A Matter of Matter

Matter is indeed infinitely and incredibly refined.

To anyone who has ever looked on the face of a dead child

or parent

the mere fact that matter could have taken for a time

that precious form, ought to make matter sacred ever after.

It makes no difference what the principle of life may be, material or immaterial,

matter at any rate co-operates, lends itself to all life's purposes.

That beloved incarnation was among matter's possibilities.

pragmatism - william james - 1907

Think of how easily we sometimes take for granted people,

even at times our loved ones.

How much easier it is then, to take for granted the things in our lives.

I remember when I read this quote by Vincent Van Gogh:

"But I always think that the best way to know God is to love many things."

It made quite an impression on me.

I have this tendency to live perhaps too much in the non-concrete world,

I like the abstract, the theoretical, the spiritual.

But I think the key is to find a balance between

the spiritual and physical worlds,

to live in the place where they meet.

I think that's where Love resides.

The formless within form, try to see it.

The energy within all things!

the coffee pot, the window pane,

the flower, the pinkie toe, the book, the heart,

they lend themselves, as William points out, so freely

to purpose, to possibility.

Let's give thanks for that gift,

and remember that it is also a responsibility.

When we think of the gun, the crude gesture, the atom bomb,

we remember

that matter lends itself just as easily to hate.

Welcome Morning

There is joy

in all:

in the hair I brush each morning,

in the Cannon towel, newly washed,

that I rub my body with each morning,

in the chapel of eggs I cook

each morning,

in the outcry from the kettle

that heats my coffee

each morning,

in the spoon and the chair

that cry "hello there, Anne,"

each morning,

in the godhead of the table

that I set my silver, plate, cup upon

each morning.

All this is God,

right here in my pea-green house

each morning

and I mean,

though often forget,

to give thanks,

to faint down by the kitchen table

in a prayer of rejoicing

as the holy birds at the kitchen window

peck into their marriage of seeds.

So while I think of it,

let me paint a thank-you on my palm

for this God, this laughter of the morning,

lest it go unspoken.

The joy that isn't shared, I've heard,

dies young.

-Anne Sexton

Everything is Waiting For You

Your great mistake is to act the drama

as if you were alone. As if life

were a progressive and cunning crime

with no witness to the tiny hidden

transgressions. To feel abandoned is to deny

the intimacy of your surroundings. Surely,

even you, at times, have felt the grand array;

the swelling presence, and the chorus, crowding

out your solo voice. You must note

the way the soap dish enables you,

or the window latch grants you freedom.

Alertness is the hidden discipline of familiarity.

The stairs are your mentor of things

to come, the doors have always been there

to frighten you and invite you,

and the tiny speaker in the phone

is your dream-ladder to divinity.

Put down the weight of your aloneness and ease into

the conversation. The kettle is singing

even as it pours you a drink, the cooking pots

have left their arrogant aloofness and

seen the good in you at last. All the birds

and creatures of the world are unutterably

themselves. Everything is waiting for you.

-David Whyte