Somehow it's Friday and I realize I haven't posted all week! I can't say the week has flown by, because it has certainly felt like each hour has crawled by, with lots of stress and upset along the way. Sometimes it becomes difficult to juggle time, as the poem below reflects--trying to be all things to all the people in your life can create a crazy imbalance. Work demands, family worries, the tug of your heart for people who are going through tough times, can all take their toll. At least the weekend is now waving a cheery hello and will hopefully offer a small but oh so necessary respite from all the stress.
I came across a poem last night that really resonated with how life seems at the moment. Barbara Crooker's In the Middle deftly reflects on being stuck in the middle of a complicated life, striving for the balance that sometimes seems so out of reach...
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 I look out the window,
green summer, the next, 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, 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.
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 I look out the window,
green summer, the next, 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, 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.
Hopefully there will be time this weekend to take off our watches and lie in the hammock (except I don't wear a watch and don't have a hammock). If not, I'll try to remember the beautiful lyrics from Leonard Cohen's Anthem...
The birds they sang
at the break of day
Start again
I heard them say
Don't dwell on what
has passed away
or what is yet to be...
Ring the bells that still can ring
Forget your perfect offering
There is a crack in everything
That's how the light gets in.
at the break of day
Start again
I heard them say
Don't dwell on what
has passed away
or what is yet to be...
Ring the bells that still can ring
Forget your perfect offering
There is a crack in everything
That's how the light gets in.
May you have a peace filled weekend, and find the light, no matter how it gets in...
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