Tag: soul sunday

Soothing Sunday

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.

The lake is complicated and simple, all at once.

Being, reflecting, moving, idling, housing, holding, drowning.

Sometimes a sanctuary, sometimes a death trap.

Always there, but never the same.

The lake of my emotions.

Soul Sunday

Fortune for the day -“One who seeks knowledge must desire from a young age to hear the entire truth.” – Plato

Sundays are poetry workshop days, here at Adulting – Second Half. I hope that you are sitting comfortably, maybe even cozily wrapped in a blanket. I hope that you have a delicious, warm cup of tea or coffee, readily available, in order to warm your hands, and your heart. I hope that, in this very moment, you feel surrounded by peace, comfort, acceptance and love. I hope that, right now, in this very place in time, you are in your sacred space.

Here is my poem for today, and as always, please feel the courage, the inclination, the vulnerability and the inspiration, to share your own poems in the Comments section. One day, I hope that this poetry workshop of ours, is “Standing Room Only.” It’s our creative impulses, that come out from within the deepest part of ourselves (without demeaning censure coming from ourselves or from others), that drive this world forward – a beautiful world, which we are all co-creating together. Be free. Be open. Be real. Be alive. Don’t waste another second, in a precious day of your life on anything less than your purest, kindest authenticity. You, and our world, will be uplifted for your effort, and yet also the effortlessness it takes for you to be, your purest, truest self.

Melange

If my things were to represent my mind,

My mind would be chaotic, and in disarray.

Jumping from lucky symbols, to memories captured in the form of photographs,

Piles of inspirations, and numbered orderly logs, laid out in disorderly fashion.

Objects that touched my heart, at the very instance that I laid eyes on the piece,

For no particular rhyme or reason, perhaps just deeply primal.

The compilation of it all, makes no sense to the untrained eye.

But to me, it is a beautiful, nonsensical pattern,

A medley, an assortment, that makes perfect sense.

The inner me, coming forth in physical form.

Amusing, interesting, cluttered, muddled, yet clear.

A hodgepodge in harmony.

Soul Sunday

Fortune for the Day – “Joy and sorrow are the shade and light of life; without light and shade no picture is clear.” – Hazrat Inayat Khan

Readers, Sundays aren’t just for football. (But hey, Happy Super Bowl Sunday!) Here at Adulting- Second Half, Sundays are reserved for the poetic side of ourselves. Every Sunday, I share a poem and I ask you to share your poems in the Comments. It’s a nice way to dive into the heart a little bit, before the often analytical work week begins.

Life is Love

Perhaps one of the sweetest gifts of aging,

Is a paused appreciation,

Of just about everything.

A wisdom, a hilarity, a knowing,

A peacefulness,

Comes in at the lulls,

more than it every came before.

In the paused moment,

Gazing at the wonder of it all,

Choosing to put the internal narrator on mute,

Even for the slightest moment,

Brings beautiful calming clarity.

The slowing down that comes from growing older,

Inevitably brings more gifted pauses,

All to remind me of one truth,

Life is Love.

Soul Sunday

Fortune for the Day – “To change one’s life: do it flamboyantly. Start immediately. No exceptions.” – William James

Sundays are poetry workshop days here at Adulting Second Half. On Sundays I share a poem and I fully encourage you to share your poetry in the Comments section. It’s fun to play with words!! Please give it a try. I moderate all comments and I would never allow negativity in this sacred space, where we share what is on our hearts and minds – openly, freely, authentically. Here’s my poem for today:

invecchiamento

Sometimes I accept the inevitable,

I let it flow,

I’m at peace with it.

Sometimes the frustration builds,

And I try to dam it all up,

Trying to defy the laws of nature

And gravity.

Sometimes I laugh at my acts of futility.

Sometimes I marvel at them.

Sometimes I play the comparison game.

Who of us is doing it better? And in what way?

And does it matter? And do we really have a say?

Sometimes I stop paying attention to the things which I cannot change.

And I am at peace,

I am at peace with aging.

Aging.

Soulful Sunday

Fortune for the day – “When anger spreads through the breast, guard thy tongue from barking loudly.” – Sapho

Anger does start in the chest, doesn’t it? And it has a burning feel to it, that does spread like fire and even sometimes like an inferno. What are you feeling right now? What does that feeling feel like, in each part of your body? Notice it. Stay with it. Describe it. Feel it. Let it go.

New friends, Sundays are our Poetry Workshop days. I share a poem and I feel a longing to have more of my readers share their poems in the Comments section. (Longing is a hollow feeling deep in my core, I’ve noticed) Anyway, it’s safe here. Even if you don’t feel like sharing, write a poem just for yourself today. You’ll find it freeing. You’ll be able to express more than you ever could with regular prose. I promise. Here’s my poem for today:

Sunday Morning

Windchimes tinkling softly

Sun rising assuredly

Lake moving swiftly

Leaves stirring slightly

Mind waking slowly

Coffee brewing steadily

Dogs arousing excitedly

Daughter coughs quietly

Sunday morning arises,

Absolutely, gloriously, perfectly.

