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How body from spirit slowly does unwind, until we are pure spirit at the end.

Theodore Roethke

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Theodore Roethke
Age: 55 †
Born: 1908
Born: May 25
Died: 1963
Died: August 1
Poet
Teacher
Writer
Saginaw
Michigan
Unwind
Slowly
Pure
Spirit
Ends
Doe
Body

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Being, not doing, is my first joy.
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What falls away is always. And is near.
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The self says, I am The heart says, I am less The spirit says, you are Nothing.
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By daily dying, I have come to be.
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Love is not love until love's vulnerable.
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Pain wanders through my bones like a lost fire
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Live in a perpetual great astonishment.
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All lovers live by longing, and endure: Summon a vision and declare it pure.
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A mind too active is no mind at all.
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I am overwhelmed by the beautiful disorder of poetry, the eternal virginity of words.
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Fear was my father, Father Fear. His look drained the stones.
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The visible exhausts me. I am dissolved in shadow.
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How terrible the need for God.
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In this place of light: he dares to live Who stops being a bird, yet beats his wings Against the immense immeasurable emptiness of things.
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I lose and find myself in the long water. I am gathered together once more.
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The fields stretch out in long unbroken rows. We walk aware of what is far and close. Here distance is familiar as a friend. The feud we kept with space comes to an end.
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What's important? That which is dug out of books, or out of the guts?
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Who rise from flesh to spirit know the fall: The word outleaps the world, and light is all.
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When I go mad, I call my friends by phone: I am afraid they might think they're alone.
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