As part of an ongoing project to expand resources that we can offer, I’ve been working with Dan Corrie to add to the collection of RN-related poetry at the RNA website. I enjoyed being introduced to several poets that Dan recommended, including Margaret Gibson, Linda Hogan, Janisse Ray, and Pattiann Rogers, plus some poems that were written by Dan, himself. I also enjoyed receiving these in several installments, and I found myself looking forward to the next poem-of-the-week.

While we were at this, I heard about a recent book – Year of Wonder: Classical Music for Every Day, by Clemency Burton-Hill – that starts by discussing how daily rituals “can inexplicably but undeniably set you on the path to a better day”. The author didn’t feel that meditation or yoga worked for her, but found a daily dose of music to be “a form of sonic soul maintenance”, and the book lists and describes 365 suggestions for classical music that can be listened to, day-by-day. A Spotify playlisthas been created to accompany this, with online recordings of each piece.
And this, in turn, reminded me of visual arts, where at NASA Astronomy picture of the day, This week in wildlife and other sites, viewers get regular new images that can remind us of the beauty and diversity in nature.
Like Muslim prayers, daily Buddhist meditation, and weekly church/temple services, these and other practices give regular occasions to shift from day-to-day concerns to things more spiritual and uplifting. So, with this newsletter, I’m sending a reminder about these types of reminders, with links that can give a start to exploring. If anyone has favorite similar sites, send them on, and we can add them to the RNA collection of Resources.
Todd Macalister
The Unseen

by Linda Hogan


If you think I’m going to write about someone’s god
that’s a mistake. I am sitting by wild strawberries
not yet blooming. An emerald-green frog believes it can’t be seen
under the leaf. The insects it wants sing, also unseen,
and mourning doves in the distance
think I am not here with a silent song,
not even to interrupt morning’s eye wide open.


In the very near water, even with open eyes
I missed the leap. Fish, I didn’t see you either.
The reeds grow and I am missing that, as well,
and the animal that just broke a fallen twig.


On the large stone is a petroglyph
of a mountain goat. It is covered with lichen
and barely visible like the moth that appears to be stone,
in its refuge.


I see so little and know so little.
Perhaps that is a kind of wisdom,
but, if nothing else, at the very least
I am not alone in the world
of the unseen.