Soul Sunday

Fortune for the day: “What seems to be, is, to those to whom it seems to be.” – William Blake

Let’s get to the poetry workshop part of the day! Here’s mine, please put your stream of thoughts, in poetic form, in the Comments section. Thank you, Carla, for joining in last Sunday. I deeply wish that our poetry forum would get more poetic in 2020, so that we have many interesting, thought provoking poems to read and to interpret and to feel and to connect with, on our Soul Sundays, that we share here at Adulting- Second Half. This is firmly a no-judgment zone. I have veto power and I will not allow any hate on my blog forum. Poetry comes from love, from vulnerability, from the deepest understanding of life that sometimes cannot be put into ordinary prose. Poetry does NOT come from fear and hate. Again, here’s my poem for the day:

The Mind

The most outrageous adventures

Most often take place in the far corners of our own mind.

It is fascinating that a place of comfort and reprieve

Can also be a berth of agonizing hell,

In the flip of a switch of an ordinary, random thought.

If a thought is allowed to continue and to grow and to repeat itself,

It becomes a prison cell, a sorceror holding a hypnotist’s ball and chain,

Creating a trance and a falsehood of reality, that overtakes the soul.

If we can stand back with bemusement and detachment,

The mind is often nothing more than a scatterbrained child,

Changing continually, with the winds of whimsy.

Just for fun, it likes to see how far reaching its thoughts can take us,

evoking deep, primitive emotions that stir wild energy,

intense energy, flowing throughout and reaching every cell

of sometimes the entire physical body.

The one thing that the mind doesn’t ever care to be . . . .

is quiet.

Soul Sunday

Sundays are a virtual coffee house, poetry workshop here at Adulting – Second Half. So grab a cup of whatever moves you, and let it flow. Your feelings, your words, your inspirations, whatever comes . . . . please feel comfortable (and excited!) to share your poems in the Comments section. I’m new to poetry, too. This is a no judgment zone. Here’s mine today:

Our Burrow

When all else fails to soothe me,

In your arms, late in the evening or early in the morning,

is my comfort, my peace, my sanctuary.

I want you to feel the current of my love,

Pulsating from something very deep inside the well-spring of my vitality,

Surrounding the form that makes the two of us only One.

One with Oneness, though seemingly quiet and vulnerable,

the robes of our daily defenses completely let down and put aside,

and yet, at this unruffled, untroubled, tranquil time,

We are at our most impenetrable, solid strength.

Our energies merged, the same energies that made our Love and

our loves . . . . our shared creations, experiences, our shared Life.

During these wordless moments with you,

Is when I know Love the most.

(Ooops! I already almost forgot the daily fortune. Here it is:

If one would move the world, one must move oneself. – Socrates)

Soul Sunday

(shhhh. Let’s do our poetry thing today, like we do every Sunday. Let’s not just read each other’s words. Let’s feel them.)

GODSPEED

As a mama, I’ve been practicing the art

of letting go

From the moment you were born.

The little good-byes . . . .

A tender kiss goodnight,

As I placed you in your crib.

The brave wave,

At the door of the preschool.

Your first sleepover,

Your first camp weekend,

Your first school trip, out of state,

Your first year at college,

Your study abroad experience,

Your college graduation,

Leading you to your adult life.

A grand adventure, for sure.

I found you little red curls from your first haircut,

the other day.

They were so tiny, and silky, and new.

I tucked them away, like I do with so many of my memories,

and my emotions, which are large and coarse and timeless.

I don’t want to make you feel lonely or sad or scared,

when we do another good-bye at the airport today.

I’m proud that we have both done what we are supposed to do.

Me, relinquishing, proudly. (bravely)

You, going on with your journey. (confidently)

Both of us. (courageous and bold and loved)

Soul Sunday

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!)

Soul Sunday

Poetry workshop day. Please share the love/the feels/the words that try to convey the love/the feels. Here’s mine:

Nostalgia

Giggling about a Sesame Street video with my friends . . . .

When I’m approaching fifty.

Driving past the houses with their Christmas joy on parade . . .

With my son driving the car, this time.

Putting up the ornaments reminding me of people, places and pets . . .

Many, who have long passed on.

Trying to recognize the child’s face from a long ago play group . . .

In the Christmas card picture of a lovely young lady, dressed in a wedding gown.

Trying to find just the right thing to eat . . .

to soothe the funny swirl of feelings, aching around in my insides.

The longing that I am pulled to, yet try to avoid, all at the same time . . . .

Nostalgia.