Alexandersmap

    Tag: David Whyte

    • Coming to Fullness

      I have my freedom
      today
      because
      nothing really happened

      and nobody came
      to see me.
      Only the slow
      growing of the garden
      in the summer heat

      and the silence of that
      unborn life
      making itself
      known at my desk,
      my hands
      still
      dark with the
      crumbling soil
      as I write
      and watch

      the first lines
      of a new poem,
      like flowers
      of scarlet fire,
      coming to fullness
      in a new light.
      — David Whyte, It Happens to Those Who Live Alone

      This summer is halfway over, and as usual, the flower garden peaked before the 4th of July. But here come the tomatoes, reminding us that the harvest is still to come. Days and weeks pass by with seemingly no progress, until one day there it is waiting for us to notice. Ripeness isn’t so much progression as a natural conclusion to the growing season. In this way, gardening and writing follow a similar path.

      Writing is inherently personal. Isolated. But never lonely. To create anything meaningful, one must mine something of oneself. To go deep within and pluck out bits that we believe maybe shouldn’t see the light of day. There they are anyway—read ’em and weep. Or laugh. Or sometimes simply relate. Like a ripening tomato, what was once green and not ready arrives at full ripeness. Now we must pluck it before it dies on the vine.

      This blog is posting on the 31st of July. Shockingly over too soon, this month. It’s always been this way. Life is a series of opportunities seized or slipped away from our grasp. It’s up to us to make the most of our days. A full life begins with doing something with the green idea ripening to fruition. Just what are we to be next? Where is this story going anyway? The harvest is still to come. The answer is to keep at it, as anyone growing anything would tell us.

    • A Ritual of Now

      If you’ll forgive the brag, the garden is looking good this year. A bit of good luck was (and is always) involved, with rain happening while traveling to mitigate the impact of irregular watering in my absence, followed by a well-timed return to tend to things when the heat rose. Whether luck or accumulated experience planting things that are happy in the microclimate I place them in, the garden is thriving. The outcome of our lives is a combination of luck and the steady influence of consistent action. We can debate the ratio, or simply accept what is and what will be.

      If you’re reading this, you’re bucking the trend in the United States to read less. I find myself writing a little less to read a little more. We give our time to what we want in the moment. I’d like to finish more books this year, even if it’s at the expense of a few more blog posts. We tend to become what we measure. Life is too short to do everything we want to do in our time. I’d like to devoir a few more books each year than my present pace.

      I’ve always been a contrarian, a maverick, a rebel. If only in my own mind. The truth is I generally follow the rules and chafe at those who don’t. That explains my overall dismay at the state of things in the country and the exuberance of those who celebrate the downward spiral. But I’m not here to preach and complain. Like you, friend, I’m here to make strides forward.

      I walk toward
      the kitchen
      door as if walking
      toward the
      door of a recognized
      heaven

      and see the
      simplicity
      of shelves and
      the blue dishes
      and the
      vaporing
      steam rising
      from the kettle
      that called me in.

      Not just this
      aromatic cup
      from which to drink
      but the flavor
      of a life made whole
      and lovely
      through the
      imagination
      seeking its way.
      — David Whyte, At Home

      The long, hot days of July are upon us. We ought to dance with each day while it remains our partner. Soon it will be but a summer fling with time gone by. We are here, now, living as we do. In the quest to become what’s next, we shouldn’t lose sight of what is. The way from here is worth contemplating, but never lose sight of the ritual of now. To celebrate and savor all of this is our bold act of presence. So be bold, and savor this day.

    • A Future Sky

      What shape
      waits in the seed of you
      to grow and spread
      its branches
      against a future sky?
      — David Whyte, What to Remember When Waking

      I saw a seal this morning, a dark shape floating quietly in the bay, unmistakeable, assessing the rising sun, perhaps, or more likely catching a breath before diving for breakfast once again. As with these things, the binoculars were handy but not the camera, so you’ll just have to take my word for it. Walking down to try to catch another glimpse, I saw nothing and everything all at once. Let’s go with everything this morning.

      My mind is full of change lately. This blog is full of change lately. The same yet different.

      We cannot predict the future or our place in it, we can only choose a path and work towards that which we dreamed of becoming. Castles in the air, as Thoreau put it, must have a foundation. Work on that today. Tomorrow will unfold as it may.

