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Poem for an Ordinary Day

It’s just an ordinary day, in Ordinary Time. Where my life seems caught – again – in the tasks of living. Doing rather than being. Sometimes the everyday-ness seems trivial, less holy, less important and I struggle (even if for no reason). I allude here, of course, to the liturgical church calendar which marks ordinary time throughout the year. Ordinary... from ordinal numbers, a reference to counting of days between the great high holy celebrations.

Ah, my Soul replies, these moments are never simply a passing of hours between the holy. All is sacred. Nothing is wasted or insignificant. Everything ~ as it is ~ is exactly what it is supposed to be. I know this (to paraphrase Byron Katie, a favorite author) because it is as it is. If it were not what it was supposed to be, then how did it happen?

Either God’s in charge…or She’s not, says Daniel.

So…be in the doing and allow that subtle nuanced reflection to change everything. Just breathe in a pause and let my Soul tell me what she sees and hears. My Soul knows the Magic.

The wind caught my neighbors’ chimes and breezed the song to mine. A single note, followed by others. Easy as the morning. The world has shifted and already a coolness sings autumn’s music. Hawk cries above me in high sky circles. Blue Jay fusses; that’s what jays do. The hummingbird investigates flowers on the Basil amid the chatter of titmice and cardinal. The tap of some woodpecker on a hollowing tree offers a hallowed drumbeat tempo for the huge deer that just cantered through the woods.

These things are not in my imagination. They are my backyard world. A sacred forest landscape that connects me to All That Is.


I raked the lawn one sweet day. Between the soft shushing rasps of the rake ~ laughter! I heard laughter! Delighted giggles pealed from the tender Clover. “It tickles!" “Scratch me here,” called the Fescue. “That feels soooo good,” they sighed with joy. It was a clear day. The kind with sky so blue that makes me wonder at the perfection of color. All color. The tantalizing green of grasses revealed by my haphazard heaps of leaves, their crisping browns a changing beauty. And our sun warming us all. I’m told our sun is a yellow star and I see the gold of its light, though see isn’t quite right, is it? I can’t look directly at the fire of our sun. Perceive. Intuit. Know the color somehow by inference.

I could have just blown the leaves. I’m certainly not opposed to power tools and the fun of blowing! But I’m still mastering the task of getting the leaves to swirl in just the direction I want them to go. They tend to go everywhere. Over my head. Up the hill onto hibernating plants. Had I used our leaf blower I would have missed this conversation with Mother Earth’s grasses. Missed hearing Nature speak Her merriment to my Soul.

Perceive. Intuit. Know the harmony of our Earth. It can appear so bleak, so cold, so broken. But when I center myself in the quiet simplicity of serenity – even for just a few deep breaths – and allow life to be just as it is (how else can it be?) my world aligns in a natural rhythm. And a resonance of joy seeps into the fractures of every ordinary day.


Original photo by Dorothy Barkley Bryson. Trees near home. iPhone8. 1 September 2022,

TO CONNNECT. I would love to hear from you and learn how this piece (or any of my other writings here) resonate with you and your journey to finding your own deepest self, your own Real. While these writings are about my path, my hope is that they shine light for yours. You can email me directly at or you can also simply subscribe via the home page of this website. May peace and happiness be yours, always.

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