Monthly Archives: June 2018

i thank you God for this most amazing by e. e. cummings

(Brendan Scannell, Duneland Beach, IN, June 26, 2018)

i thank You God for most this amazing
day:for the leaping greenly spirits of trees
and a blue true dream of sky;and for everything
which is natural which is infinite which is yes

(i who have died am alive again today,
and this is the sun’s birthday;this is the birth
day of life and of love and wings:and of the gay
great happening illimitably earth)

how should tasting touching hearing seeing
breathing any—lifted from the no
of all nothing—human merely being
doubt unimaginable You?

(now the ears of my ears awake and
now the eyes of my eyes are opened)

This poem was originally published in Xaipe1 (New York: Oxford University Press, 1950).


Ivy River

I wrote this reflection on May 9, 2018, in Marshall, North Carolina while at a Presence-Based Coaching Conference at the Bend of Ivy Lodge. Sitting alone on rocks nestled on the edge of the Ivy River with a view of the Blue Ridge Mountains, I reflected on life, work, love, play, and relationships. I grew uneasy as tasks at home and work invaded my private space. I had left home in a frenzy – unfinished class project, hurried visits, rushed final lesson plans, paper grading, lost and found cell phone, and a fuzzy sense of purpose –  all buried in extensive to-do lists.

I pulled out my journal and wrote the following:

I Ionged for this time alone ninety minutes ago. Now I am restless. So much to do. What? Nothing now. Just be here in this gorgeous place full of rich history and natural beauty.

I am hungry. My butt hurts. Time to move. Time to shift.

Is this what my life would be without work? Would I lose purpose? Would I doze in the afternoon? Is that okay?

Structure and flexibility –  life’s polarities. I dance within this flow. I just need to find a bit more space. 

Then I brainstormed a list of ways to change, rearrange, explore. Yoga after work instead of before. Get up earlier. Chat less. Make intentional choices. Then I looked at the Ivy River and wrote this poem:

The Ivy River – Marshall, North Carolina

“Water – tumbling over rocks, repeated patterns of Light and life – graciously unsure of its destination. 

Bubbling, dipping downstream, fanciful flow greeting the air – open to new possibilities. 

Forging forward –  a community creating rhythms – reassurance,  serenity, hope.

Murmuring, ‘I have been here hundreds of thousands of years, resilient, ready for the unknown around the bend.’

Neighbors marvel – moss, mud, pebbles, stumps, sticks, stones – not trying to capture, remember, share, or like – just feeling and being, not wishing for a fellow witness.”

I am right in there with the moss and mud – learning from the Ivy River how to be. Those stumps, sticks, and stones teach a lesson, too.