Tuesday, August 9, 2016


Our resilience takes my breath away. It stands intimately entwined with our terrible translucent fragility. We are soft and small, brief and biodegradable. And yet, we sometimes flare like a match ignited in darkness Illuminating the moment, revealing the truth we know but cannot explain: How we are sustained By the scent of another’s sun-salted skin, the soft brush of lips on the nape of the neck. . By the blazing dawn- a promise searing the sky, the loon’s lonely wail at the end of the day. . How we are sustained By what we love By that which Loves us. ~Oriah "Mountain Dreamer" House (c) 2016 I am often sustained by the beauty of photos like this one from Karen Davis at Open Door Dreaming.


  1. When I check for a new post, and see Resilience is still there, I am never disappointed. This is probably one of my favourite posts of all time, followed closely by the two previous ones about kindness. All 3 have such a grand message, and I connect to them all very deeply.

  2. Hello Oriah, your poem has been such a help and inspiration to me and has helped moved me forward in my journey. This morning I arose early and decided to try the writing exercise that you used in your poem. I didn't know who I could share it with but felt it needed to not just sit in my journal so I'm sharing it with you as a way of saying thank you and hoping you will feel some joy in knowing you have helped another:

    It doesn't interest me to know what some big name in business is doing to drive more profit.

    What I really want is to clasp hands, pour our hearts and minds together and build something bigger than the two of us. I want to see the fruits of our hands become part of this world and dance on further without us. I want to contribute joy and experience to those who need to feel again.

    It doesn't interest me what sins you see in me or you or her. Nor what prayer or words you say are required to get into heaven later.

    What I really want is to open my heart and yours to Life now. And through that cracking open, pour out the blood of our wounds and pains and sorrows and regrets into one crucible and watch and listen as they crackle together, heal, and transform into golden honey. I want to breathe together slowly, look firmly into each other's eyes and say Brother, Sister with conviction and authentic connection. I want to feel Stillness and Love in each breath and let the moment transform from something passing to simply sweetly Being.

    It doesn't interest me to hear who has done you wrong and what they should change. I want to know what you have found or discovered about yourself from Wisdom that helps you navigate the stormy waters of ego and stumbling. I want to know how you get up again brightly when sharp words and steely gray days weigh you to the ground and tempt you to hide behind inaction. I want to hear and share how we will be changed.

    It doesn't interest me to wear white clothes and say the right words when you knock. I want to speak deep Truth as we knock down the walls between me and you and Life and the trees. I want to know if you are willing to climb to the top of the mountain with your mistakes and howl at the moon with loving tears of joy and imperfection. I want to know if you will look into the eyes of the children and see their ancestors flicker inside and remind them that only their hearts today can know heaven while drinking in life and telling ours and our teachers' stories.

    It doesn't interest me to revel in our lightly pleasant conversation and think it means more than the years of trauma, bleeding, wounding, aching and yearning. I want to see the other side of Death and let the Alchemist take me away to virgin territories of life, love, and communion. I want to build, comfort and trust deeply and see God in each pair of eyes, in each shared tear and in each sunset and sky. What I really want... is to know You.


    1. I can feel your heart in this Ben- thanks for sharing. Particularly like "look into the eyes of the children and see their ancestors flicker inside" The writing exercise was one I received at a David Whyte workshop which he based on his wonderful poem "Self Portrait."