Poem by David Whyte

The House of Belonging

I awoke
 this morning
 in the gold light
 turning this way
 and that

thinking for
 a moment
 it was one
 day
 like any other.

But
 the veil had gone
 from my
 darkened heart
 and
 I thought

it must have been the quiet
 candlelight
 that filled my room,

it must have been
 the first
 easy rhythm
 with which I breathed
 myself to sleep,

it must have been
 the prayer I said
 speaking to the otherness
 of the night.

And
 I thought
 this is the good day
 you could
 meet your love,

this is the gray day
 someone close
 to you could die.

This is the day
 you realize
 how easily the thread
 is broken
 between this world
 and the next

and I found myself
 sitting up
 in the quiet pathway
 of light,

the tawny
 close grained cedar
 burning round
 me like fire
 and all the angels of this housely
 heaven ascending
 through the first
 roof of light
 the sun has made.

This is the bright home
 in which I live,
 this is where
 I ask
 my friends
 to come,
 this is where I want
 to love all the things
 it has taken me so long
 to learn to love.

This is the temple
 of my adult aloneness
 and I belong
 to that aloneness
 as I belong to my life.

There is no house
 like the house of belonging.

Fearlessly be yourself.

Words written to me by my Grandfather, age 99, in 2012.

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“You are the place between language and thought, where words are lost on the tip of the tongue, and not a single one is enough to describeyou.” 

Art as communication

Our strength lies in our understanding of ourselves. Our success depends on our ability to communicate who that is to others. Art is a means to transfer and translate our strengths and successes across disciplines, cultures, and other imaginary divides. 

Mantra: It's all part of the story.

It's all part of the story. 

The good, the bad, the tired, the energized, the anger, the guilt, the peace, the joy, the sadness, the rage...whatever it is, it's all just part of the story. Like any good book you've got to get through the swells of the substance before you can discover the ending. Consider life a suspense novel, always teetering a little bit on the edge.