Make a nesting now, a place to which
the birds can come, think of Kevin’s
prayerful palm holding the blackbird’s egg
and be the one, looking out from this place
who warms interior forms into light.
Feel the way the cliff at your back
gives shelter to your outward view
and then bring in from those horizons
all discordant elements that seek a home.
Be taught now, among the trees and rocks,
how the discarded is woven into shelter,
learn the way things hidden and unspoken
slowly proclaim their voice in the world.
Find that far inward symmetry
to all outward appearances, apprentice
yourself to yourself, begin to welcome back
all you sent away, be a new annunciation,
make yourself a door through which
to be hospitable, even to the stranger in you.
Above all, be alone with it all,
a hiving off, a corner of silence
amidst the noise, refuse to talk,
even to yourself, and stay in this place
until the current of the story
is strong enough to float you out.
Ghost then, to where others
in this place have come before,
under the hazel, by the ruined chapel,
below the cave where Coleman slept,
become the source that makes
the river flow, and then the sea
beyond. Live in this place
as you were meant to and then,
surprised by your abilities,
become the ancestor of it all,
the quiet, robust and blessed Saint
that your future happiness
will always remember.
by David Whyte
Have you ever fallen in love with a line from a poem? Once in a while I do, and this poem (by an old favourite poet – David Whyte) has given me a line, which feels like potent medicine, that I’ve stored on a shelf in my heart.
‘Be the one…who warms interior forms into light.’
This is of course the season of eggs (here in the Northern Hemisphere) and even as I sit here, I’m aware that hidden in the hedges around my garden there may be many nests with perfect white, blue and speckled eggs being warmed by devoted bird-mothers.
I believe it is the patient, warm waiting that touches me. The outside-tending to something on the inside that is being formed, transformed and healed perhaps, and will be born into the world. I feel this is a delightful metaphor for the attitude, in my mindfulness meditation, of kindly being with what is there, without pushing, reaching, manipulating, controlling. Placing my warm attention upon places of tenderness and vulnerability within which is stored precious, even sacred, potential.
I sense that there’s a need for reverence towards sacred core of aspects of ourselves. One such aspect for me is sensitivity. I’ve come to understand that my chronic pain is a symptom of overriding and hardening around an incredible sensitivity. I’ve come to prize this sensitivity like the most precious darling egg of potential. It is a birthplace of compassion.
St Kevin reaches out of the window of his monk’s cell towards the natural world he loves, and a blackbird builds a nest in his cupped hands. His great sacrifice is to remain motionless supporting this wonder of existence to happen. What a beautiful act! What if we could all take this attitude to ourselves and each other? This wish to support the wonder of who we each are to be born fully into how we walk this earth.
Ps. If you like the idea of absorbing nature based metaphors from poetry and sitting with them in a mindful way come along to the Poetry for the Love of Nature Practice Day, which is on Good Friday.
Photo by Soner Eker on Unsplash