by Jane
Hirshfield from The Lives of the Heart (Harper Perennial)
In every instant, two gates.
One opens to fragrant paradise, one to hell.
Mostly we go through neither.
Mostly we nod to our neighbor,
lean down to pick up the paper,
go back into the house.
But the faint cries—ecstasy? horror?
Or did you think it the sound
of distant bees,
making only the thick honey of this good life?
One opens to fragrant paradise, one to hell.
Mostly we go through neither.
Mostly we nod to our neighbor,
lean down to pick up the paper,
go back into the house.
But the faint cries—ecstasy? horror?
Or did you think it the sound
of distant bees,
making only the thick honey of this good life?
I'm not quite sure why I picked this poem for today, other than today seems to be a day where I am thinking about the next few days (Good Friday and Easter in particular) and how I feel called to mark those days in a way that feels meaningful and authentic to my experience while at the same time remembering and respecting the tradition in which I was raised.
Maybe it's because Good Friday and Easter have come to symbolize horror and ecstasy, hell and paradise, death and life, that I turned to this poem today. And maybe it's because I don't feel like going through either gate this year. I just want to be open to the holy moment that comes from hearing the bees and tasting the thick honey of this good life.
What are the faint cries you're hearing and where are they leading you?
No comments:
Post a Comment