Category Archives: David Whyte

Day of Rest

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My friend Lindsey shared a poem on her blog, and part of it has stuck with me for days, especially considering my obsession with taking pictures of the sky, the way it shifts and changes and always amazes.

Sometimes it takes
a great sky
to find that

small, bright
and indescribable
wedge of freedom
in your own heart.
~The Journey, David Whyte

This also stuck with me because of the way my practice and Buddhist studies are always reminding me that, at least in a metaphorical sense, I am the sky–spacious and open and fundamentally sane. As Susan Piver explains,

Dharma teachers often suggest considering your thoughts to be like clouds in the sky. Some are dark and stormy, some are beautiful and fat, while others are wispy and ethereal. Sometimes there are no clouds at all. No matter. Just like clouds in the sky, thoughts pass through your mind. And just like the sky, your mind can contain it all.

We are accustomed to identifying with every large or small thought that comes along. But you can train yourself to identify as the sky instead. When you do, tremendous confidence arises. You see beyond doubt that you can accommodate it all–sunshine, storms, mist, fog, hail–and never give up.

On this day of rest, I am contemplating what it means to “find that small, bright and indescribable wedge of freedom in your own heart,” to allow confidence to arise, and to “see beyond doubt that you can accommodate it all–sunshine, storms, mist, fog, hail–and never give up.” May you, kind and gentle reader, on this day of rest, experience both freedom and confidence, along with true rest.

Day of Rest

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On our walk yesterday morning, the frozen ponds were melting, singing and moaning, and I noticed around the edges that algae was starting to form, bright spring green spreading under the cloudy frozen surface of winter. The sky was bright blue, the sun blazing, and later in the afternoon, it turned gray and thick, and there was snow.

On this day of rest, I am still struggling to get used to my new progressive lenses (did I tell you I needed bifocals?), so the world seems blurry and is making me woozy and dizzy. I can’t figure out where to look, how to get things in focus. My right ear is plugged up, throwing off my balance that much more.

Amidst change, in what can seem like chaos and confusion, I still feel grounded. This morning while folding laundry, I was listening to Brene’ Brown’s The Power of Vulnerability. She clarified that being wholehearted (living and loving with your whole heart, “all in”) wasn’t a thing you had or arrived at, mastered or possessed, but rather it’s a practice, a series of moment by moment choices, what we invite into our lives and make space for, and what we let go of, release.

I’m hearing this message repeated in the Mondo Beyondo class I’m assisting, in the Cultivating Courage class I’m taking, in Rachel Cole’s Ease Hunting class, in other things I’m reading, other people I’m talking to, in the wisdom of my own heart–that with anything you want to achieve, do, be, you can approach it as a practice, a process that is ongoing.

As with any practice, one must suspend judgement, drop the agenda, show up with an open heart, allow whatever might arise, try not to get attached or hooked, stay relaxed, be soft and gentle, be present and mindful. It is so for me with creativity, with my various practices of writing, walking, yoga and meditation, with my life.

You move forward, in the direction of your dreams, on the path towards True North, you have an intention, a goal in mind, a map, but without expectation of arriving or being finished, and open to whatever shifts might happen in the weather or the terrain, allowing for days when you feel strong and full of energy, as well as days you feel tired and sad, accepting what is. You don’t take a breath thinking that once you do, you are now done, or once you do it “right” you’ll never have to do it again. You simply breath in and breath out, and keep doing so. So it is with practice, with life.

Enough. These few words are enough.
If not these words, this breath.
If not this breath, this sitting here.
This opening to the life
we have refused
again and again
until now.
Until now.
~David Whyte