On Children - By Kahlil Gibran

Your children are not your children.

They are the sons and daughters of Life’s longing for itself.

They come through you but not from you,

And though they are with you yet they belong not to you.

You my give them your love but not your thoughts,

For they have their own thoughts.

You may house their bodies but not their souls,

For their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow,

Which you cannot visit, not even in your dreams.

You may strive to be like them,

But seek not to make them like you.

For life goes not backwards nor tarries with yesterday.

You are the bows from which your children as living arrows are sent forth.

The archer sees the mark upon the path of the infinite,

and He bends you with His might that His arrows may go swift and far.

Let our bending in the archer’s hand be for gladness;

For even as He loves the arrow that flies, so He love also the bow that is stable.

By Kahlil Gibran

New possibilities about yourself.

Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate,

Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure.

It is our light, not our darkness, that most frightens us.

We ask ourselves, who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, and fabulous –

Actually, who are you not to be?

You are a child of God.

Your playing small doesn’t serve the world.

There is nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people

Won’t feel insecure around you.

We are born to make manifest the glory of God within us.

It is not just in some of us: it is in everyone,

And as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously

Give other people permission to do the same.

As we are liberated from our own fear,

Our presence automatically liberates others.

Marianne Williamson, A Return to Love (New York: HarperCollins, 1992)

Autumn clouds, by Olga Fernandez

Autumn clouds are so heavy.

They just hang there. Still. Their cloud bellies full of summer memories.

They mull them over. One at a time.

Little cloud eyes pinched tight to push each memory movie forward.

Forward.

Forward.

To the horizon.

Where the earth will soon again bow to welcome the spring sun as it swings around the earth to skate across their puffy cloud faces.

Waking them.

Lighting them.

Lifting them.

Up.

Up.

To where tomorrow never ends.

Photo & Poem by Olga, my dear friend and great creative collaborator.

Our Some

Below is a poem I wrote trying to understand who I am and where I’m going as my children start to head out on their own.

Our Some

Some say we are the sum of our experiences.

Some say we are the sum of our years.

Some way we are the sum of our relationships.

Some say we are the sum of our dreams.

Some say we are the sum of our work.

Some say we are the sum of our contributions.

Some say we are the sum of our children.

Some say we are the sum of our love.

Some say we are the sum of our doubts.

And some say we are the sum of our debts.

I say we are simply some of ourselves:

changing

growing

expanding

building

creating

sharing & feeling…

our sum!

A Father’s Day Observation - In their Eyes!

Don’t for as moment think that fathers become fathers for some altruistic reason. We do it for what we get to see.

The look of a new born child as they take their first breath.

The look of a baby at a midnight feeding.

The look of a child in awe of a sandcastle.

The look of a teenager as you hand over the keys.

The look of a young adult as they choose their college.

We see ourselves in their eyes and we know ourselves. In their eyes we remember what is important – our love.

Now off to see my father, so he can look in my eyes.

Mary’s Tent

Over the last weekend our daughter graduated from high school and is off to college in the fall. To mark this important passage in her life and ours - I wrote the following poem to give voice to how her mother and I where feeling. Also I would like to thank my good friend Betsy for her title suggestion!

Mary's Tent

It is white,

large and billowing in the breeze

of a Sunday in June.

It sits on a green field

that has seen many

great and small milestones

in the lives of who have

walked and played on it.

Now, on this June day

these lives are on this field,

with this community,

for one last time.

The tent holds us and reminds us

of the roles that we played

to reach this point.

For each of us the tent is 

our own dreams,

our own fears, and

our own child.

So on this June day,

Mary's tent holds her one last time

as her parents held her

for the first time so many years ago.

Wondering Why

This poem I wrote a number of years ago trying to understand why I feel emotionally stuck in place. At that time I did not know it was about how barriers I had internalized where silencing my personal voice.

 

Mirror Mirror in my mind

Where do I begin to hide?

 

In the snap shots of my life

Delivering flashes for the masses

 

Never stepping out of step

Always arriving lost and wondering

 

Why am I with out a window?

While my life moves into sight

 

Building bridges that I refuse to cross

So I can run from side to side

Only to come upon myself

Wondering why