I know the words but not the song;

the music, but

not the dance. So

what if I sing

a little off key and  I can’t

quite keep the beat?

“So what?”  is what

I have to say.

When all is said and sung and danced,

I’d want to know

that even so,

I tried to prance.

                                                      JDG

Woke up this morning with an old

song on my mind –

I can hear that

whistle blowing.

It takes me back five hundred miles

to a time when

all those, now gone,

were singing here.

When my time comes to get aboard,

I want to know

that I, too, left

behind a song.

                                                                                  JDG

It’s the applying part that’s hard,

not the concepts,

the injunctions,

or the desire.

All those I have and even more.

Love thy neighbor.

Check. Save the whales.

Check. Look before

you leap. Check. But when the rubber

hits the road, I

don’t even leave

skid marks behind.

                                                                           JDG

The theme of the Fall 2011 issue of Parabola is “seeing”  and  in this issue are stories and reflections from many perspectives including those of a neuro- opthalmologist/musician, an Alexander teacher, an MD yoga therapist,  poets, artists, and spiritual teachers from many wisdom traditions including Christianity and Buddhism. One story in particular stood out for me. It was related by artist Jane Rosen in a conversation with Richard Whittaker.

“One day I heard the dogs barking in the living room…I walked [in] … and there was the raven underneath the chair at the dining room table. I looked at this big raven with huge claws and this huge Roman beak. The raven somehow had walked into the house  before we had become friends and had gotten stuck underneath the chair. I believe it was a mom and she was coming in looking for food.

I looked at the raven and the raven looked at me. She had these beautiful eyes and she blinked at me. It was clear she said to me, ‘I’m stuck. I don’t know how I got under this chair. I can’t get out, and you’ve got two pretty big dogs. I’m in a situation here.’

So I looked at the raven and said, ‘ Okay. Here’s the deal. You’re big. You have sharp claws and this beak. You could hurt me. I’m going to pet your back and if you don’t try to peck me or claw me, I will get you out from under the chair. If you try to peck me or claw me, you’re on your own.’

She looked at me, cocking her head like she was thinking about it. It wasn’t like she understood my words or I understood hers. There was something in my tone that was explaining to her that I was about to make a move. So I pet the back of the raven and not only does she not claw me,  she pulls her claws into her belly and tucks her beak into her chest. I pick her up and I hold her like this [cradled in her arms] and she is perfectly still. I put her out on the picnic table, figuring she would make a beeline out of there. She turned around, she looked at me, and she nodded.”

For me, this story points to what can happen when we see and allow ourselves to be seen in an open way, when we communicate from a place that, while acknowledging our differences, moves to a place of deeper connection and allows something new to unfold.

The day lies open before me.

Gray, misty rain

invites me to

nestle within,

to wrap myself in long-awaited

silence –  slowly

sip this quiet

offering.  “Yes,”

I whisper, grateful for the chance

to come to this

soft sheltering

and enter in.

                                                                  JDG

I’ve been thinking recently of my grandmother and her words to me after my mother’s death when I was eight years old and she realized I was afraid of the dark. She sat on the edge of my bed and told me that each of us has a guardian angel who stays with us and looks over us and that I was very fortunate indeed,  because I had a very special guardian angel, my mother, who was looking over me.  My grandmother, the mother of my mother, was not being merely comforting.  She believed those words with every fiber of her Irish heart and because she believed them, I believed them too. I remember closing my eyes real tight, taking a deep breath and then saying softly, ” I’m so sleepy, I won’t open my eyes til morning,” and then opening them real fast in hopes of catching my guardian angel mother by surprise. She was always too quick for me and I never did catch her, but I knew she was there and I was always able to fall asleep, even in the dark.

My grandmother’s words were not spoken with a desire to leave a legacy of any kind. They were spoken out of compassion for a little girl who was afraid of the dark.  They were spoken through the grief of  a mother who had just lost her daughter and they were spoken out of a deep and abiding faith.  Even though it was not her intent, this experience became her legacy to me – the knowledge that in the darkest night, we are not alone and that another’s love can survive even death, can bring us comfort, and lend us strength.

The first white cloak of winter lay

light on gentle

hills. Blanketed

horses breathe out

gray. A tiny deer lies red on road

as sun sends sparks

to vultures’ wings.

My day starts with

these small pieces stitched together,

a patchwork quilt

of dark and light

like so much else.

                                                           JDG

” When the inside is the outside

and the outside

is the inside,

then all is one, “

my friend intoned, a soulful look

sanctifying

his solemn speech.

It would have been

profound, indeed, had he not been

referring to

his flannel shirt

worn inside out.

                                                                   JDG