I shall have lived, living.

do we work our whole life

to remember the cadence

that was ours in heaven?

do we rush to meditation

only to try so hard to remember

how to slow down?

to hurry is to lose the preciousness

of light, of breath, of the quality

of being only slowness invites.

do we strive and call it a must

because we are reaching for something

we thought we wanted but

cannot even remember why we wanted it?

what is one to do with all of this

unrest and longing intertwined

with the mediocrity of lists

and posts and calendars?

Today is not a day defined

by a calendar or a clock

or a past or a future —

is it? Oh don’t let it be so!

oh the tryanny of future –

let us whirling ones of worry

lay down and take our rest

in the soft warm grass of summer

and not have to consider so much

how it shall all get done

get paid and in what manner

and what belongs to whom

when and who thought of what first.

God is a poet, we know that already.

So God thought of everything first anyway

and on the tablet of God’s poem of fire letters

I shall lie my head after

this dream-streaked day

and trust that what I am supposed

to know and do

I shall know and do

at the appointed time that

there is to know and do it

in any given age.

and if not

I shall not have died

trying

I shall have lived,

living.

I can say that through

the dark valleys I have not

slept through my watch.

no. I have cultivated

my aliveness like a

guard at the door of

a tender heart.

alert. aware. ready.

weary oft

but certainly not asleep;

(in the spiritual sense of things)

I talk to God too much

to sleep through Her poetry.

No. I live from Her every line

like milk from the breast

of the only mother I have

ever known.

Shiloh Sophia

red thread cafe – eve of 4th of july

There is no there, there. Gertrude Stein