Two Poems on New Year's Day

[google images]

[These two poems were written on New Year's Day in Tofino some years back. I am posting them to celebrate this New Year's Day ~ the first day of a year of possibilities,in which anything can happen - in which I can make anything happen, if I choose to. Wishing you a year of days, to be opened like Christmas packages, one by one.]

On the first day of this new year,
in silence,
looking into the heart of flame
of a flickering candle,
I ask the universe to guide my way,
lead me in the direction
I am meant to go,
and use me as it will.
Not making resolutions,
but listening
for the voice within
that knows.
In the stillness,
a message comes:
those I am meant to meet
are expecting me.
The way will open
and I need only follow.
"Be grateful for all gifts"
I hear, and
(in all my striving
for growth, for deepening
and for truth)
"do not overlook what is
already right here,
shining."

[I felt that voice was going to lead me away from that place I loved so much, and sure enough, it did. That voice is making rustling noises once again. As much as I am enjoying my little home, there may perhaps  be another move, another new start coming. Life is full of such leavings, such starting overs. ]

CONTENTMENT

I awake in the dark,
just before morning breaks.
Utter stillness means
the power is out:
no machines drown out
the peacefulness
with sound.
Opening the window,
the wind is melody,
playing through trees
that nod and bend,
one looking like giant broccoli,
the others tall, bearded
Oriental gentlemen
stately, distant, bowing,
that seem as if
they're just about to do Tai Chi.
From behind the forest,
the ocean's voice
is muted roar.
The sleepy drone of the lighthouse
at Lennard's Light
tells of white shrouded sands,
dark driftwood shapes
looming in the mist,
upon a ghostly shore.

Above, two eagles,
wings spread wide,
serenely circle,
spiralling high
in perfect tandem,
eye to eye,
coasting on the wind-currents,
wind-surfing the sky.

Smaller birds call sharply,
waiting for morning seed
and, underneath, in the bushes,
sparkly little raccoon eyes
are waiting for their breakfast
to apear.

Down the hall,
to light my morning fire,
I make my way,
enjoying the comforting crackle,
the spreading warmth,
the homeyness of home
this winter's day.
I pour tea into my dark blue cup,
and, sipping comfort,
breathing peace,
content,
I know my cup
is filled
right up.

I light two fat white candles
just for pleasure,
feeling the spirit
living in the flame,
whispering "thank you"
with gratitude
too great to measure
to a Source
that doesnt need a name.

In these simplest of gifts
my morning brings
the most profound of blessings
and my heart has wings.