The Sun's only day

Photo by Dawid Zawiła on Unsplash

The Navajo teach their children that every morning when the sun comes up, it's a brand-new sun. It's born each morning, it lives for the duration of one day, and in the evening it passes on, never to return again. 

As soon as the children are old enough to understand, the adults take them out at dawn and they say, 'The sun has only one day. You must live this day in a good way, so that the sun won't have wasted precious time.' 

Acknowledging the preciousness of each day is a good way to live, a good way to reconnect with our basic joy.

~ Pema Chödrön,

The Wisdom of No Escape and the Path of Loving Kindness

Coping

Photo: a boy and his puddle by michel_v

It has rained for five days
running the world is
a round puddle
of sunless water
where small islands
are only beginning
to cope
a young boy
in my garden
is bailing out water
from his flower patch
when I ask him why
he tells me
young seeds that have not seen sun
forget
and drown easily.

~ Audre Lorde

Sun-corner

Source: Unknown/Favim

At home there's a sun-corner
where spring quietly stirs.
Dripping all day long.
Clear drops from the snow-rim,
they reflect both good and bad
in their brief fall, and are shattered.
The sun is a hot cataract.

In that sun-corner,
where you were born -
it's those drops that should
mirror you, and wet your lips,
pure from the snow-rim and
right into your heart.

It's in that faint smell of
spring moisture you should fall asleep.
That call you should heed.
There, everything would feel right.

It's all moving downhill.
Everything's oozing toward a distant goal,
on its way to the sea.
An unknown sea inside a dream.
All of spring's sorrow is heading there.
All thoughts spiral there
and then disappear.

Your childhood sun-corner is where
you are when the call sounds.

~ Tarjei Vesaas

Sun-corner

Source: Unknown/Favim

At home there's a sun-corner
where spring quietly stirs.
Dripping all day long.
Clear drops from the snow-rim,
they reflect both good and bad
in their brief fall, and are shattered.
The sun is a hot cataract.

In that sun-corner,
where you were born -
it's those drops that should
mirror you, and wet your lips,
pure from the snow-rim and
right into your heart.

It's in that faint smell of
spring moisture you should fall asleep.
That call you should heed.
There, everything would feel right.

It's all moving downhill.
Everything's oozing toward a distant goal,
on its way to the sea.
An unknown sea inside a dream.
All of spring's sorrow is heading there.
All thoughts spiral there
and then disappear.

Your childhood sun-corner is where
you are when the call sounds.

~ Tarjei Vesaas

Unchurched

Source: KKK @ PiCSHiP.com/favim.com

It’s Earth that breathes around us,
so perilous in its comforts,
so perfect in impermanence.

Autumnal sun streams through
these yellow maple leaves
translucent as stained glass.

The ground beneath my feet
is strewn with pine cones, acorns.
The random pattern of continuance.

Etched columns of pine and oak.
Incense of resin and fungi.
Great glacial stones for altars.

High winds and choirs of
minor breezes, the whispering hush.
It is the Sabbath. It is enough.

~ Dolores Stewart

Unchurched

Source: KKK @ PiCSHiP.com/favim.com

It’s Earth that breathes around us,
so perilous in its comforts,
so perfect in impermanence.

Autumnal sun streams through
these yellow maple leaves
translucent as stained glass.

The ground beneath my feet
is strewn with pine cones, acorns.
The random pattern of continuance.

Etched columns of pine and oak.
Incense of resin and fungi.
Great glacial stones for altars.

High winds and choirs of
minor breezes, the whispering hush.
It is the Sabbath. It is enough.

~ Dolores Stewart

Directions

Source: xailurophilia.tumblr.com

The best time is late afternoon
when the sun strobes through
the columns of trees as you are hiking up,
and when you find an agreeable rock
to sit on, you will be able to see
the light pouring down into the woods
and breaking into the shapes and tones
of things and you will hear nothing
but a sprig of birdsong or the leafy
falling of a cone or nut through the trees,
and if this is your day you might even
spot a hare or feel the wing-beats of geese
driving overhead toward some destination.

But it is hard to speak of these things
how the voices of light enter the body
and begin to recite their stories
how the earth holds us painfully against
its breast made of humus and brambles
how we who will soon be gone regard
the entities that continue to return
greener than ever, spring water flowing
through a meadow and the shadows of clouds
passing over the hills and the ground
where we stand in the tremble of thought
taking the vast outside into ourselves.

~ Billy Collins

Directions

Source: xailurophilia.tumblr.com

The best time is late afternoon
when the sun strobes through
the columns of trees as you are hiking up,
and when you find an agreeable rock
to sit on, you will be able to see
the light pouring down into the woods
and breaking into the shapes and tones
of things and you will hear nothing
but a sprig of birdsong or the leafy
falling of a cone or nut through the trees,
and if this is your day you might even
spot a hare or feel the wing-beats of geese
driving overhead toward some destination.

But it is hard to speak of these things
how the voices of light enter the body
and begin to recite their stories
how the earth holds us painfully against
its breast made of humus and brambles
how we who will soon be gone regard
the entities that continue to return
greener than ever, spring water flowing
through a meadow and the shadows of clouds
passing over the hills and the ground
where we stand in the tremble of thought
taking the vast outside into ourselves.

