Where is that Trust?

Read Mark’s weekly reflections on The Huffington Post.

I love photography because it opens us to windows of other times, other lives. A good photograph gives us a glimpse of life we’d never know, while showing us the one life we all share. On a recent trip to New York City, I chanced upon this old photo that opened me to this poem about rest.

 

It was a black and white photo, from

1927, in Paris, a young woman sleeping

in a small apartment, her head half off

the pillow. Is this the only time we put

it all down? Does the soul wait for us to

close our eyes, so it can drink with every-

one who ever lived, from the waters that

clear just below existence? I love to watch

you sleep. Because in that soft opening

between worlds, the flower of your being

lets me know that everything is alright.

I’m in Bryant Park now and the light

patching through the trees flickers on

an old woman’s face, as she nods in a

broken chair. It could be you or the

young woman in Paris before we were

born. I never rest this well, but I praise

that it is possible.

 

A Question to Walk With: What is the state of your ability to rest?