The Philosopher's Attic

Thoughts, reasons, truth and mystery: the world through another set of eyes


Posted by on Jun 25, 2015 in Poetry

So many strands. For each love, each pain, each wound, each smile and each shared moment.

Added one to the other, they form a bigger strands. Pulled together, twisted, entwined.

The most astonishing tapistry of life. Full of moments that mattered, good or bad.

Full of laughter and tears and leaves of fallen seasons.

A thousand sparkling meetings. And a thousand bright sunrises.

Children’s smiles and candy longings. And a thousand more nights spent in another love.

Sunday mornings in the mist. The sound of snow falling on a winter valley.

And hundreds of sighs within a sigh.

Another thousand little gestures. And some choice felt words for measure.

Golden locks of pure ecstasy.


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Please come bringing new things…

Posted by on Jun 19, 2015 in Poetry

This. So many times over. Again and always. And once more.

Initiation Song from the Finders’ Lodge by Ursula LeGuin

Please bring strange things.
Please come bringing new things.
Let very old things come into your hands.
Let what you do not know come into your eyes.
Let desert sand harden your feet.
Let the arch of your feet be the mountains.
Let the paths of your fingertips be your maps
and the ways you go be the lines on your palms.
Let there be deep snow in your inbreathing
and your outbreath be the shining of ice.
May your mouth contain the shapes of strange words.
May you smell food cooking you have not eaten.
May the spring of a foreign river be your navel.
May your soul be at home where there are no houses.
Walk carefully, well loved one,
walk mindfully, well loved one,
walk fearlessly, well loved one.
Return with us, return to us,
be always coming home.

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Posted by on Feb 17, 2015 in Poetry

Letting it all go, I’ve left it all drift away from me,
I opened my hand and whatever needed to go, went.

There is no science, or written word
that can teach the simplicity within simple acts of surrender.

Don’t be afraid, be proud.
Of your resistance. Of your hard corners.

Of all your deep scars.

And then, let go. Open your hands and let yourself fall.
Deep and deeper into that breathless silence
filling only the in-between moments of an early morning.

Whatever blossoms from that solitude,
whatever finds you right there,
is whatever you need most.

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