Andrea Gibson performing “Photograph”
Mostly, I just believe that I’m never going to stop learning what it is I believe.
Andrea Gibson performing “Photograph”
You are the bread and the knife,
the crystal goblet and the wine.
You are the dew on the morning grass
and the burning wheel of the sun.
You are the white apron of the baker,
and the marsh birds suddenly in flight.
However, you are not the wind in the orchard,
the plums on the counter,
or the house of cards.
And you are certainly not the pine-scented air.
There is just no way that you are the pine-scented air.
It is possible that you are the fish under the bridge,
maybe even the pigeon on the general’s head,
but you are not even close
to being the field of cornflowers at dusk.
And a quick look in the mirror will show
that you are neither the boots in the corner
nor the boat asleep in its boathouse.
It might interest you to know,
speaking of the plentiful imagery of the world,
that I am the sound of rain on the roof.
I also happen to be the shooting star,
the evening paper blowing down an alley
and the basket of chestnuts on the kitchen table.
I am also the moon in the trees
and the blind woman’s tea cup.
But don’t worry, I’m not the bread and the knife.
You are still the bread and the knife.
You will always be the bread and the knife,
not to mention the crystal goblet and—somehow—the wine.
The same stream of life that runs through my veins night and day runs through the world and dances in rhythmic measures.
It is the same life that shoots in joy through the dust of the earth in numberless blades of grass and breaks into tumultuous waves of leaves and flowers.
It is the same life that is rocked in the ocean-cradle of birth and of death, in ebb and in flow.
I feel my limbs are made glorious by the touch of this world of life. And my pride is from the life-throb of ages dancing in my blood this moment.
Now is the time to know
That all that you do is sacred.
Now, why not consider
A lasting truce with yourself and God?
Now is the time to understand
That all your ideas of right and wrong
Were just a child’s training wheels
To be laid aside
When you can finally live
with veracity and love.
Now is the time for the world to know
That every thought and action is sacred.
That this is the time
For you to compute the impossibility
That there is anything
Now is the season to know
That everything you do
The time will come, when with elation,
you will greet yourself arriving
at your own door, in your own mirror,
and each will smile at the other’s welcome
and say, sit here. Eat.
You will love again the stranger who was your self.
Give wine. Give bread. Give back your heart
to itself, to the stranger who has loved you.
all your life, whom you have ignored
for another, who knows you by heart.
Take down the love letters from the bookshelf,
the photographs, the desperate notes,
peel your own image from the mirror.
Sit. Feast on your life.
This being human is a guest-house.
Every morning a new arrival.
A joy, a depression, a meanness,
some momentary awareness comes
as an unexpected visitor.
Welcome and entertain them all!
Even if they’re a crowd of sorrows,
who violently sweep your house
empty of its furniture,
still, treat each guest honorably.
He may be clearing you
out for some new delight.
The dark thought, the shame, the malice,
meet them at the door laughing,
and invite them in.
Be grateful for whoever comes,
because each has been sent
as a guide from beyond.
My amazing mom, protesting the Georgia republicans’ refusal to take federal healthcare funds. Blocking a hallway gets you arrested; keeping thousands from seeing doctors gets you reelected.
But one day no one’s gonna want to hear their hate anymore. One day, everyone they try to tell “personal responsibility” to is gonna be too busy with two jobs and two kids and two hospital bills to hear just what else they’re supposed to be responsible for. Everyone they tell “no handouts” to is gonna laugh ‘cause they’ve never had one free hand to take with. Everyone they talk about “welfare reform” to is gonna laugh and say “What’s welfare?”
One day they’re gonna say “the Free Market” and we’re all gonna say “Yeah, I bag groceries there, and wait tables there, and mop floors there. But it ain’t free: I can’t even afford one sandwich there!”
One day no one will listen anymore, and that’s when we have to fix our broken, rotten South. One day it won’t just be my mom and 38 other heroes. It won’t just be these hundreds of supporters spending their precious few free hours at the Capitol.
That’s why my mom’s smiling: because she isn’t looking at the Governor’s office, and she isn’t looking at the statehouse. She’s looking at the people. And she knows change is coming.
"One day" is us. I hope I can be as awesome as my mom.
LOVE you, LOVE your mom!
Keep smiling because change IS indeed coming!