Tuesday, August 14, 2012

washed stones: a new space to write

I will not be reopening synch-ro-ni-zing. I am happy with this blog and would not change a thing. It has been rich here, interacting with friends. How I've loved the expanse of it all!

I still need to write, and in an open forum. But I've changed, and I want a quieter and more sequestered space. I picture a monastic retreat, with a narrow bed, a desk and a window. And all the outdoors beyond.

So I am emerging from hibernation into a spare, small room called "washed stones" inspired by a poem of Rilke's titled "Not Poor." (See my bold in the poem.)


We are not poor. We are just without riches,
we who have no will, no world:
marked with the marks of the latest anxiety,
disfigured, stripped of leaves.

Around us swirls the dust of the cities,
the garbage clings to us.
We are shunned as if contaminated,
thrown away like broken pots, like bones,
like last year’s calendar.

And yet if our Earth needed to
she could weave us together like roses
and make of us a garland.

For each being is cleaner than washed stones
and endlessly yours, and like an animal
who knows already in its first blind moments
its need for one thing only—

to let ourselves be poor like that—as we truly are.

        ~ Rainer Maria Rilke
           The Book of Hours, III, 16
           Translated by Anita Barrows & Joanna Macy

I would love for you to join me, if you like. I warn you, I may be very quiet. You might not even hear me speak. But you'll hear me scribbling, because something in my poor (washed) being wants to be read. Like a stone.

More about the poem at my first post at washed stones.


erin said...

...on my way out the door...



Ginnie Hart said...

Ohhhhhh. Me, too, Sister! Heading on over....

Rosaria Williams said...

It's an evolution.

musicwithinyou said...

i will follow and be quiet with you. Scribble away, for your scribbles enlighten my soul.

Louise Gallagher said...

On my way...

* said...


sandy said...

I have visited Small and your other blog and enjoy them. But, I sure miss your posts and your wonderful photos! I was absent for a while during a few moves after selling our house. I still stop by to enjoy your poetry and photos.

Hope all is well with your family and your adorable grandson.

SharonAzar said...

The people of Saba feel bored
with just the mention of prophecy.

They have no desire of any kind. Maybe some
idle curiosity about miracles, but that's it.

This over-richness is a subtle disease.
Those who have it are blind to what's wrong,
and deaf to anyone who points it out.

The city of Saba cannot be understood
from within itself, but there is a cure,
as individual medicine, not a social remedy.

Sit quietly and listen for a voice
that will say, Be more silent.

As that happens, your soul starts to revive.
Give up talking, and your positions of power.
Give up the excessive money.

Turn toward the teachers and the prophets
who do not live in Saba. They will help you
grow sweet again, and fragrant and wild and fresh,
and thankful for any small event.