The Shapes of the World

Though this first day of 2012 will flow into the next, as did yesterday, it is a starting point as well. Carries possibility. I've been giving that thought. Possibility. Trying to "feel the shape of things to come" as David Whyte says below. An annual review of what I do and what more I might, to make it better; this magical spinning orb that carries us into the new year. 

The global communication made possible through the gift of blogs is a treasure and an important tool. Thanks to each of you for your part. May your New Year be filled with light, love and "the sound of home." Hugs, Chris

The Shapes of the World

By David Whyte

From the book 'Where Many Rivers Meet'

Poems by David Whyte

Stooped low on the beach gathering firewood,

round, bleached and shaped by a gracious weather,

I find the eyes of mythical totems,

the shapes of fish and orca's fins.

My friend tends the fish, I tend the fire.

Slowly the fish fries in it's round black pan.

Beneath, the innumerable shapes of other fish

salted by many years, burn blue and red

and yellow.

Our two kayaks are turned on a gravel beach,

steel grey light on their upturned bows,

while woodsmoke drifts out beyond them,

smudging the islands guarding the cove.

Through those small islands we coasted

skirting the wild weather chasing our sterns,

and I remember, that as we struck gravel

I felt the shape of things to come.

It was as if I remembered how all things fit

one to another and the sound of gravel

was the sound of home, and at the place where 

water meets land I could meet all things.

On the cold beach we made a nest, a tent

shadowed by trees, a small fire, a place to sit.

The pure silence of honest work,

twigs cracking in the moist air.

Above us the young eagle circled

seeking a glimmer in the sea.

The waves murmured on the beach,

the gravel's voice rising and falling.

When we find a home like this

it must be that the old ones come by,

join us on the rough log seats,

through their arms round our shoulders,

speak lovingly of the eagle,

laugh between mouthfuls of fish.

Tell us to go back, tell the old stories.

How the shapes of the world can speak.