Unworthy (Cheryl Wheeler)

This post came together through a mad divergence of circumstances in my life, redundant when I consider that is exactly how my life truly operates... when all is running according to plan - I may have said this before (deja vu as well as synchronicity)... but I love the Doris Lessing quote: "coincidence is god's way of remaining anonymous"!

I am spotlighting a very-dear-to-my-heart Cheryl Wheeler song, which I mentioned waaaaay back in my first week of blogging - however, it's not really cheating since I didn't use it for the blog post title, right?... :-)

I think I've actually calmed down a bit in the almost 17 months since - I still have almost as many extra-curricular activities on my plate... but I do believe I've found better balance, fine-tuned my organizational skills and re-aligned my priorities. Release was my Word of the Year - I think it's working... :-)

SONG: Unworthy by Cheryl Wheeler

BOOK: The Renaissance Soul: Life Design for People with Too Many Passions to Pick Just One by Margaret Lobenstine

POEM: For the Artist at the Start of Day by John O'Donohue

Let your life be the poem you write.

Let your heart be the portrait you paint. ~ Bonkonon

May morning be astir with the harvest of night;

Your mind quickening to the eros of a new question,

Your eyes seduced by some unintended glimpse

That cut right through the surface to a source.

May this be a morning of innocent beginning,

When the gift within you slips clear

Of the sticky web of the personal

With its hurt and its hauntings,

And fixed fortress corners,

A Morning when you become a pure vessel

For what wants to ascend from silence,

May your imagination know

The grace of perfect danger,

To reach beyond imitation,

And the wheel of repetition,

Deep into the call of all

The unfinished and unsolved

Until the veil of the unknown yields

And something original begins

To stir toward your senses

And grow stronger in your heart

In order to come to birth

In a clean line of form,

That claims from time

A rhythm not yet herd,

That calls space to

A different shape.

May it be its own force field

And dwell uniquely

Between the heart and the light

To surprise the hungry eye

By how deftly it fits

About its secret loss.

QUOTE: "The artist's world is limitless. It can be found anywhere, far from where he lives or a few feet away. It is always on his doorstep." ~ Paul Strand

Stress (Jim Infantino)

If You're Aging Well is my personal anthem, the above-mentioned song is my alter-ego rallying cry - I've been told I "thrive on chaos", and I've come to admit that person was entirely correct. I joke that I have two speeds... fast-forward and coma - when I'm busy, I can break the sound barrier, but I take leisure time to a whole new level as well. It's a get-it-done kinda Saturday, as I machete through piles of paperwork, laundry and household chores that have gone unaddressed, due to multiple reasons, for the last two weeks - it feels wonderful to accomplish so much... and I intend to reward myself later with an OnDemand movie, a glass of wine and a jacuzzi soak before crawling between clean sheets and sleeping fairly guilt-free for a change!

P.S. I'm throwing in the Cheryl Wheeler song as a bamboo steamer bonus... :-)
P.P.S. Tomorrow's title/song selection will most definitely be Dave Carter!

SONG(S): Stress by Jim Infantino

Unworthy by Cheryl Wheeler

BOOK: The Art of Imperfection by Veronique Vienne

POEM: by Barbara Crooker ~ In the Middle

of a life that's as complicated as everyone else's,
struggling for balance, juggling time.
The mantle clock that was my grandfather's
has stopped at 9:20; we haven't had time
to get it repaired. The brass pendulum is still,
the chimes don't ring. One day you look out the window,
green summer, the next, and the leaves have already fallen,
and a grey sky lowers the horizon. Our children almost grown,
our parents gone, it happened so fast. Each day, we must learn
again how to love, between morning's quick coffee
and evening's slow return. Steam from a pot of soup rises,
mixing with the yeasty smell of baking bread. Our bodies
twine, and the big black dog pushes his great head between;
his tail is a metronome, 3/4 time. We'll never get there,
Time is always ahead of us, running down the beach, urging
us on faster, faster, but sometimes we take off our watches,
sometimes we lie in the hammock, caught between the mesh
of rope and the net of stars, suspended, tangled up
in love, running out of time.

QUOTE: "I read this article that said the typical symptoms of stress are eating too much, impulse buying and driving too fast. Are they kidding? That's my idea of a perfect day."