Poetry Returns: slowing to the pace of your soul

Poetry Returns

(Labrador Park, Singapore)

Crossing the park, I disclaim the cast-off leaves

floating in rapture from the tasselled trees,

their skin-pricking stems and downy blades

tuneful as a jazz song named “Dust & Pollen”.

It had been a year of wasted days proliferating,

a fiction of lost intentions. I have never been

more and more sure of less and less. Today,

my speechless self awakes. Today, life’s disharmony

makes this tangled mosaic in the air, under my feet,

treading split-second splashes while twigs snap.

See how these restless rebels won’t let me be:

see these words hunt and chase me to my street,

each mote a thought that stirs up reason’s rhyme,

makes me forget the dark fell swoop of time.

-“Poetry Returns”, from the poetry collection “Coastlands” by Aaron Lee

(Ethos Books 2014)

~~~~~~

Hullo, dear friends and fellow pilgrims.

Some time ago there was a moment, while jogging at Labrador Park by the sea, when I was suddenly startled back into myself by a cloud of leaves rising around my steps. I had been worn thin and wordless by the relentless pace of lawyering work and the steady demands of church ministry – so that moment of creative silence— —that wild, swirling insistence reminded me that even small, ordinary moments can reopen the inner life. As someone with a decades-long career navigating the high-speed intersections of finance, technology and the law, I came to realise that

leading an "examined life" is no longer optional. Indeed, it is the only way to remain human in the digital age.

The zen teacher Toni Packer once said that humans were meant to live at the speed of life, not at the speed of light. This is wisdom. In our daily life the "hum of the world" (a line from one of my long-ago poems) surrounds us constantly, pressuring us to hustle for what we want, to comply with other people’s expectations and standards, to race toward the next professional or personal achievement. A state of “soul hurry” plagues us, in response to inadequacy, fear, and guilt that seem so hard-wired and are hard to shake off.

More recently, a poem with the line “sip your tea nice and slow” made its rounds on social media. Misattributed to the prominent Singapore poet Dr Lee Tzu Pheng, its sentiments nevertheless spoke deeply into the condition of urban living. The poem was a quiet insurrection against the relentless clock of post modernity, such that the mindfully mundane act of drinking a cup of tea became a ritual of presence over productivity. It struck me that by honouring the steam and the pause, it is possible to cultivate an internal ecology of rest. And perhaps, just like in the poem “Poetry Returns”, the most enduring way to inhabit the world is to move at the patient speed of one’s own breath. We are after all not merely human beings but "human becomings", shaped moment by moment by what we choose to attend to.

For years now, my antidote to the disease of “soul hurry” has been the slow, steady discipline of the pen.

Journalling and poetry are not just records of memorable events in my life; they are how I stay awake to my own life. It is essential soul care.

Whether it is the joy of a new creative project, the grievous bereavement of losing a parent or petting a cat by the window, these moments are evidence of our human capacities and "proof of life". And as I write, I am compelled to be honest about my pride, my fears, and my longing for control. In my personal pages are where I have fresh realisations about the transpirations of my inner life.

Psalm 23 is one of my favourite poetic works. In this beautiful passage, God invites us into a landscape of restoration. He leads us to green pastures and beside still waters—not just in nature, but in the quiet places of our souls. The Shepherd knows when we are weary and gently guides us toward rest. As creation breathes peace, God breathes life into us. Whether in the hush of morning light or the whisper of leaves, we are reminded that He is near. 

Friends, this new year I praise the One who writes my story. I also thank Him for my loved ones and community. I hope you know that each of us is a link in a much larger chain, held by a presence that knows exactly what it is doing. There will be days when we think of ourselves as nothing more than leaves on the ground, or as mere dust and pollen in the stirring air. There will be days when we think of ourselves as made of stardust. Yet that is not all that we are. And even in the offensively ordinary days,  amidst loss or uncertainty, our paths are being straightened. 

In the beauty of nature, we find a sanctuary where the soul is restored and the heart learns again to trust the Shepherd who renews all things.

So let us refuse to live so fast that we miss the theophanies as we walk, step by step, toward the life we are meant to live. As we step into new seasons, I encourage you to

choose the slower path—the one where you can actually hear your own soul.

Adopt a mindfulness or creative practice that brings you joy and helps you notice the miracles hidden in your days.

Grace and peace to you on the journey of becoming truly, deeply human, in this God-ordained place and time.

Aaron Lee is a lawyer, church elder and poet.