    • Opened at Last

      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 clear 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, The Opening of Eyes

      Lately I’ve been missing the owls. I walk at night with the dog, assessing the latest accumulation of snow and ice, and I wonder where the owls have gone. They haven’t gone anywhere, I know, for they’re non-migratory. And yet I don’t see them. I don’t hear them. They’re here, but invisible. A whisper in the dark, like so many hopes and dreams. No doubt they’re watching the pup and me, quietly assessing the seekers. We aren’t food or an existential threat, so why bother with us? The fascination is entirely one-sided. The thing is, one doesn’t walk around the neighborhood with a pair of binoculars and remain on good terms with the neighbors. They already think me a curiosity for all the walking the pup and I do. And so it goes that the owls remain hidden in plain sight.

      We move through life meaning well, but easily distracted by the immediate concerns of the day. We all have our owls that whisper to us, waiting to be found. But how hard are we really looking for them? What seismic shift needs to happen? What triggers action towards our grandest plans? After years of conversing, when do we finally hear those whispers loud and clear?

      The answer is sometimes a jolt to the routine. Glancing up at just the right place to catch an owl staring back at us, or stumbling into the right job. But usually it’s being present with the blank page writing, deleting and writing again until just the right words come to us. Whatever that version of writing is to each of us, the ritual of staying with it until we find it is the same. Serendipity aside, we don’t find what we’re looking for if we aren’t out in the proverbial woods with our nose up and our eyes open. Discovery is nothing but being out there in it, today and every day, aware that we may just find possibility yet.

    • That Fierce Embrace

      It doesn’t interest me if there is one God
      or many gods. I want to know if you belong or feel
      abandoned.
      If you know despair or can see it in others.
      I want to know if you are prepared to live in the world
      with its harsh need to change you. If you can look back
      with firm eyes saying this is where I stand. I want to know
      if you know how to melt into that fierce heat of living
      falling toward the centre of your longing. I want to know
      if you are willing to live, day by day, with the consequences of love
      and the bitter
      unwanted passion of your sure defeat. I have been told, in that fierce embrace, even
      the gods speak of God.

      — David Whyte, Self Portrait

      To be ourself in a world that expects acceptance, or at the very least acquiescence, is audacious. Mothers, wanting the very best for their babies, might call it reckless. Best to fall in line, get a proper degree, leading to a proper job, offering a proper life. ‘Tis proper, we’re trained to believe, to focus on the score. Grades and status and titles and the right zip code.

      The score is memento mori. The score is tempus fugit. If we are to melt into that fierce heat of living, we must go against the grain more often than our tribe may be comfortable with. They only want the best for us. We know this, and we must learn to be bold anyway. A lifetime is far too short for all that we want for ourselves, let alone all that our tribe expects of us.

      The real question, the one we’ve avoided all along in this tribal dance, is why won’t we simply embrace it?

    • Practicing Significance

      “No matter the self-conceited importance of our labors we are all compost for worlds we cannot yet imagine.” ― David Whyte

      To be progressing in one part of our lives is meaningful, but incomplete if we aren’t also making strides in the rest of our lives. Balance, as they say, is the key. Progress in fitness and nutrition bodes well, but we can’t ignore our intellectual development while we hone our body into shape. We cannot be a champion of personal excellence if we aren’t reaching beyond ourselves to help others reach theirs, for we are all in this together, even when we sometimes wish to simply go it alone. Some aspire to make a dent in the universe, some aspire to write their own verse. Each is a way to make our brief time dancing with life more meaningful and lasting (in the form of a legacy of contribution).

      There’s no denying that a career is a large and meaningful part of life. If I’ve had any success in business it was built on listening to the needs of others and finding answers. People want to feel they’re being listened to. The world is simply looking for someone to get back to them. We reach out to others, expect an answer or at the very least a timely response, and hope for resolution to whatever started the transaction. Those who follow through are quietly powerful agents of trust and belief. We learn who can be relied upon and follow them throughout their careers. That network of trusted alliances is the foundation, not just of a strong career but a life of significance.

      Each day is an opportunity for connection. Checking in with people just to see how they’re doing, working to solve problems that arise, lending an ear when it’s all that someone needed in that moment—these are how we maintain lifetime bonds with our fellow time travelers. Achievement looks nice on a resume but is shallow on its own. Significance has deeper roots, and allows for growth beyond the individual.

      What do we practice in our daily lives? Looking beyond ourselves is the path to significance and purpose. This may seem out of touch with the current vibe in the world, but what will we remember in the end of our time on earth? How will we be remembered by those who survive us?

