Author: Tenneson Woolf

I’m glad for this Stanley Kunitz poem, The Layers (sent recently — thx Jeremy / Poetry Tribe).

Layers. Yes. All of us. And learning. And kindness.

I have walked through many lives,
some of them my own,
and I am not who I was,
though some principle of being
abides, from which I struggle
not to stray.

When I look behind,
as I am compelled to look
before I can gather strength
to proceed on my journey,
I see the milestones dwindling
toward the horizon
and the slow fires trailing
from the abandoned camp-sites,
over which scavenger angels
wheel on heavy wings.

Oh, I have made myself a tribe
out of my true affections,
and my tribe is scattered!

How shall the heart be reconciled
to its feast of losses?

In a rising wind
the manic dust of my friends,
those who fell along the way,
bitterly stings my face.

Yet I turn, I turn,
exulting somewhat,
with my will intact to go
wherever I need to go,
and every stone on the road
precious to me.

In my darkest night,
when the moon was covered
and I roamed through wreckage,
a nimbus-clouded voice
directed me:
“Live in the layers,
not on the litter.”

Though I lack the art
to decipher it,
no doubt the next chapter
in my book of transformations
is already written.

I am not done with my changes.

My friend Meg shared the above pic with me this morning (from Karen Salmansohn — I just ordered one of her books). I’m drawn to the honest speak of “all happening at the same time.” I’m drawn to the friendships that are able to embrace and explore such notions. That smile together. That cry together. That get silly together. That furrow our brows together. That aren’t afraid to hold it all. Or that our afraid, but invite some witness and growth over a cup of tea or a whiskey.

Wander School and Becoming & Belonging is where I and a few others are doing this regularly. Yesterday’s format was invitation to notice what has our attention — the burning and the blooming. And then to tell a bit of story and to lend a bit of witness. It’s all practice isn’t it, this dual citizenship.

The world is both burning & blooming.
You get the bad news and the sunrise in the same day.
You cry over the headlines,
and then you laugh at a baby
wearing a hat shaped like a bear.
This is the dual citizenship of being alive.
Rage and reverence.
Grief and grace.
You are allowed to feel both.
You are allowed to scream,
& still notice how good the soup is.
You don’t have to choose.
Let it all in.

Karen Salmansohn

These Pelicans were gliding near the winter beach that Dana and I called home for a week over Christmas. It was a treat to watch them move about in the wind. And to stay seemingly still too.

You know how sometimes you say things that just flow out of your mouth, and you can’t repeat it again when asked. You need friends to remind you.

Well, my friend Nadia did this recently. She posted some good stuff in her life of wander and wonder. She referenced me talking about asking questions.

“I look for the questions, but truth is, they look for me, little birds that show up on the window sill.” Tenneson Woolf

Yah, this is a very strong belief and orientation for me. We seek out life. And it seeks us out too. We seek out questions. And they seek us. We seek meaning. And meaning seeks us.

Here’s to gliding with a few birds today. And welcoming them on the window’s edge too.

Cultural change starts with finding the others.

Yup, that’s what my buddy Lucas says in this podcast and mini rant on Healthcare and Urbanism.

I met Lucas when I did the big bike trip last summer. The one that kicked by butt, and, opened a new section in my heart. I’ll do more with Lucas and Marshall, including a men’s retreat this spring.

Give Lucas a listen. He talks systemic problems, systemic solutions. Chronic stress and inflammation. Connection as medicine. Cultural change. And what I love most in Lucas, his art of bringing it back to the simple and clear.

“Just keep riding. Keep connecting.”