April 3: Poetry The Bowl by Lynn Ellsworth Taylor

Let's just be honest. I'm pretty sad these days.
I mean, this morning I am crying on the bus because I feel like a terrible person, or because our newspaper was stolen, or because I had to sit on my least favorite seat on the boat, or because work is kinda crappy right now, or because Junia was really emotional when I left...who knows why I am crying really. (or because my Dad is dead and there are homeless people and there are babies who are hungry for food and touch and the boat in the harbor that I wanted to see wasn't there).

I don't think I'm depressed- or not in a depression kind of way. . .. But, melencholy , easily burdened by life, bleak, lonesome for something, and just down.  I'm trying to let it be, not read to much into it and just know that this is part of the dynamics of being a person who lives in the presence of life...

So today, this poem feels right. I hope that in coming weeks I may find a "firm hand gently lifting..."

The Bowl

The bowl, resting down-side up

on the table

is filled with darkness only

and not able

to fulfill its given purpose.

A sudden jerk

of knee beneath will not upright it.

nor will work of hammered fist, angry down beside it.

Only firm hand

gently lifting may, by turning, guide it

upright—to stand

and upward pour its contents

into light,

refilled by what all else it may consent

as patient and contrite.

-Lynn Ellsworth Taylor
from:  Taylor, Lynn Ellsworth Flying Home Gaia Publishing Company; Federal Way, WA 1990. 12.


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