    • Witnesses of a Lifetime

      “But no matter the medicinal virtues of being a true friend or sustaining a long close relationship with another, the ultimate touchstone of friendship is not improvement, neither of the self nor of the other, the ultimate touchstone is witness, the privilege of having been seen by someone and the equal privilege of being granted the sight of the essence of another, to have walked with them and to have believed in them, and sometimes just to have accompanied them for however brief a span, on a journey impossible to accomplish alone.” — David Whyte, Consolations: The Solace, Nourishment and Underlying Meaning of Everyday Words

      Some people come into our life and remain active participants in our journey. Some fade away with the release of the common interests that once held us together. There are friendships based on convenience and friendships based on choice. We learn in time who will walk beside us through the years.

      Recently I’ve heard from an old friend whom I thought was drifting away. It seems they were simply busy doing other things, just as I was. Friendships are different from marriages and the relationship we have with teammates in work or sport. Friendships cross the chasm of time and place like stepping stones we land upon on our journey—something solid and trustworthy with which to ground ourselves. And we in turn ground them. We all need something solid in a life so often fluid and uncertain.

      “One of us will see all the funerals, one of us will see none, and one will have none of us at theirs.” — Anonymous

      The thing is, lifetimes don’t last forever. Memento mori. We’ll all pass eventually, and too soon. We must train ourselves to put the troubles of the world aside and be present and aware in our time together. For each moment with true friends offers the blessing of companionship and memory. We are witnesses to each other’s lives, but also active participants in each other’s. So onward, together now and then through this maddening world, for as long as fate allows.

    • Basking In It

      “Time is not slipping through our fingers, time is here forever, it is we who are slipping through the fingers of time.” — David Whyte, Time

      I was texting with a friend who is struggling to balance work with a toddler. She’s prioritizing appropriately, and to use her words, basking in it every day. And shouldn’t she? The diapers and sleepless nights will soon slide into recitals and homework, which will slip into college tours and wedding announcements.

      Tempus fugit: time flies. But when we turn that around and look at it as Whyte has shown us, we realize it’s been us all along, slipping into infinity. This can be depressing or beautiful, depending on how we choose to spend that time. So bask away, friend. Let those grains of sand tickle a little as they flow past in such a hurry.

    • The Side of Good

      When we fight with our failings, we ignore
      the entrance to the shrine itself and wrestle
      with the guardian, fierce figure on the side of good.
      — David Whyte, The Faces of Braga

      I have work to do. I’ve promised myself I’d row every day this month to counter the accumulating calories of the holidays. It’s the 23rd day of December and that promise mocks me like all the broken promises I’ve made before. When you break a promise to yourself the dark mind piles on, bringing up other promises unkept. We are our own worst critic, as the saying goes. We tell others that nobody is perfect while beating ourselves up every time we fall short.

      Still, we are good despite our failings, and better at some things than we were yesterday. We are each on our climb to personal excellence. Nobody said this would be easy, friend. Like the trail to a mountain summit, we must remind ourselves that the path is never straight, often descends and turns away from the goal, but will always carry us to our destination if we just put one foot in front of the other and stick with the path that brings us there.

      Our aim isn’t that evasive perfection but a good life, full of meaning and contribution and direction. Washboard abs might bring some of us happiness, but chances are if our habits aren’t supporting those abs it isn’t a summit we really want to climb. The secret of life is enjoying the passage of time, as James Taylor put it. Being fit is certainly going to make our passage easier to navigate, but we mustn’t forget that the secret is the enjoying part. Sure, the rowing hasn’t been there, but the walking has, and presence with people who matter a great deal. We all have our collection of daily wins and shortcomings. Which way the scale tips is often a matter of perspective.

    • Stepping Into Change

      So let this winter
      of listening
      be enough
      for the new life
      I must call my own.
      — David Whyte, The Winter of Listening

      I met a friend for a pint yesterday. It turned into a small pub crawl between two breweries as the crisp air filled with swirling snow. We talked of the familiar and the forever changing as the snow accumulated and the town roads clogged with drivers uncertain about what to do when the world turns white again. With a nod to the familiar we needed to return to, we cut our reunion short and joined the other drivers while our heads were still clear enough to join the fray.

      Snowflakes melt on the back of my neck as I moved the brush around the truck, feeling my footing on snowy concrete with the anticipation of slippery roads. Like any skill that’s been dormant for some time, walking and driving on icy roads is muscle memory. It all comes back quickly, we just need to take it slowly while the rust clears. We’ve been together before, the winter whispers reassuringly, and sure enough one tentative step brings us to the next and soon we’re safely home again.

      December often hints at changes to come in our lives. Mine is no exception; change has whispered in my ear for months. When the world starts swirling with the forever changing, we may carry the reassurance of having been here before. The landscape may change in disorienting ways, but we’ve developed the skills to navigate this new world safely on our journey of becoming. Keep a clear head and listen for what whispers. Stepping into change is nothing new for us.