Now, for a while, the darkstays dark. The long nightswill be long no matter how you pray for light. This god will not be rushed. But she will offer you the thick black folds of her cloak,where you’re finally freeto lose everythingthat can’t be kept.
Author: James A. Pearson
November Evening
And then there’sthe yellow trees dripping with after-storm light. And then the busy people’s faces, each with its effortless beauty. And then the steely, spacious twilight glow in the west, and to the east the tall poplar shining dimly against dark gray distant clouds. And then I’m walking in a world once again enchanted, once… Continue reading November Evening
The Simplest of All Regrets
I’m in one right now—one of those days that will nevercome again. The brown puzzle piecesof oak leaves scatteredover the sidewalk, and the sunrisestretching itself into a long,luxurious thing. And yousitting across from me laughingto yourself about somethingon your phone, totally unawareof the alchemical morning lightagainst your cheek. Please body! Please mind! Wake fully into this moment. How… Continue reading The Simplest of All Regrets
October Poem
One Good Wind It’s October so, yes, the worldis dying but I always thinkI have another monthat least, maybe two,to marvel in the middleof fall’s kaleidoscope,walking this fractal tranceof kindergarten yellows and(somehow!) iridescent pinks.But then one good windcomes in off the distant Pacific and trees that just yesterday dripped with dazzlestand skeletized, strippedof their abundance for the… Continue reading October Poem
A Door in the Dead End
How loss, heartbreak, and failure open your way to the second half of life In late September of 2013, an old friend forwarded me a mass email. That’s not something I’d usually remember more than a decade later. But it came during a month when my life was going into full collapse. And it had… Continue reading A Door in the Dead End
This Is Not the End
This is notthe end.News that may comeas a salvein the dry cold of winter,or like an unwelcome tugon the hammockof August.However finishedyou’re afraid you areor wishyou could be,remember:this earth that restsso still beneath youis racing around the sun,teaching your bodyto dance the seasons.You are carried with a million years of faith:that there is more in… Continue reading This Is Not the End
All I Mean
All I Meanby James A. Pearson There are a thousand woundsbut all I mean by healingis this: that you learn to hold yourselfin exactly the wayyou were never held. Here’s the homework I got an online course I’m taking this week: To set a notification on my phone that pops up several times a day… Continue reading All I Mean
Self-Compassion Poem
Self-Compassionby James A. Pearson Remember that a lakecan freezeand unfreezea thousand times and feel no shame. A coach I worked with a couple years ago often reminded me that life is a cycle of forgetting and remembering. Over and over. One day you feel close and connected with yourself, with the world. The next day… Continue reading Self-Compassion Poem
The Mud Season
Patience darling,it’s still too earlyto trust the seasonwith that tenderness you holdin your globed hands. I can feel it, too—the yearning to plantyour fingers in the warming earthand release what’s so alive in youinto the scrum of all life. But the ground’s still frozen beneath all this mud.And winter, even on its way out,will take with… Continue reading The Mud Season
The Survival Dance and the Sacred Dance
How to balance livelihood and longing, and discover your true work in the world In July of 2014 I moved to Seattle and got a job. It was a boring, pay-the-bills sort of job, which was what I needed at the time. A year earlier I’d been living in Uganda, running a social business I… Continue reading The Survival Dance and the Sacred Dance