Easter Morning in Wales
A garden inside me, unknown,
secret, neglected for years,
the layers of its soil deep and thick.
Trees in the corners
with branching arms
and the tangled briars
and broken nets.
Sunrise through the misted orchard.
Morning sun turns silver on the pointed twigs.
I have woken from the sleep of ages
and I am not sure
if I am really seeing, or dreaming,
or simply astonished
walking towards sunrise
to have stumbled into the garden
where the stone was rolled
from the tomb of longing.
- David Whyte
David Whtye’s poem, “Easter Morning in Wales” gives us an opportunity to reflect on the current state of our interior garden, as we come out more fully from the dark and inward aspects of winter’s psyche. How do we give attention to our interior garden? What needs to be cleared out, what needs re-examined, and turned over in us? How have those places in us grown rich from the decay? Are there some things that need dug up from our psychic soil? Little stones of ego? Dead branches of things that once were alive? What wants to be planted, fed and nurtured in order to come forth and rise up into blossoming?
I will offer a four part reflection on various passages from this poem, starting tomorrow.
Tags: Poetry