The Flower of Self-Blessing

Here is part of a poem by Galway Kinnell

“for everything flowers, from within, of self-blessing;
though sometimes it is necessary
to reteach a thing its loveliness,
to put a hand on the brow of the flower and retell it in words and in touch it is lovely until it flowers again from within, of self-blessing…”

We, you and I, are full of life, unfolding into flower. A blessing is an act of reverence, usually freely given from one to another, and traditionally within some religious context, but in this poem Kinnell says that the deepest blessing comes from ourselves. It arises, spontaneously, from the silence in us. Or not.
Blessings give life meaning, make life richer. Like the feeling of emerging from cloud cover into an endless expanse of blue. Like a flood of warmth from the top of your head down to your toes. Or like the sensation of belonging, of realizing that you have your own unique place in the family of things. A blessing is an influx of grace.
To listen quietly and deeply to the stirring of your own life is an act of self-blessing. To be kind to yourself. To have faith that your life has its own intelligent design and is doing exactly what it needs to, even if it doesn’t feel that way; that is a blessing.

Self-Blessing

I pulled out my copy of Ten Poems to Open Your Heart and was impressed with Roger Housden all over again. I especially resonated with this part of a poem [Saint Francis and The Sow] by Galway Kinnell:
"for everything flowers, from within, of self-blessing; though sometimes it is necessary to reteach a thing its loveliness, to put a hand on the brow of the flower and retell it in words and in touch, it is lovely, until it flowers again from within, of self-blessing..."

Paraphrasing Roger Housden's comments: We, you and I, are full of life, unfolding into flower.
A blessing is an act of reverence, usually freely given from one to another, and traditionally within some religious context, but in this poem Kinnell says that the deepest blessing comes from ourselves. It arises, spontaneously, from the silence in us. Or not.

Blessings give life meaning, make life richer. The examples Housden gives are: like the feeling of emerging from cloud cover into an endless expanse of blue. Like a flood of warmth from the top of your head down to your toes. Or like the sensation of belonging, of realizing that you have your own unique place in the family of things.

A blessing is an influx of grace.

To listen quietly and deeply to the stirring of your own life is an act of self-blessing. To be kind to yourself. To have faith that your life has its own intelligent design and is doing exactly what it needs to, even if it doesn't feel that way; that is a blessing. For " sometimes it is necessary to reteach a thing a thing its loveliness".

Dear God

I got this as an email, so you may have already seen it.
I love it so much I wanted to share it with you here.


A good reminder that there is kindness in the world.
snopes.com <http://snopes.com/> says it's a true story.

There is a God in the Post Office.

Our 14 year old dog, Abbey, died last month. The day after she died,
my 4 year old daughter Meredith was crying and talking about how
much she missed Abbey. She asked if we could write a letter to God
so that when Abbey got to heaven, God would recognize her. I told
her that I thought we could so she dictated these words:
Dear God,
Will you please take care of my dog? She died yesterday and is with
you in heaven. I miss her very much. I am happy that you let me
have her as my dog even though she got sick.
I hope you will play with her. She likes to play with balls and to
swim. I am sending a picture of her so when you see her. You
will know that she is my dog. I really miss her.
Love, Meredith.
We put the letter in an envelope with a picture of Abbey and Meredith
and addressed it to God/Heaven. We put our return address on it.
Then Meredith pasted several stamps on the front of the envelope
because she said it would take lots of stamps to get the letter all the
way to heaven. That afternoon she dropped it into the letter box at
the post office. A few days later, she asked if God had gotten the
letter yet. I told her that I thought He had.
Yesterday, there was a package wrapped in gold paper on our front
porch addressed, `To Meredith,' in an unfamiliar hand. Meredith
opened it.
Inside was a book by Mr. Rogers called, 'When a Pet Dies.' Taped
to the inside front cover was the letter we had written to God in
its opened envelope. On the opposite page was the picture of
Abbey & Meredith and this note:
Dear Meredith,
Abbey arrived safely in heaven.
Having the picture was a big help. I recognized Abbey right away.
Abbey isn't sick anymore. Her spirit is here with me just like it stays
in your heart. Abbey loved being your dog. Since we don't need our
bodies in heaven, I don't have any pockets to keep your picture in, so
I am sending it back to you in th is little book for you to keep and
have something to remember Abbey by.
Thank you for the beautiful letter and thank your mother for helping
you write it and sending it to me. What a wonderful mother you have.
I picked her especially for you.
I send my blessings every day and remember that I love you very much.
By the way, I'm easy to find, I am wherever there is love.
Love,
God