Gratitude unlocks the fullness of life.

It turns what we have into enough...

.........and more.

It turns denial into acceptance,
chaos to order, confusion to clarity.

It can turn a meal into a feast,

a house into a home,

a stranger into a friend.

~Melody Beattie


Don't be satisfied with stories,

how things have gone with others.

***Unfold your own myth.***
~Rumi


I hope you will go out and let stories,

that is life, happen to you, and that

you will work with these stories . . .

water them with your blood &

tears & your laughter till they bloom,

till you yourself burst into bloom.

~Clarissa Pinkola Estes

Monday, 14 December 2015

A Favorite Christmas Poem





A CHRISTMAS CHILDHOOD
Patrick Kavanagh
Stanza II




My father played the melodeon
Outside at our gate;
There were stars in the morning east;
And they danced to his music.
Across the wild bogs his melodeon called
To Lennons and Callans
As I pulled on my trousers in a hurry.
I knew something strange had happened.



Outside in the cow house my mother
Made the music of milking;
The light of her stable-lamp was a star
And the frost of Bethlehem made it twinkle.
A water-hen screeched in the bog,
Mass going feet
Crunched the wafer-ice on the pot-holes,
Somebody wistfully twisted the bellows wheel.


My child poet picked out the letters
On the grey stone,
In silver the wonder of a 
Christmas townland,
The winking glitter of a frosty dawn.
Cassiopeia was over
Cassidy's hanging hill,
I looked and three whin bushes rode,  
The Three Wise Kings.


An old man passing said:
"Can't he make it talk"-
The melodeon, I hid in the doorway
And tightened the belt of my box-pleated coat.
I nicked six nicks on the door-post
With my penknife's big blade -
There was a little one for cutting tobacco.
And I was six Christmases of age.


My father played the melodeon,
My mother milked the cows,
And I had a prayer like a white rose pinned
On the Virgin Mary's blouse.





Patrick Kavanagh ~ Irish poet & novelist, 1904-1967