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?
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