Betwixt Lakeland & Edinburgh
are the clouds, the coastline,
companionship, freshness,
sand, sea buckthorns, seascape,
sunset and wind direct
and personal gifts to
my life, or is that thought
a glad product of my
imagination and
deep thankfulness – or are
they, always perhaps, both?
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Frosted: Norway’s tree
and a new Stable scene on
the Mound and then home
Well wrapped to say the least, still my teeth chatter – even as I smile on this frosty bright-lit Edinburgh night. Norway’s annual gift (thank you!). Invitation to outdoor community carol singing. A striking, simple, unusual representation of a striking, simple, unusual arrival on earth. A Carousel on George Street. Kaleidoscopic seasonal songs intermingled. Delighted children – some very young and some very old – in the Christmas markets. The tram bell. The illuminated Castle. A bit hungry. Looking forward to holding a hot mug of steaming herbal tea. Happy. Slowed. Grateful. Ponderous. And then home … ah, how one appreciates arriving home in Winter.
.
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Strange how one thing leads to another, isn’t it? The exquisitely written ‘The Offing’ I’m currently reading by Benjamin Myers has ‘the occasional horse too, tethered in lacklustre paddocks, ribs showing like the hulls of beached old boats’ … and my mind immediately flew to Brittany:
Voyaging – first posted on 5th October 2016
Le cimetière de bâteaux du Bono
For years we’ve
come remembering
your voyaging here
long before us and
we hear the gulls
laughing and admire
the industry of
oystercatchers and
the youth of shiny
new acorns as we
note that the comings
and goings of the
tides across your
venerable oak boughs
are quietly returning
you to the ground of
your origins just as
year by year they are
returning us too and
the serenity here
though poignant
holds us in peace
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early evening rain
in Edinburgh will paint a
reflective landscape
self-isolation
may open a soul to new
vistas between leaves
Erroneously
I think of my heartbeat as
silent until Iam silent and then
I hear peaceful music and
reassurance whereearlier there was
only the ache of a wide
and deep unknowing –rhythm that asks me
to hush cacophany and
to be present withheart-heard symphony
echoing in the halls of
quietened inside
So, I am a pen –
apparently an object
incapable of
thought yet possessed of
ability to make marks
on paper that speak
of metaphor and
so I permit myself to
enquire from whence comes
imagination
that flows in my ink, from whence
and how, why and when? –
heady stuff for all
of us: women and men and
contemplative pen
And of course it is
conversation that grows an
abiding in love
life’s great art speaks a
powerful truth of goodness
in the human heart178
together always
together always – all ways
together always177
borborygmi — the
sounds of this digestion — and
Sharon Olds tells moresee onbeing.org
176
may height and depth and
breadth comfort at times when all
our words fall away175
evening comes and breathes
another prayer by way
of nature’s fine art174
some people can dream
up a birthday cake out of
their imagination173
do you prefer a
particular place for your
meditation space?172
wind in my wheels 🌱 