I just read this to a friend 5 minutes ago and then it popped up here! 😀The world feels as though it is time for “the hero to sit down” and “the old interior angel…. with her no-nonsense compassion” to lead. Thank you David for every word you write! Namaste! 🌹
I love this poem of awakening to one's true Self. The young David meeting the old Crone on the bridge just like the Sheila Na Gig stone carvings in Ireland, inviting you to discover the Ground of Divine Mother within yourself, encouraging you to not fear death but rather open more fully to life. She guides you to safety within yourself, so that the whole world rises up to meet you and allows you to cross deeper bridges into your own heart of many mansions. It takes courage to face your fears and meet Her, especially as a young man. Society doesn't encourage men to meet and embody Divine Mother. Your poetry is made all the richer channeling the Voice of Divine Mother, as you did here. True Beauty as Presence.
This is a wonderful poem, it lingers on my mind after I read it, the images are so vivid so wonderful. It depicts your journey in the East and the photograph is beautiful when the sun goes down.
The Old Interior Angel -- a poem, haunting, inviting, and compelling. It is to be read over and over. I remember being on a beautiful weekend with you somewhere, and you told this story of the ancient wise one within coming to call, you stopping, sitting, contemplating, unwilling to cross over, and the Divine showing you who you need to be to cross.
Have long loved this poem and the story behind it that I've been blessed to hear you tell a few times, David. Each time new insights into the hero and interior angel operating here in this body/heart/mind. Thank you!
Hi David, That last stanza—the hero sitting down, and the old interior angel stepping in—feels like the truth of how we keep going when we think we can’t. Not with bravado, but with worn grace. No-nonsense compassion. The holy ordinariness of continuing. Thank you for this. It reads like prayer, like memory, like a threshold walked by soul.
I’ve had the gift of hearing you recite this poem at one of your gatherings. It is a wonderful story wrapped in such vivid imagery. Thank you. Namaste.
The gift of wisdom, strength, and passage, there in humbly accepting and following leadership when we see it. It's precious when we are brave enough to embrace our fallibility and say yes to a path set for us beyond our current strength. Perfect timing thank you David.
I grew up in Nepal, carried as a child in dokos (baskets) balanced from the heads of parents or porters swaying precariously from side to side over the chasms below on wire/ wood bridges. We kids learnt in time not to fear the drop - our porters's feet were sound. Thanks for the memories.
I just read this to a friend 5 minutes ago and then it popped up here! 😀The world feels as though it is time for “the hero to sit down” and “the old interior angel…. with her no-nonsense compassion” to lead. Thank you David for every word you write! Namaste! 🌹
These beautiful words are like a soft gentle breeze , full of wise and peaceful Energy...
moving us deftly across that Bridge..once again. I needed that angelic and graceful Touch.
I love this poem of awakening to one's true Self. The young David meeting the old Crone on the bridge just like the Sheila Na Gig stone carvings in Ireland, inviting you to discover the Ground of Divine Mother within yourself, encouraging you to not fear death but rather open more fully to life. She guides you to safety within yourself, so that the whole world rises up to meet you and allows you to cross deeper bridges into your own heart of many mansions. It takes courage to face your fears and meet Her, especially as a young man. Society doesn't encourage men to meet and embody Divine Mother. Your poetry is made all the richer channeling the Voice of Divine Mother, as you did here. True Beauty as Presence.
“Namaste”
“I greet the God in you”
the last syllable
held like a song.
This is a wonderful poem, it lingers on my mind after I read it, the images are so vivid so wonderful. It depicts your journey in the East and the photograph is beautiful when the sun goes down.
Thank you David
Again,
Maite
The Old Interior Angel -- a poem, haunting, inviting, and compelling. It is to be read over and over. I remember being on a beautiful weekend with you somewhere, and you told this story of the ancient wise one within coming to call, you stopping, sitting, contemplating, unwilling to cross over, and the Divine showing you who you need to be to cross.
Brilliant. One of your best! Namaste and thank you.
Have long loved this poem and the story behind it that I've been blessed to hear you tell a few times, David. Each time new insights into the hero and interior angel operating here in this body/heart/mind. Thank you!
Namaste' 🙏
Hi David, That last stanza—the hero sitting down, and the old interior angel stepping in—feels like the truth of how we keep going when we think we can’t. Not with bravado, but with worn grace. No-nonsense compassion. The holy ordinariness of continuing. Thank you for this. It reads like prayer, like memory, like a threshold walked by soul.
I’ve had the gift of hearing you recite this poem at one of your gatherings. It is a wonderful story wrapped in such vivid imagery. Thank you. Namaste.
Thank you, David. Just what I needed right now
Just took my breath away. “Yes” arising with every line. Thank you. 🙏🏻
Love this poem. I didn't want to take the time to read it, but something told me to stop thinking and just read. I'm glad I did.
I’ve loved this poem since I read it a few years ago and often think of the nonchalant courage of that woman you met. Beautiful!
The gift of wisdom, strength, and passage, there in humbly accepting and following leadership when we see it. It's precious when we are brave enough to embrace our fallibility and say yes to a path set for us beyond our current strength. Perfect timing thank you David.
I grew up in Nepal, carried as a child in dokos (baskets) balanced from the heads of parents or porters swaying precariously from side to side over the chasms below on wire/ wood bridges. We kids learnt in time not to fear the drop - our porters's feet were sound. Thanks for the memories.