to bring you safely home.
May the nourishment of the earth be yours,
may the clarity of light be yours,
may the fluency of the ocean be yours,
may the protection of the ancestors be yours.
And so may a slow
wind work these words
of love around you,
an invisible cloak
to mind your life.
© John O'Donohue. All rights reserved
(from Echoes of Memory)
The Irish poet, priest and philosopher John O'Donohue passed away twelve years ago, but his poetic benediction is perfect for St. Patrick's Day with its notions of homecoming, moonlight, calm waters and comfort. The words are particularly comforting this year, so soon after the passing of my soulmate.
On the day when
the weight deadens
on your shoulders
and you stumble,
may the clay dance
to balance you.
And when your eyes
freeze behind
the grey window
and the ghost of loss
gets in to you,
may a flock of colours,
indigo, red, green,
and azure blue
come to awaken in you
a meadow of delight.
When the canvas frays
in the currach of thought
and a stain of ocean
blackens beneath you,
may there come across the waters
a path of yellow moonlight
to bring you safely home.
May the nourishment of the earth be yours,
may the clarity of light be yours,
may the fluency of the ocean be yours,
may the protection of the ancestors be yours.
And so may a slow
wind work these words
of love around you,
an invisible cloak
to mind your life.
© John O'Donohue. All rights reserved
(from Echoes of Memory)
It has been several years since John O'Donohue passed away, but his benediction is perfect for this week with its notions of homecoming, moonlight, calm waters and comfort.
On the day when
the weight deadens
on your shoulders
and you stumble,
may the clay dance
to balance you.
And when your eyes
freeze behind
the grey window
and the ghost of loss
gets in to you,
may a flock of colours,
indigo, red, green,
and azure blue
come to awaken in you
a meadow of delight.
When the canvas frays
in the currach of thought
and a stain of ocean
blackens beneath you,
may there come across the waters
a path of yellow moonlight
to bring you safely home.
May the nourishment of the earth be yours,
may the clarity of light be yours,
may the fluency of the ocean be yours,
may the protection of the ancestors be yours.
And so may a slow
wind work these words
of love around you,
an invisible cloak
to mind your life.
© John O'Donohue. All rights reserved
(from Echoes of Memory)
It has been several years since John O'Donohue passed away, but his benediction is perfect for St. Patrick's Day with its notions of homecoming, moonlight, calm waters and comfort. There is a link to John's online presence here. Happy St.Patrick's Day. Sláinte mhaith, good health to you and yours.
Wishing you abundance, cheer and rude good health in this shiny new year, many a fragrant beaker (or a noggin or a dram) too.
May every cup you hold this year have a little light in its depths. May there be fine adventures on the road ahead. May all good things come to you in 2017.
On the first Sunday in November, time will dance backward an hour in the little blue house in the village, and Daylight Saving Time will wave goodbye until next year. This week marks eleven years of blogging, eleven straight years of logging on here in the morning, posting an image or two (sometimes three) and perhaps muttering along for a few paragraphs. There are still moments when I can't believe I had the audacity to set this e-journal up in the first place, let alone do the blogging thing faithfully for eleven years in a row.
These are my my vägmärken (road marks), my morning or artist pages, and they will probably remain pretty much as they are in the coming year. There may be a bit of font and banner tinkering now and again, but that is as far as it goes. I don't foresee any significant changes to this place, and I expect life will simply go on as it has been doing so far.
We will continue to meander along at our own pace, watching morning fogs enfold the eastern Ontario highlands and oak leaves rain like honey in the autumn woods, feast our eyes on skies alight with winter stars, on the sun going down like a ball of fire over Dalhousie Lake at the trailing edge of the year. This year's serious health "stuff" and my present aggressive chemo therapy notwithstanding, it's grand to be here and all wrapped up in what we call simply, "the Great Round". Some days are more difficult than others, but every morning, the small adventures of our journeying will continue to make their way here and get spilled out on the computer screen with a bad photo and a whole rucksack of wonder. The incandescent Mary Oliver says it best:
The years to come – this is a promise –
will grant you ample time
to try the difficult steps in the empire of thought
where you seek for the shining proofs you think you must have.
But nothing you ever understand will be sweeter, or more binding,
than this deep affinity between your eyes and the world.
(excerpt from Terns)
In another poem, she wrote that sometimes one needs only to stand wherever she is to be blessed, something I try to remember. Thank you for your kind thoughts and healing energies, for your cards and letters, for journeying along with me this year. You are treasured more than you can ever know.
