Three Intentions Blog
In Love with the World
There is no end to love. We may tear ourselves away or fall off the cliff we thought sacred or even burn the home we dreamt of. But when the rain comes slow at a slant and the pavement turns cold, that place where I keep you and you and all of you—that place opens like a wet fist that can no longer stay closed. And the ache returns. Thank God. The sweet and sudden ache that lets me know I am here. The rain keeps misting my face. I am alive. What majesty of cells assembles around this luminous presence that moves around as me? How is it I am still here? Each thing touched, each breath, each glint of light, each pain in my gut is cause for praise. I pray to keep falling in love with everyone I meet, with every child’s eye, with every fallen being getting up. Like the worm cut in two, the heart only grows another heart. When the slash in my open hand heals, I try again. Birds migrate and caribou circle the cold top of the world. Perhaps we migrate between love and suffering, making our wounded-joyous cries: alone, then together. Oh praise the soul’s migration. I fall. I get up. I run from you. I look for you. I am in love with the world.
On and Off the Path
It’s the light above the path
that points to the path that
makes it a path.
The way the sun off the moon
lights the oar with the peace
we were looking for while we
sleep it off adrift in the boat.
It’s the light above the heart
that points to the heart that
makes each path necessary.
The way going there always
brings us here. The way loving
another always brings us
to ourselves.
It’s the light we drop and
leave that makes each
giving a path.
The way a carpenter builds
home after home; knowing
that the sawing, the planing,
the hinging, the building
is his home.
It’s the light we are but never
see that makes each soul a path.
The way the blossom of all
we feel and all we hide makes
the search for beauty unnecessary.
Going Inward
I’ve been walking the acre
of my soul. It’s been so long.
And there’s the hill I used to
sit on. I’d watch the stars reflect
in the river when it was tired of
running. I wonder what the view
is now. But it takes at least a day
to get there and another to sit still
in the grass and another to wait for
the stars to come out and another
for the river to tire. Sure life keeps
taking us away. But the only time
I’m free of fear is when I drink
from that river.
What Is Body Intelligence?
In the Whole IQ, Body intelligence is a reflection of the outer world of tangible forms and relationships in our lives. The tangible forms are not to impress people. Rather they are expressions of who we are. Michele talks about the “creative lifecycle” that she teaches where we aligned and connected with ourselves and world from the inside out.
The Early Sky Is Degas Yellow and You Are Still Asleep
I love this time of day. The only leaves left are
small silhouettes against the sky. They will go
unnoticed once the world wakes. Yesterday
while we were driving, George was setting
up the sawhorses outside his shop. As we
rolled through Parchment, the sun I so love
flooded the intersection and I couldn’t see the
light was red. I started through it. You called out
and I blamed it on the sun. You questioned my
sight. We argued briefly. Then you wondered if
I should be using a table saw. I bristled at the
limitation. The sun then flooded on you. And
for a moment, I was able to drop my stubborn
denial that things are slowly breaking down.
For the moment, I could step out of me and
see how hard it is for you who cares so much
for everything you love. I know saying I’ll be
careful doesn’t always help. But as we turned
onto E Ave, I felt how much you love me. So
much goes unnoticed once the world wakes.
We are small silhouettes against the early
sky. I love this time of day.
Going Home
It was the middle of the day.
Early September. Light skirting
out from under the leaves. I was
taking the compost to the edge of
the yard when I saw you pinching a
pot on the old bench near the bird
bath we’d lugged from Albany. Mira
was lying in the grass, sun closing her
eyes. Something in the quiet light
made me realize that we were now
in this moment all we’d hoped for.
I put the can down and sat next to
you. Watched your hands shape
the clay. I wanted to run my fingers
through your hair. A small cloud
bowed and the sun warmed my
hand on your knee.
Press Release: The More We Get Together
Robert McDowell’s new book, The More We Get Together, is now available!
Do you believe, as the song says, that the more we get together the happier we’ll be? Whether you do or not, you may wonder how such a thing can happen. Our paths to equanimity and happiness depend on spiritual practice and our capacity to love. How well we walk these paths depends on our communication skills—the words we choose and share, and our evolved, wholly present sexual unions.
Just as Robert McDowell’s Poetry as Spiritual Practice has become a beloved inspirational companion, The More We Get Together: The Sexual and Spiritual Language of Love offers an original practice of poetry, journaling, and storytelling that makes all of the connections between sex, language, love, and spirituality.
By discovering our own unique stories through each other, spiritual practice, and the heroic act of writing, we can take our relationships and the work we do to new levels of evolved and healing consciousness.
Would you like to communicate in writing and conversation with honesty and accuracy? Would you like to discover greater self-confidence? Would you like to connect more deeply with family, friends, colleagues, and your sexual partners? Do you want to deepen your spiritual practice? If your answer is Yes to any or all of these, then you’ll want to take advantage of my special offer today at http://www.poetrymentor.com/together.html If you want to take your relationships and your spiritual practice to new levels, if you want to connect with a compelling, compassionate guide for the work of hear change, order The More We Get Together today.
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—Kim Rosen, author of Saved by a Poem: The Transformative Power of Words“Poetry exposes me to a different way of experiencing the world. I instantly translate the poems into pictures. I can see fields of grain or rain in Autumn. It is fascinating to see all the patterns and rhythms that can be woven into language. I always enjoy learning about the different ways that other people think of and experience the world.”
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The Vitality of Your Whole IQ
When you ignite your Whole IQ, the true Mind is able to serve your Spirit and Heart intelligences rather than seek to control them. When we live from greater wholeness, we see so many more creative possibilities!
The Bridge and the Elephant
In the dream, I was working hard to finish a bridge in order to cross some river whose current was strong. It seemed important to get where I was going, though I couldn’t put where I was going into words.
Just as I finished the arc of the bridge, an elephant appeared in the water. It was stepping down the middle of the stream. When it was squarely beneath my unfinished bridge, it stopped to douse itself with water. Then it stared at me.
All at once, the sheen of the water on its back made me question why I was building a bridge in the first place. It made me question if what I was crossing really needed to be entered. It made me wonder: If I were to enter the stream rather than cross it, would I have a different sense of where I was going?
In the days since the dream, the image of the elephant under the unfinished bridge has made me consider obstacles differently. Now when I stumble before things I don’t understand, I try to remember the elephant dousing itself in the middle of what I thought I had to cross and ask myself: Is the thing in the way something I need to cross or enter? If it’s a difficulty involving love or fear, where will I be led by crossing it? Where will I be led by entering it? At each turn, I find myself needing to know: What must I face and what must I bridge? And when are facing and bridging deeply the same?
To Glow
Like light in the sun
spilling out of the sun,
the spirit within
beams its way
through all our cracks
till our most treasured
walls come down.
The coming down
of those walls is the
blessing we crave
and resist.
The coming down of
those walls—so the light
of the soul like the light
of the sun can help the
world grow—this is
the call of calls.
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