Oxbow Blue

A Pause For Beauty


One ought every day at least to hear a little song, read a good poem, see a fine picture,
and if it were possible, to speak a few reasonable words.
- Goethe

. . .

Thanks for still being my friend.

A friend is a person with whom I may be sincere. Before him I may think aloud.
- Ralph Waldo Emerson

I write in my journals most days. I often write in a loose, prose poem format, searching for the thoughts that underlie the thoughts. I’ve written thousands of these prose poems in my journals over the years, and rarely publish them.

Last night I came across a hundred or so of these that I wrote eleven years ago. Each was associated with a painting. Now, these years later, some resonated with me in a deep way.

In my meditation/journaling I often consult guides. This poem is about one of those guides — my quiet interior, an older version of myself — whom I contact for advice and insights.

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