Intentions for a Yoga Practice
May what softens my body
Also soften my anger
May the difficulties of my practice
Melt the hardness of my heart
May stumbles and failures
Dissolve my arrogance
And the bondage of perfectionism be undone
May truth be allowed its say
And may I release whatever I have hoarded
May light heal all souls forever.
by caf
©photo and poem by caf
Fishing
One summer’s solstice
the blue heron
dropped from the sky
to stand in wakeful stillness
in the green scummed pond
by which I watched from the shore.
Her twiggy legs and intent stare
alert to burbles source below the surface
she moved only once sparingly
darted, speared her dinner
flash of silver
returned to watchful silence.
Finally, weary of my unrequested presence
she casually withdrew to the air
and in full self-possession of her strong winged strokes
she flew freely
to fish in waters
of greater solitude.
by caf
© photo and poem carole fults
What good is a day?
What kind of day is it?
When loons on the lake wake you
calling your name in the early morn
after the Screech Owl kept you awake
all the long night before?
What good is a day?
What kind of day is it?
When the forest breeze
avoids disturbing the mist
gathered at the shore
and when you look closely
at the tree’s breath you see Beings
looking back at you
from milky air?
You want to follow them
but you also want breakfast
and – whispering – the visions tell you
that they have food
that will feed you
forever.
by caf
Photo and Poem © Carole Fults
The Magic Closet
She emptied her closet
the shirts and the pants
the blues and greens
the browns, blacks, reds and greens
She dusted the shelves
swept the floor
closed the door on emptiness
But then when later she passed by the door
she saw it open and bulging
with more things
stories in clothing
shoes filled with poetry
coats billowing
filled with memories
Life keeps her closet full
and may it be so while she lives
a bottomless source of fables, tales and metaphor
waiting to be heard.
by caf
Photo and Poem © Carole Fults
Callings
The light house signals boats
and when light houses cannot be seen
The fog horn calls out
Ships bells sing their presence.
Walt Whitman sang a song of himself.
Phone calls, emails, voice mails, text messages,
Bells and gongs to signal beginnings and endings
car horns, alarm clocks, whistles, sirens, buzzers
all with something to say.
Streams trickle, rivers rush, oceans roar
winds howl. Grouse drum in the bushes.
Even God is always speaking to us,
they say.
So much noise
Callings abound –
but there is only one voice my sleeping ears crave
That is the voice calling to tell me where to stand
when the kaleidoscope turns.
How to fall into place, to be aright in the chaotic template,
in the symmetrical rotation of the prism
where my own spot is
in the spin of the universe.
© photo and poem by Carole Fults
One day Fear relaxed for a moment
let go
fell asleep
and dreamed of
peace
and hope.
When Fear awoke
she was changed forever
into a multi colored river
uniting all the earth
and her new name was Love.
by caf
©photo and poem by Carole Fults
All the World is an Asana
We are petals on a flower practicing our yoga
This body is no longer strong or agile.
Dormancy has become her favorite posture
her light is not free but stored
She craves a change of asana.
Maples awaken in the distance with spring growth of swaying red buds
Birds and bugs fly and wiggle
stream currents flow
all moving beings in their unique
flowing, growing, flying and wiggling asanas.
Rocks still and sturdy in their unperturbed poses
the sun in fiery, shining warrior stance
and the moon in golden silent savasana –
They gaze at us and dream that all the world
has moved into the asana of loving.
by caf
© photo and poem by caf
Morning on Bennett Hill
It was a magical morning to be awake on Bennett Hill
The horses and cows were blowing fog from their nostrils
as geese and crows competed
for the shrouded airy currents.
The rising sun looked like a ghostly lantern
as it tried to penetrate the mysterious steam
that enfolded everything in a sheer gray woven fabric.
I heard a chorus of joy rising from the creek
and as I ran to discover the source of the song
I saw angels rising from the mist that blanketed the waters.
A gentle wind was stirring and the angels were chanting:
“Holy is the wind, Hallowed is the wind that stirs the waters
and brings us breath!”
As the breeze dispersed the mist and the sun burnt off the fog
I watched the chorus fade, still chanting.
And staring at the water I saw smiles in the waves
and heard laughter in the currents.
I took up the angel’s chant
“Holy is the wind. Hallowed is the wind that stirs the waters
and brings us breath!”
And I heard the wind reply:
“Holy is this earth. Hallowed is this Earth that calls our names
and gives us life.”
© Photo and Poem by Carole Fults
Today I Came Looking
Today I came to this woods looking for a poem
and this is what I found….
In the distance, in the trees
a luminescent wave of foggy sunlight is piercing everything,
delivering the energy of Life,
the love of God.
A bird floats back and forth and becomes transparent –
a foggy lamination playing in white and yellow currents
riding on the exhalation
of the breath of God.
I won’t hurry too quickly from this place.
I won’t say ‘I’ll be back tomorrow’,
For this light,this particular tantalizing light
is the face of Holiness.
by caf
©photo and poem by Carole A Fults
Many thanks to Carol Coogan for allowing me to use her collage for this posting.
Summoned
She has been called by the stars
so she has come without resistance.
As she stands by the tracks
with a warm coat
and a backpack
She looks to the night sky
for the source of the whispers
that lure her on
to her greatest quest
her most wondrous adventure
her best vision
her deepest union
with her truest destiny.
The summons her soul has been waiting for,
In this moment, the journey to her own heart begins.
by caf
© collage by Carol Coogan
© poem by Carole Fults
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