This morning I woke up and went for a run with my wife Chris. When I sat down and dusted off the piles of mail and musings on my unkempt desk (enjoying the beginnings of summer), I saw this poem that could only have found its way to my desk by my lovely wife. It is from a favorite poet and philosopher that both Chris and I enjoy, David Whyte. I felt an urge to share it with you.
Waiting to Go On
I lay a handful of walnuts
to dry by the fire,
pile six new apples in a bowl
and wiping the cutting boards
to a woody gleam, clear off
the fine needles and nubby stalks
that fell from mushrooms
I found in the morning,
walking the woods…
I drop potatoes into
soft, simmering water then
lower the oven to a thicking heat
and turning to the beautiful stark
inviting coldness of the hearth,
set down
in the fireplace torn paper
and pine cones,
kindling and logs
and kneeling coax small flames
to life,
sweeping the hearth
of dust
and ash,
and still kneeling
next to the fire
just beginning
to snap,
I listen behind me
to the slow tick
of the oven expanding,
to a different time,
another measure,
its black heated interior
braising lamb I saw raised
in the fields that spread below
my upstairs window.
Beneath that window, resting
on paper
in the shadows of my desk,
in the laptop’s subdued
pulsing glow,
half-finished poems
wait at the frontier between
being written and being done.
Beside them
a gleaming violin
sits cradled in it stand,
the music book
opened
to an ancient,
rhythmic, hard to get,
tune.
All this continual practice,
this sharpening
and attentive presence,
all
this daily fetching and gathering
this constant maturing
and getting ready,
all this slowly
being heated through,
brought to a simmer,
being educated, knowledgeable,
learning through experience,
all this work to have
one complete day
lived just as it should be
and
all this constant testing
by the world
to see if we are done,
ready, cooked through,
ripe enough to fall,
to be lifted, bitten right into
and consumed ourselves
and then, for everyone
all the
hours of daily
practice just learning to hit
the note,
the conversational note,
the musical note
just right,
wanting it live
with all the other notes.
It must be we are waiting
for the perfect moment.
It must be
under the struggle
we want to go on.
It must be, deep
down,
we are creatures
getting ready
for when we are needed.
It must be that waiting
for the listening ear
of the appreciative word,
for the right
woman or the right man
or the right moment
just to ourselves.
we are getting ready
just to be ready
and nothing else.
Like this moment
just before the guests arrive
working
alone in the kitchen
sensing a deep
down symmetry
in every blessed thing.
The way
that everything
unbeknownst
to us
is preparing to meet us too.
Just on the other
side of the door
someone
is about to
knock
and our life
is just
about to change.
and finally
after all these
years rehearsing,
behind
the curtain,
we might
just be
ready
to go on.
