by Linda Tomasello / Some poems arrive disguised as instructions. This one opens with a fact none of us can argue with — that nothing lasts — and ends somewhere far more tender than where it began.
How To Belong Be Alone
by Pádraig Ó Tuama
It all begins with knowing
nothing lasts forever,
so you might as well start packing now.
In the meantime,
practice being alive …
Linda’s Reflection
Practice being alive raised my eyebrows. But then: There will be a party where you’ll feel like nobody’s paying you attention. That hit me in that tender, ugh spot of my psyche. I felt myself withering, all those awkward memories washing over me.
I am very social, but much more at ease in a group working on something together — the focus on the work, on being part of a team, not on chatty conversation. I’m naturally quiet, and I feel like such an outsider when quick, witty banter is swirling around me. I tend to be the listener, smiling at those effortlessly holding court, feeling so dull.
Pádraig offers a truth I sometimes forget: There is a you telling you another story of you. Listen to her.
Contemplation has introduced me to her — the one I embrace when I’m alone. The one who loves grandmotherhood and dancing, who considers Mary Oliver a soul mate, who loves a garden but is a terrible gardener, who looks at messy rooms and stained tablecloths as signs of love that live in her house. I will take her hand and go for a walk together more often. She is such an interesting conversationalist.
How the Word Works
A poem arrives in image and sound before it arrives in meaning. This is not a flaw but the poem’s greatest gift. The mind wants to evaluate, categorize, agree or disagree. The poem slips past all of that. By the time you realize what has happened, something has already shifted. You have been moved before you had a chance to decide whether you were willing to be.
A Simple Practice
Ó Tuama ends the poem with three words: You belong here. Write that sentence somewhere you will see it — a bathroom mirror, a computer screen, the refrigerator door. Each time you encounter it, pause for a breath. Don’t argue with it. Let it be true for a moment, and see what happens.
Linda’s Bio
Linda Tomasello grew up on the south side of Chicago and has spent most of her married life in the suburbs with her husband of 48 years. Since retiring she has been doing the things that matter most to her: being a grandmother, discovering her own backyard, and reading more poetry than ever before. She came to contemplative practice through a parish program, found her spiritual home at Still Point, and co-hosts the 7am chapel every Monday.
Poems, Parables & Proverbs was a Sunday email series shared with the Still Point community through the summer of 2026. Each week offered a text, a reflection from a member of our community, and a simple practice for the week ahead.