For Friday, January 18, 2019:
For those who don’t know, beloved poet Mary Oliver passed from this mortal plane on January 17th from lymphoma. She will be missed, but at least we have her words still. Let’s honor her, her life, her words by taking walks among the oaks and beeches, on the beach, along the edges of a pond, by listening to a grasshopper and a bear and the deer, singing with a mockingbird, whispering to the geese as they fly to heaven.
… When it’s over, I want to say all my life/I was a bride married to amazement …
Mary Oliver (1935-2019), ‘When Death Comes’
For poems are not words, after all, but fires for the cold, ropes let down to the lost, some-thing as necessary as bread in the pockets of the hungry.
For Tuesday, January 15. 2019:
The world is full of poetry. The air is living with its spirit; and the waves dance to the music of its melodies, and sparkle in its brightness.
James Gates Percival (h/t BJ)
For Friday, January 11, 2019:
Living here on earth, we breathe the rhythms of a universe that extends infinitely above us. When resonant harmonies arise between this vast outer cosmos and the inner human cosmos, poetry is born.
Daisaku Ikeda (h/t BJ)
For Tuesday, January 8, 2019:
If you are to have great happiness, you must make up your mind that you are not going to shrink from risks …
Theodore Roosevelt, from a speech in 1911 (h/t RAB)
For Friday, January 4, 2019:
Books aren’t just commodities; the profit motive is often in conflict with the aims of art. We live in capitalism, its power seems inescapable — but then, so did the divine right of kings. Any human power can be resisted and changed by human beings. Resistance and change often begin in art. Very often in our art, the art of words.
I’ve had a long career as a writer, and a good one, in good company. Here at the end of it, I don’t want to watch American literature get sold down the river. We who live by writing and publishing want and should demand our fair share of the proceeds; but the name of our beautiful reward isn’t profit. Its name is freedom.
Ursula K. Le Guin, Words Are My Matter: Writings About Life and Books, 2000–2016, with a Journal of a Writers Week
For Tuesday, January 1, 2019:
May your coming year be filled with magic and dreams and good madness. I hope you read some fine books and kiss someone who thinks you’re wonderful, and don’t forget to make some art – write or draw or build or sing or live as only you can. And I hope, somewhere in [this] year, you surprise yourself.
The Smart Witch meme on Facebook (h/t CO’N)
For Friday, December 28, 2018:
I know artists whose medium is life itself, and who express the inexpressible without brush, pencil, chisel or guitar. They neither paint nor dance. Their medium is Being. Whatever their hand touches has increased life … They are the artists of being alive.
Frederick Franck (h/t RAB)
For Tuesday, Christmas Day, 2018:
To understand Christmas is to come face-to-face with the incarnation. The very notion that God imbued creation with divinity makes everything we see sacred, every step we take a pilgrimage to the divine.
Joan Chittister (h/t Efm Education for Ministry)
For Friday, December 21, 2018:
You must learn to hush the demons that whisper, ‘No one wants to read this. This has already been said. Your voice doesn’t matter.’ In the rare moments when the voices finally hush, you might hear the angels sing.
MargaretFeinberg.com (h/t PB)
For Tuesday, December 18, 2018:
Artists are people driven by the tension between the desire to communicate and the desire to hide.
Donald Wood Winnicott (h/t MjP)
[Personal note: I think I can safely add, at least for many of us, ‘driven by the need to communicate and the need to hide.’]