"February arrives cold, wet and grey, her gifts disguised for the most discerning spirits to see. Gentle is our path." (Sarah Ban Breathnach)
She sure did.
While it was filled with much joy and love, this specific February brought strong winds to bear.
The specifics aren’t really that important, but they are the kind of challenges that invite you to surrender a little more, yet also rise up.
February gave me an opportunity to put all my mindful training to the test!
So here is the thing about being devoted to mindful living.
Whether it’s formally meditating, or choosing to pause to check in with your senses as you sip your coffee, or anchor in your breath at any given moment - - all that practice matters.
All that practice is meaningful and in all ways prepares you for a time when you aren't quite sure which way is up.
With all that practice, with a deep intimate knowledge of your inner world and how to nurture and soothe your nervous system, you actually stand the chance of keeping balance on the board as you surf the hardest waves in life.
And then there is poetry.
Did you know, in 1979 when Jon Kabat Zinn recruited chronically-ill patients (who were not responding to treatment) to take his newly created 8-week Mindfulness Based Stress Reduction (MSBR) curriculum, he used poetry to help convey the messages of the mindful tools he was teaching?
Now 45 years later, MSBR is a part of mainstream healthcare and wellness, and most often, poetry remains.
Poetry remains.
My mom is a (published) poet and she not only taught me to be mindful (she is a certified MSBR instructor), but to appreciate poetry.
Mary Oliver, Rumi, and Rilke were just a few friends I grew up with, thanks to my mom.
And as fate would have it, and it always does, this month, poetry fell into my lap like both a sweet autumn leaf and anvil.
“Don’t look for the answers now: they cannot be given to you yet because you cannot yet live them. For now, live the questions”. - Rainer M. Rilke
As a matter of fact, when I needed it most, my mom just so happened to pull out a copy of “Letters to a Young Poet: With Letters to the Young Poet” (translated by Damion Searls).
We were having lunch, and she gleefully shared that this would be the first time she read the actual letters from the “young poet”, Franz Xaver Kappus.
I admitted to her that I had not yet read any of the letters, even the original from Rilke.
She looked at me shocked (and maybe a little disgusted)! She had been quoting Rilke my whole life, how could I have not yet picked this book up on my own free will?
Well, I guess timing really is everything. She opened the book to letter one, dated; Paris, February 17, 1903. Our eyes met in disbelief. There we were 3,600 miles away from Paris, in New York on February 17, 2025.
Coincidence? HECK NO.
So, why is poetry a heavy part of my mindfulness practice this month?
Rilke would say “Don’t look for the answers now: they cannot be given to you yet because you cannot yet live them. For now, live the questions.”
Well, let’s just meditate on that.
And if you’d like more to meditate on, here are some other poems that I’ve been reflecting on this month.
Who knows, maybe I’ll write some of my own!
Be well my friend.
xo,
leah
Wild Geese
Mary Oliver
You do not have to be good.
You do not have to walk on your knees
for a hundred miles through the desert repenting.
You only have to let the soft animal of your body
love what it loves.
Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.
Meanwhile the world goes on.
Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain
are moving across the landscapes,
over the prairies and the deep trees,
the mountains and the rivers.
Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,
are heading home again.
Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,
the world offers itself to your imagination,
calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting -
over and over announcing your place
in the family of things.
Enough
David Whyte
Enough. These few words are enough.
If not these words, this breath.
If not this breath, this sitting here.
This opening to the life
we have refused
again and again
until now.
Until now
The Guest-House
Rumi
This being human is a guest-house
Every morning a new arrival.
A joy, a depression, a meanness,
some momentary awareness comes
as an unexpected visitor.
Welcome and entertain them all!
Even if they’re a crowd of sorrows,
who violently sweep your house
empty of its furniture,
still, treat each guest honorably.
He may be clearing you
out for some new delight.
The dark thought, the shame, the malice,
meet them at the door laughing,
and invite them in.
Be grateful for whoever comes,
because each has been sent
as a guide from beyond.
Say I Am You: Poetry Interspersed with Stories of Rumi and Shams, Translated by John Moyne and Coleman Barks, Maypop, 1994.