~ Billy Collins

Coal

Pic: Audre Lorde

I
is the total black, being spoken
from the earth’s inside.
There are many kinds of open
how a diamond comes into a knot of flame
how sound comes into a words, coloured
by who pays what for speaking.

Some words are open like a diamond
on glass windows
singing out within the crash of sun
Then there are words like stapled wagers
in a perforated book—buy and sign and tear apart—
and come whatever will all chances
the stub remains
an ill-pulled tooth with a ragged edge.
Some words live in my throat
breeding like adders. Other know sun
seeking like gypsies over my tongue
to explode through my lips
like young sparrows bursting from shell.
Some words
bedevil me

Love is word, another kind of open.
As the diamond comes into a knot of flame
I am Black because I come from the earth’s inside
Now take my word for jewel in the open light.

~ Audre Lorde

Coal

Pic: Audre Lorde

I
is the total black, being spoken
from the earth’s inside.
There are many kinds of open
how a diamond comes into a knot of flame
how sound comes into a words, coloured
by who pays what for speaking.

Some words are open like a diamond
on glass windows
singing out within the crash of sun
Then there are words like stapled wagers
in a perforated book—buy and sign and tear apart—
and come whatever will all chances
the stub remains
an ill-pulled tooth with a ragged edge.
Some words live in my throat
breeding like adders. Other know sun
seeking like gypsies over my tongue
to explode through my lips
like young sparrows bursting from shell.
Some words
bedevil me

Love is word, another kind of open.
As the diamond comes into a knot of flame
I am Black because I come from the earth’s inside
Now take my word for jewel in the open light.

~ Audre Lorde

Tea Ceremony

Tea Ceremony by ~Esmira on deviantART

To this cup, I pay homage.
To the designer of this cup,
to the workers who made this cup,
who mined the ores, I pay homage.
To the workers who dug the clay,
ground the glazes, the farmers
who fed those workers I pay homage.
To the great cycles which give us
clean air, clear water, to all living things,
all the earth, I pay homage.

To this tea, I pay homage.
To the growth in the bud,
to the cells exchanging
air, water and light, I pay homage.
to the workers who grew, tended,
picked the tea, who packed, transported,
distributed the tea, I pay homage.
To the great cycles which give us
clean air, clear water, to all living things,
all the earth, I pay homage.

To this water, I pay homage.
To the rain which falls,
to the rivers, the dams,
the builders and plumbers, I pay homage.
To the oceans and the sun,
the great trade winds
and the world’s turning, I pay homage.
To all the cycles which bring us
clean air, clear water, to all living things,
all the earth, I pay homage.

~ Michael Cope

Tea Ceremony

Tea Ceremony by ~Esmira on deviantART

To this cup, I pay homage.
To the designer of this cup,
to the workers who made this cup,
who mined the ores, I pay homage.
To the workers who dug the clay,
ground the glazes, the farmers
who fed those workers I pay homage.
To the great cycles which give us
clean air, clear water, to all living things,
all the earth, I pay homage.

To this tea, I pay homage.
To the growth in the bud,
to the cells exchanging
air, water and light, I pay homage.
to the workers who grew, tended,
picked the tea, who packed, transported,
distributed the tea, I pay homage.
To the great cycles which give us
clean air, clear water, to all living things,
all the earth, I pay homage.

To this water, I pay homage.
To the rain which falls,
to the rivers, the dams,
the builders and plumbers, I pay homage.
To the oceans and the sun,
the great trade winds
and the world’s turning, I pay homage.
To all the cycles which bring us
clean air, clear water, to all living things,
all the earth, I pay homage.

~ Michael Cope

The Courtship of Sun and Moon

Sun and Moon by PatrickSchappe-Art

(based on a Yaqui story)

Every morning the Sun knelt
in the courtyard of the Moon.
She would never let him see
quite all of her; cloud curtains
dropped at any sign of his advancement.
How he burned for her!
He compared her to seafoam, pearls,
hammered silver thin as rain.
He ached to marry her.

One day she agreed.  "But you must bring me
a suitable gift which must fit
me precisely."

The next day he brought her a bracelet
made of red coral and dove feathers.
But it was too small!  He gave her a cloak
to wear after her bath:  it was too big.
He could never keep her constant.

They have never married.  Moon saddened,
for he never spoke of the one gift
without measure and yet the measure of all things:
love.

~ Anita Endrezze

The Courtship of Sun and Moon

Sun and Moon by PatrickSchappe-Art

(based on a Yaqui story)

Every morning the Sun knelt
in the courtyard of the Moon.
She would never let him see
quite all of her; cloud curtains
dropped at any sign of his advancement.
How he burned for her!
He compared her to seafoam, pearls,
hammered silver thin as rain.
He ached to marry her.

One day she agreed.  "But you must bring me
a suitable gift which must fit
me precisely."

The next day he brought her a bracelet
made of red coral and dove feathers.
But it was too small!  He gave her a cloak
to wear after her bath:  it was too big.
He could never keep her constant.

They have never married.  Moon saddened,
for he never spoke of the one gift
without measure and yet the measure of all things:
love.

~ Anita Endrezze