Living Like A Mystic
Sometimes I don't blog because I have nothing to say.
Sometimes I don't blog because I have too much to say.
The past few days have been because of the latter.
Delighting in a whirlwind of life, I find myself both inspired and exhausted, bursting with things to share yet having no words to offer.
I've been delving into a now-favorite book, The Artist's Rule by Christine Valters Painter. Today, I share with you a poem from that book - part as explanation for my absence,
part as invitation for your own exploration.
I Am Going To Start Living Like A Mystic
Today I am pulling on a green wool sweater
and walking across the park in a dusky snowfall.
The trees stand like twenty-seven prophets in a field,
each a station in a pilgrimage - silent, pondering.
Blue flakes of light falling across their bodies
are the ciphers of a secret, an occulation.
I will examine their leaves as pages in a text
and consider the bookish pigeons, students of winter.
I will kneel on the track of a vanquished squirrel
and stare into a blank pond for the figure of Sophia.
I shall begin scouring the sky for signs
as if my whole future were constellated upon it.
I will walk home alone with the deep alone,
a disciple of shadows, in praise of the mysteries.