"I learn by going where I have to go"

by Theodore Roethke

I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow.
I feel my fate in what I cannot fear.
I learn by going where I have to go.

We think by feeling. What is there to know?
I hear my being dance from ear to ear.
I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow.

Of those so close beside me, which are you?
God bless the Ground! I shall walk softly there,
And learn by going where I have to go.
Light takes the Tree; but who can tell us how?

The lowly worm climbs up a winding stair;
I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow.
Great Nature has another thing to do
To you and me, so take the lively air,

And, lovely, learn by going where to go.
This shaking keeps me steady. I should know.
What falls away is always. And is near.

I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow.
I learn by going where I have to go.

selah

This is one of those poems that leaves me floored in its ability to capture so much of what I feel, observe and intuit about both the world I’m moving in and the one within me… the mystery of it all and how I grow only by moving forward on the path that I’m on. The one I am asked to stay with. There is a sense of both duty and acceptance baked into this pilgrimage. Fate unfolds in the places where fear dissolves.

Light takes the Tree; but who can tell us how?

Is there not some sacred softening when we realize that, at the end of the day, we are all just guessing as to how exactly this all works? My mind relaxes when it realizes there is a futility to fully understanding the immense beauties of the world. “Light takes the Tree”— four words that read like four thousand.

I hear my being dance from ear to ear.

This description of how it feels to sense one’s self, one’s essence and the ways in which it requires me to loosen the familiar faculties I usually attempt to understand myself. Though the line evades my logical mind, I know exactly what it is getting at: to hear movement and to feel it oscillating between those two organs usually used for hearing what is on the outside. Instead, the listening is directed inward— sensing one’s vital being as vibration and choreography. It’s such a simple line but I could unpack it for hours.

Thank you to my friend Hana Tajima (who is also an amazing designer) for introducing Roethke to me this past week. This poem was taken from The Collected Poems book and I’ve been falling in love with language again in new ways. What a beautiful feeling.

I wrote a song with Hana called The Robin and if you’re feeling like a dip into my archive today, you can hear all about the process of the song in an older post I did here. Basically, I borrowed some lines from journal entries that she shared with me, written in a really hard time of her life to accompany me in my own. They turned into a poem which turned into a lyric and then suddenly I was in the studio with Jake Sherman and an entire song came out. Hana also created the beautiful, contemplative artwork that accompanies the video we made. I think you might find the lyrics in this song have some eerie echoes to the feeling in Roethke’s poem.

Maybe it’ll be a nice soundtrack as you bathe further in his words.

You can also watch a live performance of the song here which I just uploaded today.

And to watch Hana and I talk about how the song was written, see below.

Till next time

P.S. As you may know, there’s a small circle that gathers within this publication called The Koru— a space where I share more directly with my readers and host occasional gatherings throughout the year and we have a meet-up happening on Sunday at 7pm EST centered around a theme I’m really excited about. If you’re feeling curious, you’re warmly invited to be a part of this conversation and the Koru community. All the details for our gathering live here and if you feel called, you can upgrade your subscription to take part.
Thank you x

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