Reconnect


Saturday morning and listening to Sarah McLachlan. Downloaded music from Amazon this morning and just listening to Surfacing is bringing me back to myself. Funny how we lose ourselves for weeks or months at a time and then hearing certain music can stop the autopilot madness. "There's no one left to finger, there's no one left to blame..." Kids are with their father obviously or I wouldn't be able to write or listen to anything vaguely mom-like in peace. My life is beginning to seem too small and circumscribed lately. Safe has lost its appeal and I'm tired of the couch and the t.v. and even my job which is no longer so absorbing. The soul will out eventually I guess. God grant me the courage and strength to move on to the next chapter.

Briefly It Enters, and Briefly Speaks

I am the blossom pressed in a book,
found again after two hundred years. . . .

I am the maker, the lover, and the keeper. . . .

When the young girl who starves
sits down to a table
she will sit beside me. . . .

I am food on the prisoner's plate. . . .

I am water rushing to the wellhead,
filling the pitcher until it spills. . . .

I am the patient gardener
of the dry and weedy garden. . . .

I am the stone step,
the latch, and the working hinge. . . .

I am the heart contracted by joy. . .
the longest hair, white
before the rest. . . .

I am there in the basket of fruit
presented to the widow. . . .

I am the musk rose opening
unattended, the fern on the boggy summit. . . .

I am the one whose love
overcomes you, already with you
when you think to call my name. . . .

Jane Kenyon