For the Interim Time & 5,4,3,2,1 Poem

We referenced John O'Donohue's poem in our March newsletter. Here it is in full. Stacy's 5,4,3,2,1 poem is below.

A Blessing For The Interim Time

When near the end of day, life has drained

Out of light, and it is too soon

For the mind of night to have darkened things,

No place looks like itself, loss of outline

Makes everything look strangely in-between,

Unsure of what has been, or what might come.

In this wan light, even trees seem groundless.

In a while, it will be night, but nothing

Here seems TO believe the relief of dark.

You are in this time of the interim

Where everything seems withheld.

The path you took to get here has washed out;

The way forward is still concealed from you.

“The old is not old enough to have died away;

The new is still too young to be born.”

You cannot lay claim to anything;

In this place of dusk,

Your eyes are blurred;

And there is no mirror.

Everyone else has lost sight of your heart

And you can see nowhere to put your trust;

You know you have to make your own way through.

As far as you can, hold your confidence.

Do not allow your confusion to squander

This call which is loosening

Your roots in false ground,

That you might become free

From all you have outgrown.

What is being transfigured in your mind,

And it is more difficult and slow to become new.

The more faithfully you can endure here,

The more refined your heart will become

For your arrival in the new dawn.

John O'Donohue

---

5, 4, 3, 2, 1

The gracious bow of the tulip's long neck.
Oatmeal I actually made on the stove.
Dog bone, phone, poetry books.

Sweaty feet in happy slippers.
An itchy eye I know I shoudn't touch but probably will.
Tight shoulders.
Looser now.

The heater, still on.
The dogs, rough play.
Beethoven.

Coffee.
Incense.

Coffee.

Stacy Sims, March 10