Poetry by David Whyte
Time to go into the dark
by David Whyte
. . . Time to go into the dark
where the night has eyes
to recognize its own.
There you can be sure
you are not beyond love.
The dark will be your womb
tonight.
The night will give you a horizon
further than you can see.
You must learn one thing.
The world was made to be free in.
Give up all the other worlds
except the one to which you belong.
Sometimes it takes darkness and the sweet
confinement of your aloneness
to learn
anything or anyone
that does not bring you alive
is too small for you.
Imagine my Surprise
by David Whyte
Imagine my surprise,
sitting a full hour
in silent and irremediable
fear in the world
to find the body
forgetting
its own fear the instant
it opened and placed
its unassuming hands
on life’s enduring pain
and the world for one
moment
closed its terrifying eyes
in gratitude
saying,
“This is my body, I am found.”
Tilicho Lake
by David Whyte
In the high place
it is as simple as this,
leave everything you know behind.
Step toward the cold surface,
say the old prayer of rough love
and open both arms.
Those who come with empty hands
will stare into the lake astonished,
there, in the cold light
reflecting pure snow
the true shape of your own face.
Everything Is Waiting For You
(After Derek Mahon)
by David Whyte
Your great mistake is to act the drama
as if you were alone. As if life
were a progressive and cunning crime
with no witness to the tiny hidden
transgressions. To feel abandoned is to deny
the intimacy of your surroundings. Surely,
even you, at times, have felt the grand array;
the swelling presence, and the chorus, crowding
out your solo voice. You must note
the way the soap dish enables you,
or the window latch grants you freedom.
Alertness is the hidden discipline of familiarity.
The stairs are your mentor of things
to come, the doors have always been there
to frighten you and invite you,
and the tiny speaker in the phone
is your dream-ladder to divinity.
Put down the weight of your aloneness and ease into
the conversation. The kettle is singing
even as it pours you a drink, the cooking pots
have left their arrogant aloofness and
seen the good in you at last. All the birds
and creatures of the world are unutterably
themselves. Everything is waiting for you.
The House of Belonging
by David Whyte
I awoke
this morning
in the gold light
turning this way
and that
thinking for
a moment it was one
day
like any other.
But
the veil had gone
from my
darkened heart
and
I thought
it must have been the quiet
candlelight
that filled my room
it must have been
the first
easy rhythm
with which I breathed
myself to sleep
it must have been
the prayer I said
speaking to the othersness
of the night
And
I thought
this is the good day
you could
meet your love
this is the black day
someone close
to you could die.
this is the day
you realize
how easily the thread
is broken
between this world
and the next
and I found myself
sitting up
in the quiet pathway
of light.
The tawny
close grained cedar
burning round
me like fire
and all the angels of this housley
heaven ascending
through the first
roof of light
the sun had made.
This is the bright home
in which I live
this is where
I ask
my friends
to come
this is where I want
to love all the things
it has taken me so long
to learn to love.
This is the temple
of my adult aloneness
and I belong to that aloneness
as I belong to my life.
There is no house
like the house of belonging.