Taking Time

Below is an old poem (2009) I found in my files and feel the feelings of it so strongly again, as I learn to allow time for healing my Self.

Yes, touch the belly, breathe into it, breathe into all the places that scare me and need healing. This cannot happen in the busy-ness of a 9-5 (or 9-9!) work life. HEALING needs to be a priority in ways that I have known but not had to experience before.

Today, I am oddly grateful for these tough lessons. Last Monday I would have given anything to just be done with all of these barbaric treatments that cause such trauma to body/mind/spirit.


—J. Redwing Keyssar


It takes time to take time
Willingness to surrender to the still places deep inside
And find the jewels, the gems that lie there waiting

It takes time
To sit
And watch the day sky fade slowly into grey then lavendar then blue
As the torn bark and the silver leaves of the eucalyptus become darkening silhouettes
And one by one the lights of each being, behind each window, appear
And brighten the night sky

The red-headed house finches have long since gone from the feeders
And even the black ravens have quieted their calls
To allow for this soft summer night to waft its fragrances
Up and down the streets and into open doors and windows

It takes time to take time
Willingness to surrender to the stillness that I know is always there
The place that scares me and inspires me
And grows wider and calmer with each deep breath
That I allow

Who gives out time?
We seek outside of ourselves
For the power to voice the truth of who we are
For the courage to change the things we can
For the wisdom to know the difference
When all the time
It is lying in wait
At the pit of our bellies

May we breathe into our hara
Touch our bellies with love
The sacred spiral at the root of our
Conception vessel
Where the Spirit is ushered in
And out

May I take the time it takes
To listen to the strong voice
That rises like kundalini
And sings like a nightingale

Trust the still pool at the center
And the calm ripples that expand from it
When a stone is gently tossed
Or a new idea
Springs up
From the well below


© Judith Redwing Keyssar

PLEASE do not reprint any of this material without permission from the author.