Bodies of Water
The trees are so stable,
their moods have such endurance.
They hold on for months
to the bare bitterness of winter,
the absence of even a rustling leaf.
Then the trees embrace the sweet joyfulness of spring
in a long coquettish smile,
a blossom-blush lasting months.
Afterwards, the trees sail into the smooth serenity of summer,
wearing their regal wreaths with proud satisfaction.
Even the flaming, flickering colours of fall flash across their faces for months,
the trees, with their moods more stable than mine,
for I am but a tiny body of water
wrapped in skin.
My thinly guarded surface subject to tremors of wind,
the harassment of a sudden hailstorm
or the steady pounding of rain.
I’ve been know to get icicles in my eyelashes
tears of pain frozen before fully released.
Some things are better to let go of quickly.
In all this variable moodiness,
this passionate intensity and depth of feeling,
I am not alone,
for are we not all but small bodies of water
wrapped in skin,
the tides in our hearts tugged about by not just the moon,
but by the moods of all the other bodies of water
bumping around us
in this space
that is earth.
Spring is finally here.
The toddler and I are equally happy
digging in the garden
with dirt under our fingernails
and warm sunshine in our hair.
Out in the garden,
I can almost forget my messy house
–rooms cluttered with kids’ clothes and toys–
out here where dirt means not disorder,
but openness to growth
and getting messy is a necessary step
on the path to beauty.
Misty Mountain Tops
Sunlight streams through pearly cloud-cover
onto the misty mountain tops below,
their silhouettes like layers of ragged blue paper
on a giant watercolour collage.
The sky is clear as day:
empty and open as a day
with no to-do list…
Imagine, how divine,
to just be!
The light pours down
thick beams of blessing
proclaiming the presence
of the one who sustains our very being.
The mountains respond with a silent chorus:
“Glory, glory, glory,
How good it is to simply be!”
And on my lap the baby naps,
perfectly comfortable at 4000 feet in the air
cause Mamma is there,
and no other moment matters
It’s easy to get caught up
in the tangled branches of self-doubt
but look up–
there is such golden glory!
Not one of your mistakes
can darken the brilliance of the sun.
Autumn bursts with gratitude
for the gift of life–
the spark given in the darkness
that could have been ever dark
now beams with the warmth of fire!
Have you stopped to listen to the evening birdsong?
The same song since you were a child…
this eternal song, performed over and over
against the mellow backdrop of the light blue sky.
The clouds are smudged with charcoal
but their edges glow.
Does it capture you? Hold your gaze up and out
to the peaceful grandeur of the reclining day?
Are you torn away from the endless hunt
down the dark halls of your brain
where you relentlessly seek childhood secrets
and broken pieces of yourself?
Deep in this maze of self-analysis
the batteries of your flashlight may run out.
There’s only so much you can understand
Look to the source of light and beauty.
Listen to that bird who trills again and again:
“Life’s good, very very good. Life’s good, very very good.”
Remember you are only a tiny piece
of creation and a recipient
of this gorgeous gift that is life.
Put anxious internal wanderings
and the pursuit of your own perfection
in their place.
Live and love your now.
I sit here at East is East
almost alone (the baby is sleeping on my lap)
but feeling the opposite of lonely
a perfectly satisfied fulness
an openness to everything:
the heat of the spices in my mouth,
the cool kiss of my iced Turkish Chill,
the spring breeze in the elegant drapes,
the warm orange glow of the lamps.
The vibrant aquamarine wall behind the stage
is filled with memories of musicians
from date nights past…
when that skinny little girl
with her starry-eyed dreams
met that philosopher boy:
tall, brown-bearded, bespectacled.
They met and fell in love
talking their heads off
over so many meals
from all over the world:
Ethiopian, Thai, Chinese, Italian, Irish, Mongolian and more…
walking the town
in search of truth, meaning,
They married and filled the restaurants
with tiny people who like spicy Thai food
loud, gorgeous, long-lashed children–
and one gone ahead to the heavenly banquet.
And now instead of that teenaged aching emptiness
–that lonely longing–
there is hustle and bustle,
a thunderstorm of pitter patters
and never a moment alone.
Today that skinny girl
still red-headed and freckled,
but a little more wobbly around the middle,
has escaped for a moment alone with her dreams
in the same café where,
sitting with her bosom buddies
she discovered the presence
of her latest warm bundle–
a blue-eyed moon baby
whose smile bursts her chubby face open
And the girl
now a mom of 8
(how did that happen??)
is learning to dig deeper
underneath the choas
into the quiet space inside
where her spirit resides
and speaks poetry in whispers
(if you’re quiet you can hear…).
The Spirit speaks to her
in dappled sunshine through tender new leaves
and the scent of lilacs.
She buries her face in them
and is transported back to highschool–
to the village where nature spoke to her so clearly
and she filled her notebooks with passionate scribbles,
longings for the fulness she now has
The flower is wise.
She is neither insecure nor proud,
because she knows that she is loved
not because she is lovely,
but because she was created by Love.
Her loveliness stems
from the love of her Creator
whom she glorifies
simply by being herself.
Wherein lies the greatness of man?
Is it in his capacity to make bombs?
To build rockets and race cars?
To speed through life and destroy?
Or is it rather in his ability
Despite these other abilities
And give meaning to the smallest gesture
To caress the silken cheek of a flower
And see reflected in it
The face of his beloved
And the twinkling of God’s eyes?
The bulbs we planted last year for Josephine’s birthday are bravely peeking up their tiny heads to kiss the spring sunshine!