hibernation is here again, a time of quiet reflection, openness to stillness, preparation for the coming spring

What It Could Be

by Denise Levertov

Uranium, with which we know

only how to destroy,

 

lies always under

the most sacred lands—

 

Australia, Africa, America,

wherever it’s found is found an oppressed

ancient people who knew

long before white men found and named it

that there under their feet

 

under rock, under mountain, deeper

than deepest watersprings, under

the vast deserts familiar

inch by inch to their children

 

lay a great power.

                                    And they knew the folly

of wresting, wrestling, ravaging from the earth

that which it kept

                                    so guarded.

 

Now, now, now at this instant,

men are gouging lumps of that power, that presence,

out of the tortured planet the ancients

say is our mother.

                                    Breaking the doors

of her sanctum, tearing the secret

out of her flesh.

 

But left to lie, its metaphysical weight

might in a million years have proved

benign, its true force being to be

a clue to righteousness—

 

showing forth

the human power

not to kill, to choose

not to kill, to transcend

the dull force of our weight and will,

 

that known profound presence, untouched,

the sign

providing witness,

                  occasion,

                  ritual

for the continuing act of

nonviolence, of passionate

reverence, active love.

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 friend, Marshall Lyles, has muscular dystrophy. He suffers, he cares for others, and experiences what it is to walk in this world in this condition. He's doing something about it, about the language of it. I am so grateful. (You can scroll through slowly with the help of the arrows.)

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About Healing

by Rebecca Pancoast

What can I teach you

that isn’t better said

by the still knowing of your body?

 

Here, I’ll hush

and we can wait together.

 

In the silence

it can seem as if

the truth is running late.

 

Trust her anyway.

 

She’s taking the shortest path

she knows

 

Winding her way

through the ropes in your belly and

navigating the lightning storms

of your heart

 

takes care

and it takes time.

 

Tell me about

the first tree you ever loved –

the one who

when you smiled

smiled

back.

 

When the truth arrives,

she’ll meet you

where your roots

are strongest –

 

she knows you’ll need them

to anchor you to

your grief.