Every Day Is a Poem Jacqueline Suskin (knowledgeable books to read txt) 📖

I take in our world. I like that fear is in there as well, not because I walk around afraid of the majesty that is life, but because it hints at the presence of death woven into the fabric of our impermanent existence. Our wonder is attached to the fleeting nature of our reality.

The fact that it could all be gone at any

moment, that all of our experience is tangled

up with so much pain and loss, is part of why

it’s so amazing to rejoice in every offering

that life throws our way.

AWE IS THE

CENTERPIECE OF

ACCEPTANCE.

If we allow ourselves to practice awe in any situation, conjuring up a deep reverence for all things, we never miss the splendor or the importance of the moment. Awe is what allows me to meet life with my eyes open wide. It’s my ever-growing admiration for the complexity of human understanding, and it’s often my source of joy or pleasure in otherwise seemingly monotonous or trying times. Awe can also act as a verb. I can be awed by something. Awe is an active thing, it’s coming at me from all angles, and it helps me accept the ephemeral nature of being human. Awe is an opportunity, and if you acquaint yourself with it, it becomes infinitely abundant and accessible.

Wherever you stand at any moment, whatever the situation, you can drum up a large dose of awe to get you through. Awe is appreciation. Awe is curiosity. It gets you to look closer, to lead with patience and compassion, awareness and intrigue. There is no shortage of fascination in the human spirit. We were born to ask why. We are here to make up our own answers. This is the poetry of being alive.

How can we be in awe of things that are horrific? Awe is not married to the light. We can be in awe of darkness. That feeling of breath leaving the body as you gasp in horror while watching the news, that’s awe. All things hard or soft are amazing. This amazement comes from our ability to keep asking how and why. What’s this all for? Where did it begin? Our stories continue to change as we ask more questions and look closer. We once thought the earth was flat! Our awe and wonder asked us to dig deeper, to find more, to know more, and to share it. As we roll in orbit around our burning sun, we know that nothing is certain, and it’s our awe that keeps us interested in the great mystery.

In Awe

I hear the jackhammer in the distance.

Someone is making something with skill and strength!

I see a single palm tree, leaning in thirst. How has it lasted?

It seems to have the face of an old woman in its bark.

The breeze carries the scent of saltwater

and I tune into four different bird calls at once.

One is a hummingbird. I can hear it!

The crows wake me up. It’s spring and all

new growth can’t help but point toward the light.

EXERCISE FOR FINDING AWE

CLOSE YOUR EYES AND POINT IN ANY DIRECTION

When you open your eyes, what’s the first object you see? Is it a street sign? Is it a tree? Is it a photo of someone you love? Is it a sandwich? Whatever it might be, I ask you to be in awe of it.

How do we wake up the awe inside of us? Start by asking yourself who, what, why, where, when, and how. Who made the street sign? Who first touched it, who cut its shape, who designed it, who decided what it means? What kind of tree is it? What do you think about the color of its leaves? What feeling does it inspire inside of you when you see it? Why do you have this photo of someone you love in a frame? Why are they so important to you? Where did you buy the bread for this sandwich? Where did the wheat grow that the farmer used to make the flour? When did you last think about farmers and the fact that our food grows from the ground? How do you feel when you focus on the specifics that make up the world around you? A poem exists in this list of wonder. All of these questions and particulars add up, and the sum is poetry.

Drinking Water

I stand in the kitchen at night and revere the water.

I know it’s a continuous traveler—down the drain

into the creek, rising into ether, moving toward the river,

the coastline, into the enormous ocean and back again.

I consider its archaic loop

as moonlight abruptly floods the room.

I worship the moon, marvel at illumination

so devoted to a cycle, so steadfast

it decides which way the swells should form

and guides the tides like a mother ushers

her child’s legs into a garment.

Now I feel earth’s orbit and sense

the magnitude of the universe,

only to turn off the tap and sip

from an unadorned clay cup.

WRITING PRACTICE

HOW TO MAKE A POEM OUT OF AWE

Take out your journal, get situated at your desk with your computer, or write in this book—whatever’s most comfortable for you. When you sit down to write, focus on something that inspires awe. Maybe it’s the vastness of our oceans, or perhaps it’s the small dragonfly on the kitchen windowsill. Start here, and let all of the questions you have about this subject matter come to the surface. Write each thought, no matter how disjointed. Let it be a rambling list of imperfections and delightful attributes, an inventory of the unknown below the ocean’s surface, a catalogue of fascination that arises just by looking at the dragonfly’s wings. You don’t need to try very hard to find something to write about. The source of your idea might be a subject truly commonplace. It could be the pitch in your neighbor’s laugh,