I’m a deep person. I enjoy meaningful, interesting conversations. A lot of the time, small talk annoys me and bores me. I usually get off on intensity. But honestly, lately everything just feels way too intense. Lately, all the irons in the fire feel way too hot and I can’t find tough enough gloves to avoid the heat. I’m a little raw these days. I found this poem this morning, which was cut out and pasted in one of my journals. I’m sorry, I don’t know who to attribute it to, but I found it to be very helpful and I hope that you enjoy it, too.
Never
Never trouble trouble till trouble troubles you. – Proverb
Never look for something you do not need to do
Never put your trust in one on whom you can’t rely
Never try to be someone which, for you, would be a lie
Never try to control something that cannot be controlled
Never worry about aging, or the process of becoming old
Never try to run the lives of children you hold dear
Never try to live a life completely based on fear
Never try to make okay that which simply is not
Never try to cover up something you have just forgot
Never act if you are doing this life yourself
Remember you have to participate and there’s really lots of help
Never forget to remember that you can have some fun.
You don’t have to make trouble to do it, only let it come.
Sundays are devoted to words in poetry form here at Adulting – SecondHalf. I write a poem or share a poem that I have found by another author that has deeply touched me. I strongly encourage you to publish your poems in my Comments section, but if you are shy, just jot a few poems down today, in your own private journal. It’s cathartic. I promise you. Here’s my poem for the day.
THE TREES STAND TALLER
Across the lake, lies a jungle of trees.
During the day, all of the life, teeming within the trees, is deceptively quiet.
The trees put on a calm, serene front.
They are tall, green soldiers, standing at guard,
As the lake dutifully reflects the stillness, for which the forest tries to portray.
The trees shade their inner inhabitants, promising them protection,
And respite, from the harsh, depleting rays of the sun.
But when night falls, all comes alive. The sounds are roars.
And though you can’t see anything, you know that the woodland houses
Majestic, wild creatures who can no longer remain quiet nor still.
Their howls are primal. The thicket has come alive with calls and cries.
The intensity and the mystery of it all, pulsates every one of my senses.
Fear and excitement are just different words for the very same sensations,
These sensations that are electrified through me and within me,
As I stare into the darkness of nightfall,
And in my mind, I picture the trees in their usual, reliable spots,
Even though I am not really able to see them, in any shape or form.
I feel wondrous bewilderment and almost reckless abandonment,
Frozen in wonder of the mysteriousness of it all.
When I wake in the morning, and walk into the dewy grass and stare at the trees
Far across the lake, I smile in perplexity. The trees are statues again.
The day sounds are gentle chirps and the whispering of breezes through the leaves,
I half expect a maiden with seven small men to appear, in whistling cheer.
Was my experience with the night, all in my imagination?
Was it all just a vision from the deepest recesses and caverns of my sleepy mind?
Does the night really change everything? Is darkness required to really come alive?
The forest is the same. It is deeply rooted and entwined,
I know that under the dark shade of night, the trees still stand their guard,
In their place of solid sentry, held for centuries.
So why does the forest seem to be such a different place, in the light of day?
My guess is that the trees delight in the aliveness of their inhabitants,
Who only feel safe to come out and play,
Under the cloak of the darkness of shadowy midnight.
Which state of being do the trees prefer? Do they like the stillness of the day?
Or do they prefer the humming, restless mystery of the night?
I think that the forest intrinsically understands that both lightness and dark,
Are necessary for the fullest expression of life.
The trees stay still enough, and quiet enough, and strongly rooted enough,
To fully appreciate and bathe in this intrinsic wisdom,
To just be themselves and to experience all of the complicated states of being,
For their tenure of life on Earth, in their very own spots, in the forest of other trees.
And no matter the time of day or of night,
The trees stand taller, reaching for the Heavens, grateful for the wisdom of this truth.
Happy International Women’s Day! Not so happy Daylight Savings Spring Forward Day. Where does the time go?
Sunday is devoted to poetry here at Adulting – Second Half. Thank you. Thank you for coming to commune at the blog, and to read, and to contemplate, and to rest, and to support. Thank you to those of you who have bravely shared your poems in the past. Please keep sharing. This is friendly, safe format – an online poetry workshop, to send our heart waves out in the form of words and of phrases and of nuances. Here is my poetry offering for today:
Spring Cleaning
Grumbling, hesitant, resigned.
