A Friday poem

Dwarf quince in bloom

I have landed in the middle of myself,
refusing to peer down from behind my pointed finger.
My palms rest open, relaxed, at my side.

The noisy day enters and my finger longs
to indicate the problem
but I tell it, no,
you are no longer welcome to point
from your high tower.
Come down and look.

The eyes of the heart are like flowers, like stars.
They reflect the farthest light.
They notice what is destined to grow brighter
in the darkest room,
the coldest smile,
the one who looks away.

Tanya Coburn

a ritual to welcome serendipity

At our house, we have a ritual that we practice almost every morning.

It started with a pack of ‘Inner Beauty’ cards, that a friend gave me many years ago. They are kept in a small wooden box. I used to select one or more every now and then, or use them with groups or friends, but then my partner and I began to create a ritual with them. We chose three.

Three inner qualities. Every day.

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clearing soul congestion

Sweep-Return-Bristles-Broom-Close-Cleanliness-667324.jpegA friend of mine told me she doesn’t like that term. ‘It feels thick, clumsy,’ I think she said.

‘Exactly!’ I thought. ‘That’s right’

When we’re in the grip of soul congestion then our heart feels shrouded and wooden. We can’t feel or we over-feel what is going on. We shift between panic and low moods, excitement and despair. We need a soul decongestant but we usually just give in to a familiar reaction instead.

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