Happy Birthday Frost

It's 3:55 a.m., I just woke up, wide awake.

Reaching to my right to flick on the lamp, I noticed the stereo is still on, thankfully playing Bach's B minor Mass.

As I focused on the bookcase across the room, a book of Frost's poetry caught my eye.

Today is his birthday (1874).

One of my favorite pieces is one that he recited from memory for the inauguration of John F. Kennedy.

It begins ...

"Something we were withholding made us weak.
Until we found out that it was ourselves
We were withholding from our land of living,
And forthwith found salvation in surrender..."

A dear friend recently made the bold move to share her art with the world in the form a blog she created (see it here). Her intent is to share her love of writing with her friends and family and in doing so create dialog. She is a brave poet.

Kelly taught me about living in the moment, surrendering to the pleasant surprise of each day, looking, listening, ... being.

Her most recent post dealt with the very subject of noticing and appreciating the struggles of the day.

Noticing.

Surrendering to life, not running away from it. Longing, but living in the meantime.

This is the quality that draws me to Frost. The quality of understanding that only comes after the act of surrender. "Withholding from the land of living" ... the ugly, soulless, illusion of control. No ...

Surrender.

Kelly's view ...
So for me to pause for a moment and to notice that I feel the rain is, to me, a form of appreciation for what's real. And is it always beautiful? Maybe not. Or maybe mostly so. Actually, maybe largely so. Because it's so honest. I can appreciate the rain more when I'm not trying to run from it. When I take a breath, notice it, spend even a second being curious about it, about the world, about how I'm feeling in relation to it all. Even a moment being appreciative of what's happening and what's beautiful about that. What's beautiful is that I love my children. That I learn to see and not to mask. That I take a cup of hot tea with me in my car. Because I still have to drive somewhere. But I can take my curious nature with me. Even the rain glistens, as Alice Walker says, 'from the light of being seen and loved for simply being there."


Happy Birthday, Frost.

Thanks, Kelly.