I am not I I am this one walking beside me whom I do not see, whom at times I manage to visit, and whom at other times I forget; who remains calm and silent while I talk, and forgives, gently, when I hate, who walks where I am…
Hokusai says look carefully. He says pay attention, notice. He says keep looking, stay curious. He says there is no end to seeing. He says look forward to getting old. He says keep changing, you just get more who you really are. He says get stuck, accept it, repeat yourself as long as it is…
Surfing the Waves – Self-Compassion through the Ups and Downs Join our FREE Members October Online Weekend – It only costs £10 to join trial membership for 6 months. Join us for a varied weekend exploring how the art of self-compassion can be an indispensable tool, a refuge and a font of resilience. Learning to…
In the land of words, I stand as still as a tree and let the words rain down on me. Come, rain, bring your knowledge and your music. Sing while I grow green and full. I’ll stand as still as a tree, and let your blessings fall on me. by Eloise Greenfield During these…
Let your eyes fall easy upon me, And gaze without intention or preconceived idea of what I am. My shape is not me, as yours is not you. There is more to it than that. More to it than meets the eye, or the precept. Think more of what I may be, of what I…
I have had a bit of a rocky patch over the last several months. Full of self-doubt and fear. But the good news is that I have had an insight or indeed two insights. Last week I was with the first years of the University of Aberdeen’s MSc in Studies in Mindfulness at their five day…
Reflections on hearing that Mary Oliver has died The poet Ezra Pound once said that “literature is news that stays news”. How true – and yet I sometimes notice how quickly significant events can drop out of what we agree to call the daily news. The poet Mary Oliver died on 17th January 2019 aged…
Recently I became acutely aware that I have been dwelling on some words that have been spoken to me. Words that seemed to cut like a knife. But they only hurt because I have been letting them hurt. There they were wrapped up in the constant stream of my autonomous thought patterns. They kept popping…
Stop whatever it is you’re doing.Come down from the attic.Grab a bucket or a basket and head for light.That’s where the best poems grow, and in the dappled dark. Go slow. Watch out for thorns and bears.When you find a good bush, bowto it, or take off your shoes. Pluck. This poem. That poem. Any…