Annoyed with the prospect of the task at hand.
Necessary evil, spring clean up, in the yard.
Mellowing, energy flowing, smiling.
Slowly opening to commune with nature.
Family venture, another tie that binds us.
Laughing, singing, glowing.
In love with creation, ours and His.
Everything breathes. Everything makes perfect sense.
We’re done? The project, completed too soon.
I wanted to bottle the moment up,
and to hold it in my hands,
so that I could keep the inseparableness of it all, forever.
Fortune for the Day – “If you judge people, you have no time to lovethem.” – Mother Teresa
Good morning, my dear friends and readers. I hope that you are well today. New readers, Sundays are dedicated to poetry here at Adulting-Second Half. Please share your poems in the Comments. Soul Sunday, has quickly become my most popular, “read” day on the blog. That tells me that poetry moves many souls, in many ways. Share your poems, friends. When you share your poems, I think that you share your most intimate, less “crafted” self. And that is the greatest gift that you can give to yourself and to the world.
Here is my poem for the day:
Cleaning Out the Garage
There’s a heap of our family life,
Unceremoniously dumped on the curb of the drive.
A litany of sports played by the kids,
starting with small plastic bats, moving on to helmets.
Helmets for everything – bike riding, lacrosse, softball.
Old suitcases, cracked and weathered with age and wear,
But once the housers of our treasures and trinkets as they witnessed,
The grand adventures of our chaotic family vacations.
The suitcases are piled on top of the piles and piles and piles of rags.
Rags, that once started out as the nice, fresh, new towels,
Only to brought out for guests, but after years of use,
Relegated to the rag pile in the garage, best used to wipe down cars.
No one has taken the electric scooter yet,
The in-line skates are past their prime.
The bike baskets are charming, but faded and crumbly.
It takes a great deal of fortitude to clean out the garage.
Most especially, emotional fortitude.
A small piece of my heart is faintly beating,
Underneath the heap of our family life, lying by the road.
Fortune for the day -“They live in wisdom who see themselves in all and all in them.” – Bhagavad Gita
Good, beautiful Sunday morning. It’s a lovely day here. The sun is shining, the lake is still, the air is calm. It’s like the day is quietly, patiently inviting us to become part of it. Sundays are soulful here at Adulting – Second Half. Sundays are our poetry workshop days. I share a poem and I ask you to share some of your poems in the Comments section. A few of my braver readers have shared such gorgeous poems in the past. Please share yours, too. In the words of Peter McWilliams:
One of the great joys of life is creativity. Information goes in, get shuffled about, and comes out in new and interesting ways. . . . It doesn’t matter that you don’t know how to do it “perfectly.” . . . Does it give you joy? Does it give you satisfaction? Is it fun? Does it make you feel more in touch with the creative flow of life? . . . . Then do it.
Here’s my poem for today:
The Lake
The lake is like watching a reflection of my emotions,
Sometimes so quietly still, almost to the point of solid nothingness,
Sometimes so turbulent, I dare not venture too far in,
Sometimes a surprising disturbance, the unexpected jumps out,
Creating ripples, not in great haste, to disappear.
The lake appears so very deep, yet it has its shallows.
The lake houses a lot of life in its teeming depths,
It’s not nearly as placid as it seems, underneath it all.
Whether tranquil or churned up, the lake is truly beautiful.
Sundays are all about the rhymes. Soul Sundays are poetry workshop days here at Adulting – Second Half. Let’s have fun with this! Please share your poems, your poetry, your songs, your raps, your ditties. Here’s my goofy one today:
My Little Old Mug
Oh my little mug
I wish I could give you a hug
For all of the pleasure that you’ve given me.
Instead I must throw you out
Since I’m always spouting about
Not becoming a hoarder.
My daughter pointed out your age and your cracking
Which means your drink holding ability is lacking
And there is really no point in keeping you.
As the family chimed in, about my reminding them of expiration dates,
Handing them Goodwill bags to fill, giving their old things new fates,
I just couldn’t be hypocritical.
Little mug, I considered hiding you away
To sneak you out on a “by myself” day,
But my conscious just wouldn’t let me do it.
Thank you for your service and for the joy that you brought me,
Your humor, your size, your years of holding my coffee
Perhaps you are truly ready for mug heaven.
(or the back hidden corner of the cupboard which no one uses – see you soon!)
