Do not hurry
As you walk with grief;
It does not help the journey.
Walk slowly,
Pausing often;
Do not hurry
As you walk with grief.
--Eli Jenkins
Read MoreLook around us, search above us, below, behind.
We stand in a great web of being joined together.
Let us praise, let us love the life we are lent
passing through us in the body of Israel
and our own bodies, let’s say amein.
Time flows through us like water.
The past and the dead speak through us.
We breathe our children’s children, blessing.
Blessed is the earth from which we grow,
blessed the life we are lent,
blessed the ones who teach us,
blessed the ones we teach,
blessed is the word that cannot say the glory
that shines through us and remains to shine
flowing past distant suns on the way to forever.
Let’s say amein.
Blessed is the light, blessed is the darkness
but blessed above all else is peace
which bears the fruits of knowledge
on strong branches, let’s say amen.
Peace that bears joy into the world,
peace that enables love, peace over Israel
everywhere, blessed and holy is peace, let’s say amein.
-- Marge Piercy
As we look back over time
We find ourselves wondering
Did we remember to thank you enough
For all you have done for us?
For all the times you were by our sides
To help and support us
To celebrate our successes
To understand our problems
And accept our defeats?
Or for teaching us by your example,
The value of hard work, good judgement,
Courage and integrity?
We wonder if we ever thanked you
For the sacrifices you made.
To let us have the very best?
And for the simple things
Like laughter, smiles and times we shared?
If we have forgotten to show our
Gratitude enough for all the things you did,
We're thanking you now.
And we are hoping you knew all along,
How much you meant to us.
-- Clare Jones
Read MoreEverything that slows us down and forces patience,
everything that sets us back into the slow circles of nature, is a help.
Gardening is an instrument of grace.
Help us to be ever faithful gardeners of the spirit,
who know that without darkness nothing comes to birth,
and without light, nothing flowers.
-- May Sarton
I have to believe
That you still exist
Somewhere,
That you still watch me
Sometimes
That you still love me
Somehow.
I have to believe
That life has meaning
Somehow
That I am useful here
Sometimes,
That I make small differences
Somewhere.
I have to believe
That I need to stay here
For some time,
That all this teaches me
Something,
So that I can meet you again
Somewhere.
-- Ann Thorp
Read MoreI shall pass this way but once;
any good that I can do or any kindness I can show to any human being;
let me do it now.
Let me not defer nor neglect it, for I shall not pass this way again.
-- Etienne de Grellet
Now I am gone, now I am lost to you
Find me again just as you used to do:
In the house – when you go from room to room you’ll find
The bits and pieces that I’ve left behind.
In the street – of course . . . I’ve stopped to window-shop;
You carry on, my love, I’ll catch you up.
At night – as darkness slowly fills the sky:
I’m late; don’t fret; I’ll be there by and by.
At morning – when the sky is still blue-black,
I had to go out early: I’ll be back.
In sunshine – as you peer into the glare –
A shape that seems to be both light and air.
In rain – as you look out and people pass –
One leaves a reflection printed on the glass.
In the garden – when you doze away the hours
I pass with a smile on my face, and my arms full of flowers.
-- Lisa Kitson
Read MoreIt is easily forgotten, year to
year, exactly where the plot is,
though the place is entirely familiar
a willow tree by a curving roadway
sweeping black asphalt with tender leaves;
damp grass strewn with flower boxes,
canvas chairs, darkskinned old ladies
circling in draped black crepe family stones,
fingers cramped red at the knuckles, discolored
nails, fresh soil for new plants, old rosaries;
such fingers kneading the damp earth gently down
on new roots, black humus caught in grey hair
brushed back, and the single waterfaucet,
birdlike upon its grey pipe stem,
a stream opening at its foot.
We know the stories that are told,
by starts and stops, by bent men at strange joy
regarding the precise enactments of their own
gesturing. And among the women there will be
a naming of families, a counting off, an ordering.
The morning may be brilliant; the season
is one of brilliances sunlight through
the fountained willow behind us, its splayed
shadow spreading westward, our shadows westward,
irregular across damp grass, the close-set stones.
It may be that since our walk there is faltering,
moving in careful steps around snow-on-the-mountain,
bluebells and zebragrass toward that place
between the willow and the waterfaucet, the way
is lost, that we have no practiced step there,
and walking, our own sway and balance, fails us.
-- Michael Anania
Read MoreWhile I was fearing it, it came,
But came with less of fear,
Because that fearing it so long
Had almost made it dear.
There is a fitting a dismay,
A fitting a despair.
'Tis harder knowing it is due,
Than knowing it is here.
The trying on the utmost,
The morning it is new,
Is terribler than wearing it
A whole existence through.
-- Emily Dickinson
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