"Kim Rosen is bringing poetry back to where it belongs—into our bodies. To know a poem from the inside is to become a tabernacle for the sacred song of human life. We knew this long ago. Kim Rosen is helping us to remember. This art of knowing and holding poems within ourselves is crucial and life saving.”

Marie howe, , author of What the Living Do and

“Kim's work is magic. Through the poetry she knows so well, she makes Beauty herself walk and talk and make you glad to be alive.”

Geneene Roth, author of When Food is Love

Book Cover

From page xxi...

Invitation

Sometimes you hear a voice through

the door calling you, as fish out of

water hear the waves or a hunting

falcon hears the drum’s come back.

This turning toward what you deeply love

saves you.

— Rumi, translated by Coleman Barks

 

Poetry is the language of the soul. From below the surface of your life, the truth of who you are calls to you through the poems you love. Even if you have been touched by only one poem, or just a single line heard at a crucial moment and remembered, those words are an invitation from within. To take them deeply into your life and speak them aloud brings every level of who you are—your thoughts, your words, your feelings, and even your physical energies—into alignment with what matters most to you. You are receiving and giving voice not only to the poem, but also to your own soul.

Many of us have searched for guides to help unravel the riddles of our existence and point us toward aspects of ourselves we cannot uncover on our own. We have turned to gurus, friends, lovers, and mentors for help. A poem you love can be such a teacher.

Before written language took words out of our mouths and onto the page, and long before “virtual” communication lifted them off the page and into intangible space, our ancestors knew that a poem, spoken aloud, could change us with its vital, voiced wisdom. Even today, in many cultures throughout the world, poetry still resides in its original home—in the sounds, sensations, and feelings of the human body.

I invite you to take a poem you love into your heart and your body. Develop a vibrant relationship with it. Become intimate with it and allow it to guide you into intimacy with yourself. Receive the poem’s gifts as it illuminates undiscovered realms within you. And give the poem the gift of a home in your particular humanness. If you do this, that poem can become a teacher that is always with you, touching and changing every moment of your life.

As you go deeper into your relationship with a poem, it may guide you to discover treasures that you did not know you had. Perhaps there are hidden talents or creative visions that will appear. Perhaps the poem will call forth a long-buried memory, magnetized by the words to the surface of your consciousness for healing or inspiration. Perhaps it will open you to a new way of seeing the world, or a feeling of grief you have avoided, or an experience of joy you didn’t know was in you.

A poem is a physical event. The rhythm may quicken or slow your pulse. The flow of the language may expand your breathing. The music woven into the words may change the very texture of your voice. A poem even entrains your brainwaves, altering your biochemistry and allowing shifts in consciousness that can bring healing, understanding, and unexpected insight.

Spending time with a poem is a way of choosing what you’re going to do with your attention. In this world of iPods, e-mails, cell phones, and spam, opportunities for fragmentation of consciousness are thick and fast. It can be lifesaving to return to the sanctuary of a poem that you hold within you. Like singing a song you love or blasting it on the stereo, like reading a favorite Psalm or the Heart Sutra several times a day, it is a choice to fill your thoughts with what you hold precious and believe in, instead of the plethora of commercial jingles, self-criticisms, or anxieties about the past and the future that usually overrun the mind. When I focus on a poem I love, my thoughts stop spinning and become quiet. My body relaxes. My breathing finds the rhythm of the poem. Whether I’m in the car, on the subway, walking on the beach, or sitting on a meditation cushion, that poem becomes as real a refuge as any church, synagogue, or mosque...

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