There's a thread you follow.
It goes among
things that change.
But it doesn't change.
People wonder about what you are pursuing.
You have to explain about the thread.
But it is hard for others to see.
While you hold it you can't get lost.
Tragedies happen; people get hurt
or die; and you suffer and get old.
Nothing you do can stop time's unfolding.
You don't ever let go of the thread.
That day I saw beneath dark clouds
the passing light over the water
and I heard the voice of the world speak out,
I knew then, as I had before
life is no passing memory of what has been
nor the remaining pages in a great book
waiting to be read.
It is the opening of eyes long closed.
It is the vision of far off things
seen for the silence they hold.
It is the heart after years
of secret conversing
speaking out loud in the clean air.
It is Moses in the desert
fallen to his knees before the lit bush.
It is the man throwing away his shoes
as if to enter heaven
and finding himself astonished,
opened at last,
fallen in love with solid ground.
— David Whyte
My dreams are dreams of the pond
That lives not only to mirror the sky
But to let the surrounding willows and ferns
Refresh and cleanse me.
Through tree roots I make my way towards the leaves' veins
Their dying brings me no sorrow
For I've expressed myself,
I've won life.
My happiness is the sun's happiness
In a brief span of time I'll leave behind enduring works
That will strike gold sparks
In children's eyes, and
In a sprouting seedling
I'll sing a jeweled green song.
I am artless yet bountiful
I'm unfathomable.
My pain is the pain of seasonal birds
Only spring understands such passion.
Endure all hardships and failures,
Always fly toward a future of warmth and light.
Ah, the bleeding wings
Will write a line of supple verse
To enter deep within all souls,
Deep into all times.
All my feelings
Are a gift from earth.
—Shu Ting
