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you live daily, saying ‘love’ as if it were still far away
The first day of my Cumbrian walking tour I love to take people to Lingmoor Fell, high above Blea Tarn and Langdale nestled below. The sheer beauty of the serried hills and the endless sky always brings out, not only a rosy glow in the faces of those looking out, but in that inner complexion we so often neglect when bereft of beauty and horizon in our lives; when bereft of the invitation that lies in the horizons, near and far, of our astonishing world.
INTIMATE INVITATION You forget how, even when you are barely mobile, even when you feel bereft of any horizon, and even when without faith, you feel held back and afraid to move even a little, you can still be like the beauty we see in winter ice, just beginning to break and flow. You forget how you can still see so clearly the brave outline of a single leaf. How the stream of clouds in the sky can run right through you, and the sun on your skin seems to pass right through to some inner complexion. And because after all this time you live, and have lived for so long without faith in your own joys and your own grief, you live daily, saying ‘love’ as if it were still far away. But come here now, into the arms of the waiting world, put down that heavy burden you have carried so long, and rest from the hard, every day labour of not hurting, or not feeling, or not hearing, or not saying or seeing. Stop keeping the tears at bay. Give it all up, just come home. -The original version of this poem can be found in Still Possible.
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