There are vital experiences in any person's life-- events, music, relationships, memories, etc-- that provide what I call kindling for the fire. These moments warm your heart, inspire you to persevere, or simply make you smile. This is the stuff of life that makes it worth living, makes the world magical and enchanting.
I find things to 'light my fire' everywhere, especially in quotes or poetry. This is a poem by Antonio Machado that hits me in my gut every time I read it; my bones tingle with awareness and the beating of my heart vibrates through my being like a clear bell. The part in particular that has greatly inspired me in difficult times I highlighted. I'm a perfectionist, a real Type A driven kind of woman -- and I am very hard on myself when I have not achieved what I thought I should. The imagery of delicate bees creating honey from my efforts that failed speaks to the power of surrendering to metamorphoses in my life.
What does it make you feel? What does it invoke for you? I would love to know.
Last Night As I Lay Sleeping
that there was a spring breaking out in my heart.
I said, "Along what secret aqueduct are you coming to me
Oh water, water of a new life that I have never drunk."
Last night as I was sleeping I dreamt a marvelous illusion
that there was a beehive here in my heart.
And the golden bees were making white combs
and sweet honey from my old failures.
Last night as I was sleeping I dreamt a marvelous illusion
that there was a fiery sun here in my heart.
It was fiery because it gave warmth as if from a hearth
And it was sun because it gave light and brought tears to my eyes.
Last night as I was sleeping I dreamt a marvelous illusion
that there was God here in my heart.
God, is my soul asleep?
Have those beehives who labor by night stopped, and
the water wheel of thought, is it dry?
The cup's empty, wheeling out carrying only shadows?
No! My soul is not asleep! My soul is not asleep!
It neither sleeps nor dreams, but watches, its clear eyes open,
far off things, and listens, and listens
at the shores of the great silence.
It listens at the shores of the great silence.
~ Antonio Machado ~
Blessings,
MsThistle
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