I love reading. I love reading physical books. No Kindles or touchscreen books for me.
Poetry or prose, I love reading words.
Words contain ideas. Ideas in the mind of the correct person, the Activators that Tom Rath refers to in his Strength Finders book, create real change in the physical world.
I am re-reading "Tuesdays with Morrie". It is a technical guidebook for life, disguised as a memoir, with the breezy tone of a novel.
Today I am in the office receiving knowledge transfer sessions for my new job. Mary Oliver's "The Summer Day" is in my mind... To pay attention is a form of prayer.
Who made the swan, and the black bear?
Who made the grasshopper?
This grasshopper, I mean-
the one who has flung herself out of the grass,
the one who is eating sugar out of my hand,
who is moving her jaws back and forth instead of up and down-
who is gazing around with her enormous and complicated eyes.
Now she lifts her pale forearms and thoroughly washes her face.
Now she snaps her wings open, and floats away.
I don't know exactly what a prayer is.
I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down
into the grass, how to kneel down in the grass,
how to be idle and blessed, how to stroll through the fields,
which is what I have been doing all day.
Tell me, what else should I have done?
Doesn't everything die at last, and too soon?
Tell me, what is it you plan to do
with your one wild and precious life?
Poetry or prose, I love reading words.
Words contain ideas. Ideas in the mind of the correct person, the Activators that Tom Rath refers to in his Strength Finders book, create real change in the physical world.
I am re-reading "Tuesdays with Morrie". It is a technical guidebook for life, disguised as a memoir, with the breezy tone of a novel.
Today I am in the office receiving knowledge transfer sessions for my new job. Mary Oliver's "The Summer Day" is in my mind... To pay attention is a form of prayer.
The Summer Day
Mary Oliver
Who made the world?Who made the swan, and the black bear?
Who made the grasshopper?
This grasshopper, I mean-
the one who has flung herself out of the grass,
the one who is eating sugar out of my hand,
who is moving her jaws back and forth instead of up and down-
who is gazing around with her enormous and complicated eyes.
Now she lifts her pale forearms and thoroughly washes her face.
Now she snaps her wings open, and floats away.
I don't know exactly what a prayer is.
I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down
into the grass, how to kneel down in the grass,
how to be idle and blessed, how to stroll through the fields,
which is what I have been doing all day.
Tell me, what else should I have done?
Doesn't everything die at last, and too soon?
Tell me, what is it you plan to do
with your one wild and precious life?
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