“Why do you keep a scallop shell?’, She asked and he responded
“It helps me remember to remember”
“It helps me remember to remember”
So what is it that draws this spirits housed in frail vessels
To that one place that is the end and the beginning?
It seems some meander with the hope that by some roll of the dice they will have an easy go of the journey and eventually make it to some unforeseen finish-line.
Some have no hope whatsoever and either chose to stay put or a few of these spirits seem to be in a perpetual state of being lost and never seek assistance.
It seems that some chose to plot a course believing that their map will guarantee them to a safe arrival and conclude in some grand achievement and illumination.
Some proclaim that their goal is to make it through the magical maze in some type of record time that will secure them a trophy or bronze medal.
There are those who’s ego assures the rest that they have been graced with wisdom or mystical insights as to the best way to embark on the passage securing for themselves and others whom they can convince to trust and follow that their collective journey will be an ineffable success.
“Accumulation” is the claim of some who suggest that the more things they gather along the way the more better off they will be in the end.
Some just charge ahead making way without consideration for any thing or anyone who might be in the pathway.
Some see the trek as some great adventure of encounters and experiences to fill their photo albums and journals to add to their resume.
Some struggle day to day, breath to breath, heartbeat to heartbeat and yet that original spark within continues to burn within fueling their passage.
Some poets, troubadours and sherpas seem to be able to channel the great mystical voice of the universe inspiring each pilgrim who dares to listen to carry on.
There are also those humble in spirit who remain present to the sanctifying nature of all creation taking each step in the journey gratefully trusting the wind and rivers to carry them to where they need to be.
Somehow each pilgrim has their own start and unique path and will have a different end point along the way which will be their new beginning, that great Cathedral is just a “way” station to The Finisterre, the launching point to the next horizon, the great sea of the unknown
which is the source of everything.
— JF Sobecki
———————
For Mary Oliver
(1935 - 2019)
She came to me in grace-filled words
And visions reflecting what I eventually
Would know as my own perspective
Her essence illuminating
I knew the beauty and the longing
She spoke of
Awakening souls to the significance of being
With her effortless ability to channel the unknowable
A priestess of the universe
Nurturing the hungry hearts.
All that was of nature
Was her church
And now with her absence I feel a great lack
And yet her flame still burns brightly.
- JF Sobecki
When Death Comes
--by Mary Oliver (Oct 03, 2006)
When death comes
like the hungry bear in autumn;
when death comes and takes all the bright coins from his purse
to buy me, and snaps the purse shut;
when death comes
like the measle-pox
when death comes
like an iceberg between the shoulder blades,
I want to step through the door full of curiosity, wondering:
what is it going to be like, that cottage of darkness?
And therefore I look upon everything
as a brotherhood and a sisterhood,
and I look upon time as no more than an idea,
and I consider eternity as another possibility,
and I think of each life as a flower, as common
as a field daisy, and as singular,
and each name a comfortable music in the mouth,
tending, as all music does, toward silence,
and each body a lion of courage, and something
precious to the earth.
When it's over, I want to say all my life
I was a bride married to amazement.
I was the bridegroom, taking the world into my arms.
When it's over, I don't want to wonder
if I have made of my life something particular, and real.
I don't want to find myself sighing and frightened,
or full of argument.
I don't want to end up simply having visited this world.
--Mary Oliver
News of Death
Last night they came with news of death not knowing what I would say.
I wanted to say,
“The green wind is running through the fields making the grass lie flat.”
I wanted to say,
“The apple blossom flakes like ash covering the orchard wall.”
I wanted to say,
“The fish floats belly up in the slow stream, stepping stones to the dead.”
They asked if I would sleep that night, I said I did not know.
For this loss I could not speak,
the tongue lay idle in a great darkness,
the heart was strangely open,
the moon had gone,
and it was then
when I said, “He(she) is no longer here”,
that the night put its arm around me
and all the white stars turned bitter with grief.
- David Whyte
Thank you Mary for the inspiration.
________________
Little Victories - JD Souther
On the Way to Find Out - C. Stevens
amdg
“One day I will find the right words and they will be simple”
- Jack Kerouac
“The only truth is music”
- Jack Kerouac
Copyright 2019 JF Sobecki LLC All Rights Reserved
