Lovely:

Sometimes

When they criticize you how do you
hold your wings? I hold mine out
and down, descend a little, then more.
Cool air comes. Nobody cares how low
I descend, and the way my eyes close
makes me disappear. They have their sky again.

So thin a life I have, scribbling dust
when I turn, trailing as if to follow
something inside the earth, something beyond
this place. If I accept what comes,
another sky is there. My serious face
bends to the ground, the dust, the lowered wings.

--William Stafford

Glimpsed on: be present, be here: Poetry Thursday

I thought this was a lovely Warrior of the Light essay: The Languages That God Speaks.

Mevlana Jelaluddin Rumi, 13th century
Out there, besides what is right and what is wrong, there is an enormous field. That is where we will meet.