Soul: The Practice of Diving Deep

Photo by Ken Stewart


Photo by Ken Stewart

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Sighting
In the loneliest chamber of my heart lay one or two seeds of truth that remain unspoken. A poet I read somewhere compares the foxes she was lucky enough to glimpse disappearing into the graduating darkness of the forest to those harsh and brilliant truths revealed in one’s life but often not shared with anyone else. They are glimpsed, revealed, reveled in, and, sometimes, someone is sought-after with whom to share.

Revelation can be remarkable for how it isolates. Words do not come or are inadequate. How to hold something that can’t be translated? That is a kind of aloneness within which I can live. Something that is mine alone. And it lives in a dark forest in my memory and in my heart.
–Anonymous

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Traveling
I’m a difficult passenger.
I’ll go off to explore,
leaving possessions on the seat—
a signal I am not gone,
and they take a lot of space
intruding on others, I suppose,
making noises, and emitting
smells, auras, spiciness.
I always reclaim my spot
after my sortie. After all
I’ve paid for my seat.
My space is mine to fill,
to spill over from.
Interrupting others, I point out the sights,
the swaying rhythm
that beckons, us to us.
Once I got off and thought
I would not go farther
cradled in warmth and light, but
I left it to resume the ride,
the challenge of my space,
my burdens, my aging, the connection with the others
on this journey.
This traveling is entertaining,
the trip is worth the cost.
–Mim Weber, 2004

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A Grandmother’s Prayer
Grandchild of my dreams where have you gone?
A place where I cannot reach you?
How will I know you?

I will know you by the soft stream of tears I feel
On my cheek, I will know you by the gentle
Spring showers that feed the earth, by the
Sweet scent of the rose in my garden and the
Beam of hope in my daughter’s eye.

We will survive this passage knowing that this
Tiny soul having missed this lustrous life
Is bedded down in eternity safely sleeping
With the stars and cradled in the arms of the moon.

Yes, I will know you in my heart, your small
Shadow printed on my memory, your soul
Buried deep within us growing blossoms of
Love and hope for yet another day of birth.
–Gail Diez, 2005

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By Becky Myrick


Becky Myrick

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Teacher/Mother
The young are grown and
Concern for people
Distant and near
Taken up by others
Inspired to learn
By the presence of
A significant soul.
The world
Ever so slightly
On a different course.
She laid down her book and pen
To rest for another day.
But her work was completed
And this spirit
Born into earth and wind
Shaped by compassion for the powerless
Wise in a world of monumental acceleration
Slipped quietly
Into another dimension
Known by a faith grown from a seed
Into a mountain
Of completed tasks.
–Phil Hinderaker, 2004

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By Becky Myrick


Becky Myrick

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