Wednesday, April 10, 2013

The Wild Breath, By Tom Hirons

The Wild Breath, By Tom Hirons 

Today, the earth began exhaling.
All Winter, it held its breath,
Kept its fragrance to itself,
Held itself so tight, I could feel its ribs ache.
But, today, the earth began to smell again.

What had been locked in its chest
Began to push back out at the world today.
Soon, primroses and garlic will follow that
Path of life’s breath into sunlight;
Now, it is simply the shifting, vital moment
Between the inhaling and
Exhaling of the Earth.

The fingers of Winter loosened today;
That tight hand will become Summer’s palm
Where all of Life dances:
Myself and you and us and them
And all tomorrow’s children.

                Somewhere, in the centre of the Earth,
                A spark leaps to the hibernating heart
                And beneath the blackened leaves of Winter,
                That great, essential drum resounds.

Today, the earth began to smell again.
The sap turned around; life turned towards life.
The body of this great, wild woman,
This land that grows through my feet,
Shifted in her sleep and sighed.
She whispered something unmistakable.
Everybody heard.
The trees and rocks and the wild birds and me:
All Winter we were waiting
And, today, the earth began exhaling.

The Invitation, by Oriah

This book is a keeper-buy it.

The Invitation, by Oriah From Mountain Dreamer  (

"It doesn't interest me what you do for a living. I want to know what you ache for, and if you dare to dream of meeting your heart's longing.

It doesn't interest me how old you are. I want to know if you will risk looking like a fool for love, for your dream, for the adventure of being alive.

It doesn't interest me what planets are squaring your moon. I want to know if you have touched the center of your own sorrow, if you have been opened by life's betrayals or have become shriveled and closed from fear of further pain! I want to know if you can sit with pain, mine or your own, without moving to hide it or fade it, or fix it.

I want to know if you can be with joy, mine or your own, if you can dance with wildness and let the ecstasy fill you to the tips of your fingers and toes without cautioning us to be careful, to be realistic, to remember the limitations of being human.

It doesn't interest me if the story you are telling me is true. I want to know if you can disappoint another to be true to yourself; if you can bear the accusation of betrayal and not betray your own soul; if you can be faithless and therefore trustworthy.

I want to know if you can see beauty even when it's not pretty, every day, and if you can source your own life from its presence.

I want to know if you can live with failure, yours and mine, and still stand on the edge of the lake and shout to the silver of the full moon, “Yes!”

It doesn't interest me to know where you live or how much money you have. I want to know if you can get up, after the night of grief and despair, weary and bruised to the bone, and do what needs to be done to feed the children.

It doesn't interest me who you know or how you came to be here. I want to know if you will stand in the center of the fire with me and not shrink back.

It doesn't interest me where or what or with whom you have studied. I want to know what sustains you, from the inside, when all else falls away.

I want to know if you can be alone with yourself and if you truly like the company you keep in the empty moments."