A universal language, known to all but spoken by few. If you are me, then I am you.

From Cleave by David Whyte We were born saying goodbye to what we love, we were born in a beautiful reluctance to be here, not quite ready to breathe in this new world, we are here and we are almost not, we are present while still not wanting to admit we have arrived. I love this poem because it so perfectly encapsulates how surprising it is to be alive.

This is a poem I wrote about the way we forget where words come from, their original roots and meanings. The way words evolve and what they have meant through time, what they truly mean at their core, is often lost and right in front of us at the same time. Vibrant, it’s the strangest secret And in plain sight is where we keep it Within the word, you’ll find the whim Unravels like a waking limb

From the Mary Oliver poem ‘Wild Geese’, reminding us we are human, we are ordinary, we are not separate, we are part of this world, part of this “family of things”. And showing us how beautiful that is. “You do not have to be good. You do not have to walk on your knees for a hundred miles through the desert, repenting. You only have to let the soft animal of your body love what it loves.”

Carve your boundaries and then flow within them Like a river flows bound by its banks I’ve often worried about setting boundaries; worried that they keep people out, upset people. More recently I’ve worried that they make me rigid and stop me from being able to let go. It becomes clearer and clearer though, that instead of keeping things out or hemming us in, boundaries give us the exact freedom necessary to surrender and stop fighting that inner voice — the insecure one who saps all our energy, makes us question ourselves. Boundaries enable us in lots of wonderful ways, not least they enable us to replace ten decisions with one, replace self-doubt with self-respect.

Nobody heard it, the inexorable crawl Gravel crunching under tyres creeping, slowly gathering speed, And inside he lay sleeping Close-by they were seen gathering under trees and makeshift awnings It could have been the rain driving them from the usual place That morning Yet standing close to them You would see some eyes darting, some smarting, and weeping As, drowned out, it slipped from the edge And still he lay sleeping

From ‘Great Circle’, an amazing story by Maggie Shipstead. I take this as a comment on how hard it is to stay present, even when things are so beautiful. There’s something melancholic about it, but I also take it as reassurance. We may get lost, but there is always more; there is always another opportunity to be present, always another here, here — always another now, now.

A poem about the extraordinary ordinary, and how we sometimes forget.

This is part of a series I’ve written about releasing resistance — a concept that, like these poems, is simple, but not easy.