Risk tolerance

Strange to say, or perhaps it*s comforting, or risky or...  I am back to the place of I can*t tell.  I know the risk tolerance quiz which arrived this morning has to do with financial risk... still I wonder how to measure any kind of risk, much less arrive at any kind of real answer.  Then to have a new client quote Julian to me.  

The morning sends

A quiz

For risk tolerance

As if there are answers

To such a thing.

I wonder about

The answer key

To the quiz.

I wonder if it measures

What it is necessary

To measure

But then

My eyes are focused

On different things.

I figure I could live in the middle

Of someone else*s back yard

Be perfectly

Ok.

Pretty good, in fact,

In the Minnesota way

Of things.

Last night a client quoted

Julian of Norwich to me.

I keep seeing it

She said

I keep hearing it:

All shall be well

And all manner of things

Shall be well.

I reply

I*ve heard that

Yes

I*ve heard that too.

What a Dame!

Today is the feast day of Dame Julian of Norwich.  Dame Julian, of course, is the source of the title of this blog, now over two years in the making.  I added the .Period. at the end.  No, in fact, I spelled it out mostly because I forget sometimes that All Will Be Well.  I know this.  I proclaim this.  I believe this.  And I forget this, more often than I would like.  Today is Julian*s Day.  What a dame!

Today is Julian*s Day

What a dame!

She of anchoress fame:

What a dame!

Today I may sift through

Her Showings:

What a dame!

Today

I hold a hazelnut

In the palm of my hand,

A hazelnut in both palms,

Maybe grasp one or two

With my toes

For good measure.

What a dame,

I tell you,

What a dame!

That hazelnut

Holds the whole world

Simply

Purely

The whole world

Beginning and end

All shall be well

And all manner of things

Shall be well

What a dame!

Almost audible

Today is Julian*s day.  It seems fitting it would be a morning for quiet.  

This is a morning for quiet;

For the still small voice

To sound almost audible,

In the background sounds of bird

And train,

The movement of the hands

On the clock,

The vines

Growing on the front columns:

Almost audible.

This is the morning for quiet,

For the still small voice.

This is a morning for quiet,

The still small voice,

Almost audible,

Not production

Of new thoughts

Or language,

Not concern for the place

I occupy

In the world.

Not anything

But stillness

Smallness

Knowledge there is always the voice

Underneath

Almost audible.