Poems of Unalome

  The Journey, by Mary Oliver The Journey One day you finally knew what you had to do, and began, though the voices around you kept shouting their bad advice– though the whole house began to tremble and you felt the old tug at your ankles. “Mend my life!” each voice cried. But you didn’t stop. You knew what you had to do, though the wind pried with its stiff fingers at the very foundations, though their melancholy was terrible. It was already late enough, and a wild night, and the road full of fallen branches and stones. But little by little, as you left their voices behind, the stars began to burn through the sheets of clouds, and there was a new voice which you slowly recognized as your own, that kept you company as you strode deeper and deeper into the world, determined to do the only thing you could do– determined to save the only life you could save.

Dedication of Merit By  One Earth Sangha   The Extended Version May all places be held sacred. May all beings be cherished. May all injustices of oppression and devaluation be fully righted, remedied and healed. May all who are captured by hatred be freed to the love that is our birth right. May all who are bound by fear discover the safety of understanding. May all who are weighed down by grief be given over to the joy of being. May all who are lost in delusion find a home on the path of wisdom. May all wounds to forests, rivers, deserts, oceans, all wounds to Mother Earth be lovingly restored to bountiful health. May all beings everywhere delight in whale song, birdsong and blue sky. May all beings abide in peace and well-being, awaken and be free.

  Mind Wanting More BY  HOLLY J. HUGHES Only a beige slat of sun above the horizon, like a shade pulled not quite down. Otherwise, clouds. Sea rippled here and there. Birds reluctant to fly. The mind wants a shaft of sun to stir the grey porridge of clouds, an osprey to stitch sea to sky with its barred wings, some dramatic music: a symphony, perhaps a Chinese gong.   But the mind always wants more than it has— one more bright day of sun, one more clear night in bed with the moon; one more hour to get the words right; one more chance for the heart in hiding to emerge from its thicket in dried grasses—as if this quiet day with its tentative light weren't enough, as if joy weren't strewn all around.

“Fire” by Judy Brown What makes a fire burn is space between the logs, a breathing space. Too much of a good thing, too many logs packed in too tight can douse the flames almost as surely as a pail of water would. So building fires requires attention to the spaces in between, as much as to the wood. When we are able to build open spaces in the same way we have learned to pile on the logs, then we can come to see how it is fuel, and absence of the fuel together, that make fire possible. We only need to lay a log lightly from time to time. A fire grows simply because the space is there, with openings in which the flame that knows just how it wants to burn can find its way. Judy Brown , from  The Sea Accepts All Rivers

  We Remember Them’ by Sylvan Kamens & Rabbi Jack Riemer At the rising sun and at its going down; We remember them. At the blowing of the wind and in the chill of winter; We remember them. At the opening of the buds and in the rebirth of spring; We remember them. At the blueness of the skies and in the warmth of summer; We remember them. At the rustling of the leaves and in the beauty of the autumn; We remember them. At the beginning of the year and when it ends; We remember them. As long as we live, they too will live, for they are now a part of us as We remember them. When we are weary and in need of strength; We remember them. When we are lost and sick at heart; We remember them. When we have decisions that are difficult to make; We remember them. When we have joy we crave to share; We remember them. When we have achievements that are based on theirs; We remember them. For as long as we live, they too will live, for they are now a part of us as, We remember them.