Should I be gone forever

by Small Circle Big Circle

Photo by Small Circle Big Circle

Should I be gone forever,

yes, do weep for me.

But also, 

look in the mud

your little feet 

will want to step in.

Look in the grass,

in the trunks of the trees;

look in the raindrops,

in the drops of dew on the leaves.

Look in the snowflakes

that caress gently your face;

look in the sand at the beach,

in the stars up in space.

I know I’ll be there,

Please come and look for me.

Hear me in the song of the crows,

in the call of the owl;

Hear me in the sound of the waves,

in the wind, in the brook, 

in the rain, in the fire.

I know I’ll be there;

Please come and look for me.

Feel me in your heart

laughing hard, singing loud;

holding your hand,

brushing your hair,

hugging you tight;

can you see 

I am really there?

I’ll tuck you in at night.

I’ll whisper a prayer;

I’ll bake you a cake in the morning,

I will be there.

I will always be there. 

My heart in your heart 

Will forever be.

For ever and ever

You three and me.

Parole scoperte

Foto di Small Circle Big Circle

Parole scoperte,

perse,

poi ritrovate 

qui

sulla carta 

bianca e deserta.

Parole cadute 

come gocce di sudore,

o saliva filante,

o lacrime involontarie.

Parole scritte

per capire,

per pensare,

per scoprire

la realtà delle cose,

nelle cose stesse.

Parole lette

per poter vivere,

per poter essere,

per poter rispondere

a quella mano che bussa

insistente e violenta.

E per poi poter dire

un giorno:

“Arrivo, arrivo!

Adesso apro.”

Archeologia

Di Small Circle Big Circle

Foto di Small Circle Big Circle

Nelle strade di Roma,

nelle vie, nei vicoli e nei vicoletti,

nelle piazze e nelle piazzette,

sulle fontane,

fra le statue e fra i ruderi,

nelle chiese,

sui muri rosa, gialli,

e su quelli arancioni,

ai mercati e sui palazzi antichi,

sui monumenti e 

sulle scalinate di marmo

sporco o restaurato, 

sempre

mi ritrovo 

alla ricerca

di qualche avanzo di storia.

Della mia storia.

Di qualche traccia del 

mio

passato.

O di impronte 

da me 

lasciate.

o di qualche 

mia 

forma

fossilizzata 

dal tempo.

Ma

in mezzo a così tanta 

storia non mia

mi sembra di trovare

solo qualche ricordo

futile

occasionale

che 

come il rumore di un motorino

appena lo si avverte

scompare 

subito

nel nulla.

To Emily Dickinson

To Emily Dickinson

by Small Circle Big Circle

Sister,

you are to me.

Though I have never met you.

Nor have I ever heard

the sound of your voice;

nor held your hand into mine,

nor tasted the flavor

of your bread.

Sister,

you are to me.

The words you left behind,

hoping

they would be destroyed

one day,

feed me

day and night.

“It is not the words,” someone said

“but the power within them,

the light, the truth in them

is what gives them life.”

Your verse, 

my sister,

is

Alive.

O

so Alive!

It breathes the known and the unknown

of the universe.

It is a constant

reflection

of Being;

in your eyes,

always so perfectly clear and distinct.

You are a sister to me.

And though I have never met you

Nor heard the sound of your voice

Nor held your hand into mine,

You walk with me,

Side by side.

And your words,

yes,

feed me

day and night.

The bread

of my every day.

The plot

“How do I put together into a coherent image the pieces of my life? How do I find the basic plot of my story?”

James Hillman, The Soul’s Code

Painting by Small Circle Big Circle

Habits of mind

Word collage by small circle big circle

Living here

You are probably wondering

What makes habits of the mind

Last a lifetime:

LOVE,

Support all creatures great and small,

collaboration and community,

history,

culture,

local music.

You get one mind.

Feed it well.

Use it for good.

Spring comes.

Beauty

“In a time when we have more access than ever before to the traumas of this world, how will you resist the tide of despair? Let beauty be your anchor. If you find the lake view too bright, bring your gaze closer, perhaps all the way to your own flesh and blood. Life is monstrous on the threshold of apocalypse. The practice of beholding, this fidelity to beauty in all things, I’ve come to believe, is no small form of salvation.”

From Black Liturgies by Cole Arthur Riley

Apples by Small Circle Big Circle

The Guest House by Rumi

This being human is a guest house.
Every morning a new arrival.

A joy, a depression, a meanness,
some momentary awareness comes
As an unexpected visitor.

Welcome and entertain them all!
Even if they’re a crowd of sorrows,
who violently sweep your house
empty of its furniture,
still treat each guest honorably.
He may be clearing you out
for some new delight.

The dark thought, the shame, the malice,
meet them at the door laughing,
and invite them in.

Be grateful for whoever comes,
because each has been sent
as a guide from beyond.

– Rumi

by Small Circle Big Circle