Peace
In Repose along an Old Stone Wall
Click for meditationRegarding "In Repose along an Old Stone Wall"
Sometimes
It does not take physical
Might to make
You feel safe. It can
Simply take the
Form of confidence in
Something Greater
Than you are,
Like an inviting yet
Sturdy,
Colonial-era
Stone wall…
And a tiny bird
Which has
Been singing for
Millennia…
Leo Carroll
April 17, 2018
I slept
The sleep of beauty rest,
Against the rough-hewn
Pillows of a stone wall’s bed.
Shut my eyes were, as if
In blessed Gethsemane, and open
Them I verily could not —
So relied upon a lone chickadee
In a nearby spruce tree
As sentry.
Coming into ‘Warrior One’ Position
Click for meditationRegarding "Coming into ‘Warrior One’ Position"
On the day of this
Poem, I realized that yoga
Was a great, universal equalizer
And communicator
Amongst peoples.
As I moved from yoga
Pose to yoga pose,
I became cognizant of the
Different shades and
Hues of all the bare feet
Which were constantly
Shifting in position before my eyes
On the wooden floor,
And which were mixing
With the sweat of
Past yoga classes in a
Combined genuflection to
The common mother
We all shared…
The clay of humankind
Was at work right
In front of me,
And the sole goal
Of this amalgam
Of flesh was to find
Peace in this little niche
Of heaven with the
Door quietly closed against
The distractions of the
Outside world.
All it took was to
Breathe, to concentrate
In the present
Moment with the
Instructor’s gentle
Commands, to do
My best, to seek balance
In my movements,
And to know that
I was not being judged,
But just seeking a
Better way to be alive.
Leo Carroll
May 3, 2018
Up to Warrior One from
Downward Facing Dog I come,
Struggling with my footing,
In movements slow and stiff and
Cumbersome. Up, up, finally I
Right myself into this pose,
With my arms reaching for the
Heavens, as if in entreating
Praise to some Unknown.
But in that last, fleeting
Second before I reached
Myself so skyward, my
Eyes still were locked
To earth, and in that
Timeless instant were
Imprinted like a child’s.
For in a glance across the
Wooden floor, I saw a wide
Swath of anonymous feet of all
Shapes and hues, and this
Amalgam of flesh shouted out,
“This is what I show you,
And it is yoga’s universal,
Common good and truth…!”
And in that one sentence, I
Realized how humanity’s clay
Could be divine…and I
Knew my arms reached up
To touch — the cloth of a
Far Greater Rhyme.
The Kingdom of God
Click for meditationRegarding "The Kingdom of God"
The Kingdom of God,
That elusive, mysterious place of peace
Inside me, a place repeatedly
Referenced in the Gospels,
Has the potential to
Be so many things, and have
So many interpretations…
I meditate upon this, and sometimes
Feel in a flash of insight
That I have determined its
True meaning, and then in a likewise flash
It is lost, gone, like a lamb from the
Sheepfold, but then again
Found in the dark and cold of night,
And carried back on the
Strong shoulders of much clearer,
Simpler thought…
Leo Carroll
July 8, 2018
What kind of Kingdom
Within me exists?
Is it a Kingdom of
Softest fleece, impregnable
To the molten lava
Of anxiety’s Vesuvius?
Or,
Is it a Kingdom
Whose genesis is even
Smaller than a tiny
Mustard seed, and waits to
Be watered to
Bloom into beauty?
Or,
Is it a Kingdom
Which proclaims I am like
A lamb inside the
Sheepfold, protected by
A shepherd who knew me before
I was known?
Near the Quicksand Swamp
Click for meditationRegarding "Near the Quicksand Swamp"
One afternoon,
On a surprisingly balmy
Autumn day in the
Woods of Maine,
I laid onto my back,
And on a large, flat stone
Just dreamily gazed
Up at the tops of
Pine trees which were
Lightly swaying and
Letting loose
Their needles in
A wondrous display.
It was incredibly
Peaceful. A shower
Of pine needles was landing
Atop and all around
Me, and it was
As if I was receiving a
Genuine blessing
From the hand
Of Mother Nature,
Freely given and
In its gentleness
Amazing…and then
It passed…left…as if a
Wand had mysteriously
Crossed over me,
And my understanding
Of what the woods
Was speaking faded —
Behind a veil to
Someday be parted,
When I rest again
So easily…
Leo Carroll
June 21, 2018
For one brief moment, I
Felt I understood the woods. It came when a
Little breeze blew, and I saw pine
Trees their shoulders shrug
And their needles let loose…and then it
Was gone, my understanding
Fleeting like the precious breeze…
And I was left staring up at
Floating pine needles – but their descent
Again a forest mystery.
Ode to ‘Reading Room’
Click for meditationRegarding "Ode to ‘Reading Room’"
How I love my time
Spent in the woods of Maine!
At one point in my life, I went up
There for twenty one straight years every
November, and in all my
Life I have never found a more
Consistently peaceful place to
Contemplate and write. Every sight and
Sound in the woods had
Meaning to me, and I had a
Wide variety of names to refer to
Some of my favorite spots –
For example, the “Reading Room,”
The “Field”, and the “Trap Line” were
Three locations I regularly
Visited. Each had a natural niche
For me to settle into, and to
Wonder and daydream.
I wrote hundreds of poems
While up there. I would just sit in
Silence. The “Reading Room”
Became my best-liked, and
I would often end my day
There as the late afternoon
Light took over the woods.
Invariably at a certain point,
I would hear the melancholic
Barking of a dog coming from
The pasture of a distant, white
Farmhouse. The sound would waft
Across the tops of the trees,
And I would be reminded
Of something in my past which
Was comfortable and I called “home.”
And so, even now when I no longer
Go up to those beloved Maine
Woods, I will daydream
Of the many walks which
I took to find my resting place
In the “Reading Room.”
In the case of the poem for
Which this meditation is
Written, I was daydreaming
One January day of what
The path I walked would look
Like if there were no footprints in
The snow, and if the “Reading Room”
Was all alone watching what
I would have been watching, but
Sadly there was no one there
Now to call the barking
Dog home …
Leo Carroll
February 25, 2019
No footsteps in the snow
Lead up to you today,
No flesh cold sits upon your
Ledge, no mind wanders and then
Wonders at every sight and sound, and no
Melancholy rises up in the throat
When bays a dog across the
Primeval expanse between you
And a lone, white farmhouse –
Which even now from here,
Lo all these hundreds of miles away,
I can still see gleaming like a
Shining beacon across the tree tops
In my daydream’s gaze.