“On the day when
The weight deadens
On your shoulders
And you stumble,
May the clay dance
To balance you.
And when your eyes
Freeze behind
The grey window
And the ghost of loss
Gets into you,
May a flock of colours,
Indigo, red, green
And azure blue,
Come to awaken in you
A meadow of delight.
When the canvas frays
In the currach of thought
And a stain of ocean
Blackens beneath you,
May there come across the waters
A path of yellow moonlight
To bring you safely home.
May the nourishment of the earth be yours,
May the clarity of light be yours,
May the fluency of the ocean be yours,
May the protection of the ancestors be yours.
And so may a slow
Wind work these words
Of love around you,
An invisible cloak
To mind your life.
”
I heard this poem read on a Friday evening of the very first writing retreat I attended in Point Reyes in the winter of 2015. The wind was howling outside, rain poured sideways in heavy waves across the open fields, and we sat huddled around a wood-burning stove with our journals and down jackets. I remember in that moment feeling the comfort and warmth in O’Donohue’s words.
This Christmas, my friend gifted me the book Anam Cara by John O’Donohue. As I stretched out on my comfortable ottoman and opened the book, this poem greeted me. It brought me back to that dark and rainy night, sitting in an oversized plush armchair, surrounded by other hungry writers. We listened to these lovely words read by the flickering fire, open to the possibility of a blank page and excited to discover our rich inner worlds that awaited us.
Here’s to 2022.
May the nourishment of the earth be yours. May the clarity of light be yours.