Angela and I led a Let Your Yoga Dance/meditation workshop at the Universalist Church in West Hartford this morning. As I drove down Fern Street, the yellow daffodils were in full bloom along with neighboring dogwood trees thick with white flowers flowing from their branches. It was a morning to roll down the car windows and drink in the freshness of the natural world around. The pungent smell of last nights rain coupled with the early melodies of the birds put such a smile on my face. Spring has finally arrived. Are you aware of the bursting forth of life outside? Is there something waiting to burst forth in your life. We humans are so aligned with the natural flow of the seasons. May the “new life” that has been waiting to push to realization unfold for you.
Following is a wonderful poem by Mary Oliver
Such Singing in the Wild Branches
It was spring
and I finally heard him
among the first leaves––
then I saw him clutching the limb
in an island of shade
with his red-brown feathers
all trim and neat for the new year.
First, I stood still
and thought of nothing.
Then I began to listen.
Then I was filled with gladness––
and that's when it happened,
when I seemed to float,
to be, myself, a wing or a tree––
and I began to understand
what the bird was saying,
and the sands in the glass
for a pure white moment
while gravity sprinkled upward
like rain, rising,
and in fact
it became difficult to tell just what it was that was singing––
it was the thrush for sure, but it seemed
not a single thrush, but himself, and all his brothers,
and also the trees around them,
as well as the gliding, long-tailed clouds
in the perfect blue sky–––all of them
And, of course, so it seemed,
so was I.
Such soft and solemn and perfect music doesn't last
For more than a few moments.
It's one of those magical places wise people
like to talk about.
One of the things they say about it, that is true,
is that, once you've been there,
you're there forever.
Listen, everyone has a chance.
Is it spring, is it morning?
Are there trees near you,
and does your own soul need comforting?
Quick, then––open the door and fly on your heavy feet; the song
may already be drifting away.