recuerda mi corazon

gifts my mother gave me

 the beguiling work of maggie taylor

 

 

 my mother gave me courage and compassion

she gave me arms open and a heart to see

  a world where we all live in the house of belonging

and wisdom worn so true it would stand in shelter 

to all the inevitable punches to the heart

 

she gave me a love of words 

a modest sensibility

the desire to cultivate a deep interior life

ease and comfort with needle and thread 

the grace of forgiveness

the ability to make something from nothing

a deep passion to live life fully, permission to dance on tables,

tenacity and a lot of grit.

 

she gave me patience

she taught me to care in small and extraordinary ways 

about the outcome of humanity

all stitched together with a white hot conviction

to live a life well lived.

 

 

what  gifts did your mother give you?

 

 

postcards from paradise el domingo de ramos

 

 san miguel de allende wakes early,

her town dressed in a profusion of purple jacaranda blossoms.

 

 

the warm air is charged with the peeling of ancient bells,

calling everyone out into the sunrise of palm sunday.

 

 

you can walk up or down all the cobblestone streets,

the salutations of welcoming are everywhere.

 

 

 altar windows of viernes de dolores tear at your heart,

their quiet beauty standing witness to grace.

 

 

everywhere preparations,

ancient traditions passed down for five hundred years. 

 

 an abundance of palm fronds, nimble fingers, 

weave the past firmly into the hearts of the present.

 

 

 the air will be pungent with the fragrance of incense,

chamomile, faith and believing under impossibly blue skies.

 

 

 may your heart be filled with the comfort of beauty

and the welcoming of palms.

 play it.

postcards from paradise every leaf and feather

 

 next time what i'd do is look at

the earth before saying anything.

i'd stop just before going into a house

and be an emperor for a minute

and listen better to the wind

or to the air being still.

 

 

when anyone talked to me, whether 

blame or praise or just passing time,

i'd watch the face, how the mouth

has to work, and see any strain, any

sign of what lifted the voice.

 

 

and for all, i'd know more-the earth

bracing itself and soaring, the air

finding every leaf and feather over

the forest and water, and for every person

the body glowing inside the clothes like a light.

 

william staffort

 

postcards from paradise

 

sometimes we are nothing more than cupped hands at dawn

hoping to catch the light.

 

 

 

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postcards from paradise

 

 

we must give the story of our misfortunes a home.

this always seeking to start anew,

to cover our eyes and elude some pain,

eventually

only makes refuges of our wounds.

we must be willing to say their name,

house them, gather them,

and feed them with our remembering

until they acquiesce as the 

great allies that they are.

Toko-Pa

 

  

 

 this morning long before dawn

i started crafting another "beautiful post".

but try as i may three hours later

this is what remains.

a shadow of myself

and the starry crown of misfortune;

and the growing wisdom

 i wear and work with daily.

here's the thing.

every time i look straight into the 

heart of the heart 

of all that comprises my life

courage reigns anew, wisdom deepens, compassion grows.

do the words of Toko-Pa speak to you?

is there something in the shadow of your heart that

longs for your tenderness?

trust me.

there is great beauty in calling out its name,

offering shelter,

having that long conversation with our souls.

 

  postcards from paradise

beauty even in shadows

 

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