I’m thrilled to introduce the Kingdom of Enough’s first guest blogger: my friend Sarojani, a wise poet and member of the local Celtic band Innisfree.
There is a bend in the river.
Boat’s gotten too heavy.
Gotta keep what’s worth keeping.
Gotta let some things go.
I remember floating
only water and sky.
It was simple then.
I did not know
grief or climate change,
the ravages of war
or a young black man’s daily danger.
I believed in presidents being
good and smart leaders
with dignity and integrity:
true public servants who helped
make things better.
Never doubted there was enough
food or water for everyone.
But now I believe in the more immediate politics
of loving kindness,
the cast of burnished sunlight
in the late autumn afternoons
through the old growth redwoods,
the gift of longing for ongoing communion
with The Beloved.
I remember a day in the Irish landscape
at Croagh Patrick
the Holy Mountain
in the town of Murrisk, County Mayo
where for centuries
pilgrims have been making their way
up the rocky path
to leave their failings,
make their promises,
cry their fervent prayers.
I set out that day with the only plan
that I would go as far as I could.
I was older now, heavier, not very agile or confidant
in my uphill climbing abilities.
But I knew my heart was true.
Before very long and way after many
had passed me, I sat on a large rock overlooking the beauties of Clew Bay
and the surrounding landscape.
I had already reached my limit.
There I meditated for awhile
with the light of the swiftly moving clouds
and the full presence of the Irish wind.
I settled in to a deep stillness
and felt to be in a place of solace and guidance.
When I finally opened my eyes
I saw pilgrim after pilgrim passing me,
making their way up the steep slope
and I began to greet them and then
silently bless their journey.
It felt right.
I had been rightly placed.
I knew that I had my own special place on this mountain
and was doing what I had been prepared for
in this very moment;
that we all have a particular path,
places we are planted, people who seem to come randomly into our lives.
The medicine we all have for each other.
I thought of our dear fragile earth,
the fabric of our government that appears to be coming apart at the seams,
the potential for mass despair and feelings of hopelessness;
that somehow we are helpless in the face of our
But then I remember the Holy Mountain;
the one we each are climbing every day
in the best and only way we know how,
climbing In the way we were made to climb.
I see step by step
each of us
being given pieces to hold to fight for
to help heal.
The Water Protectors.
The interpreters of whale songs.
The research scientists relentless in making their pleas with hard evidence
in giving voice to the earth’s cries.
Those striving for peace in thought, word and deed
choosing diets and lifestyles
that protect animals and ecosystems.
The poets, artists and musicians who stay true
to keeping beauty alive and well in the world.
There is a bend in the river
and I see boats
of every shape, size and color
making their way safely
through the tumultuous channels
and abiding the ever-changing currents.
“But where will we all land?” do you ask.
I guess that part is up to us.
By Sarojani Rohan