Where does inspiration lie? Everywhere!

This is my attempt to pounce on and then shape the words I breathe.

Please join me with your comments and make this a dialogue . . . and visit Susan's Poetry!

Wednesday, December 16, 2015

Be Thou My Vision

I heard this song first in the Bud's of Jesus group I am part of. We've been exploring the body of Jesus, the depth of worship, etc, and we sing at the end.  This one made me happy so here it is.

Tuesday, December 8, 2015

Using Meditation to Wait and to Stop Waiting

Benefits of Meditation

My discipline to meditate continues--but not discipline to write about it. Writing about November's challenge--writing about anything--petered out after Thanksgiving at my parent's home. Writing with Jennifer is on hold as she continues to care for her father and folks in Kentucky.  And my book?  I have moved the pile of papers from the living room shelf to my work space on the dining room table. I plan to give it two hours daily but haven't started that yet.  I have to figure out where all my time goes.

More and more I find I use meditation in ordinary situations: waiting for appointments, before worship and physical therapy exercises and along with Alexander-technique loosening of my body.  I use it to relax, to practice loving kindness, to breathe, to walk.  I resort to it consciously as it is not yet an instinct.  But it has loosened me up and allowed me to listen more deeply not only to my environment but also to people.

I wonder if I could apply it to my writing practice?  I'm going to try to do this, to meditate before thinking, before writing to think, as a path into deeper connections.  That would be a kindness to myself. 

Also, I will write prompts for myself ... novel worksheets for my novel.  Got to get this ball rolling.

Saturday, December 5, 2015

Meditation on trains and away from home: Letting Go

Letting Go

When will the eruption happen? I won-
der. I practice meditation techniques
while visiting so I will breath and live.

Ever admitting the fear would be dan-
gerous, so I zip it except once, when
I ask mom to stop and to let me drive.

We argue later.  I was scared, I say.
You scare too easily, she retorts. 
I know exactly where the edges are.

She found my edges, ditch on one side and
oncoming traffic on the other, my
heart in my mouth and my life in her hands.

She seems half crazy to me as she clings
to her rights and independence.  Does she
truly know whether she knows or do I?

Witness of the hour, I don’t engage or
argue.  I try not to look sad as she
lists all the ways she is careful.  She is.

I don’t want her to feel caged, watched and un-
happy.  I don’t want to be the cause of
curtailed freedom.  I want no regrets.  None.

Forgive me, brothers and other drivers
I can’t say never more, be the raven at 
her door, carrying in reality.

I have had her for almost 100
years and so meditate to breathe and
to breathe and to give her loving kindness.

Posted ot Poets United Poetry Pantry #281

(My country roads are in Upstate New York, Greene County on the Hudson River,
given lots of words in my book ReMothering: Poetry by Susan Chast.)

Copyright © 2015  S.L.Chast