GREY AGAIN

Grey again grey
day again day
sun gone away
sleep come my way
out of the fray

TRUTH/MYTH

Truth is myth

myth is truth

so it is, so it has been

alone or together in our illusions

certain of things unknown, unseen

We weave dark and light--

a tangle of tassels at the end

seductive and golden 

entwining the spaces 

between myth and truth 

BLESSING FOR BABY LILLY

May you open to the world--

all that is--all that is possible

Too tiny

Too pure

Too new

To bear all hopes for you

To know all that rests in you

To feel infinite love around you, above you, within you

Yet--

you do, it does, you will

May you grow into that knowledge

imagine, dream, seek, risk, become, be

in your own time, in your own way

And know too—

It is you who are the blessing

Baby Lilly

so tiny, so pure, so new

PEOPLE TELL ME THINGS

People tell me things.

I listen, I see, I remember,

not lost to me—

a casual thought, a memory, a mood

a moment shared—

spoken, in gaze or gesture.

I fill in the blanks with imperfect truths

from shards of stories

that “never finish what they have to say.”

I create composite effigies-- 

patterns, themes, tales

of grief and gallantry,

magical thinking and illusions,

doubt and faith, beauty and despair,

kindness and grace

love and loss.

Do I betray a trust 

   elevate to myth

     redeem a transgression?

People tell me things and I write.

WABI-SABI II - SIMPLICITY

Early in May

In a wood along a stream

Lily of the Valley

tiny white bells 

silent with simplicity

slender stalks

hidden within

broad green leaves

most fragrant flower

to lull one to sleep

Fading away—

Come again next May

WABI SABI III - PURPOSE

A flowered handkerchief

blue, red and yellow

once a common companion

carried in pocket or purse

in case of a sneeze

or to wipe an ice dream drip

from a child’s cheek

Its most noble service?

wiping tears of grief 

for a life so brief

  

What purpose now?  

In a shop--there

lovely, lacey, flowered hankerchiefs

piled in a basket

purchased on a whim—because

"they are pretty"

I have one in my drawer 

twenty years since placed there--

crumpled, mostly unnoticed 

among a picture, a trinket, a note

an oddity to be found

perhaps when my brief candle burns out

A handkerchief of dried tears--

a memory to one
of service to none--

Then who will remember her?

MORNING PRAYER

Black branches feathery leaves 

edging against pale blue sky

bright opening among the tangles

where the sun—Oh Sun!—

will rise and color the light

To live in its grandeur this day

sun and soul-blessed 

rising above dark sorrow

May it be so

Poems: To the Lighthouse

Poems (two versions) inspired from Virginia Woolf's novel  To the Lighthouse, based on a .

Yesterday, burgeoning in the meadow

white blossoms on greening branches

birdsong at daybreak

Earth spinning in its orbit

distractions from pain and passing time,

regrets and remembrance of loss.

Today, reading under grey skies

she saw the lines--

“Bowed down she was with weariness”

a distant train whistle

a church bell chiming

lobster boats setting out to raise the traps

all like arrows piercing through

my small morning pleasures.

By the sea she is, but it's raining.

“drizzle” she calls it.

I like the sound of the words

“drizzle,“ "plaintive, “mournful”

Once she believed “there would be time enough"

“tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow.”

Was it all for naught?

 

It must be the pain.

If not for its darkness--

the brighter light of reason

But the window of perception is clear.

She see through—

The arrows hit their mark.

It was all for naught.

Bowed down she is with weariness.

Prometheus chained, and sh too--

bound to a rock of my own making

blossoms, falling rain

church bells and lobster traps

mournful memories

Tide rushing in 

caught in the torrent

deluge to drown in

Then, from the bell tower—seven chimes

The rain has stopped

No bird sing

Earth still spinning in its orbit

Where will I lay my head? 

Where will I leave my heart? 

What will I leave behind?

Where will I row my little boat lost in the darkness?

Another Version:

To the Lighthouse?

Yesterday—spring burgeoning at the window

white blossoms, greening branches

birdsong at daybreak

Earth spinning in its orbit

distractions from pain and passing time,

realizations, regrets, remembrance of loss

Sounds like arrows piercing through the morning’s 

small pleasures

distant train whistle, church bell chiming

lobster boats setting out to raise the traps

By the sea she is, but it’s raining

“drizzle” she called it

She likes the sound of the words, “drizzle” 

“plaintive” and “mournful”

Once she believed there would be time enough—

“tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow”

Did it all come to naught? 

It must be the pain

If not for its darkness, the brighter light of reason

Just now the window of perception is wiped clean

It was all for naught

Bowed down as she was with weariness

 Prometheus chained to a rock, and she too

tide rushing in—caught in a torrent

a deluge to drown in

falling rain, blossoms, lobster traps

and mournful memories

From the bell tower—seven chimes

Silence now

The rain has stopped and no bird sing

Earth still spinning in its orbit

Who should complain?

THE IMPERFECT

A question, quest, inquisition?

The Word in Books

memorized, recited, 

ready-made answers

carved into stone
cold hearts

one size fits all--it’s easy that way--

perfect answers for imperfect beings.

I love the quest of questions

the labyrinths of them

reflected in mirrors and moon

winding paths through soul, body, mind

into world wide spaces

Hold questions

in your ponder heart

the mystery of truth

and imperfect meaning.

All things are possible.

PROBABILITY AND POSSIBILITY

In my current state of mind, well, really for most of my adult life, I considered Probability and Possibility of things great and small

I speak not of mathematical probability, but what seems probable or possible based on predictivewa factor.  Uultimately, I like to believe that the axiom "All things are possible is true! My consideration of the probable and the possible keeps me from thinking and/or acting out of fear or hope, which seems to be the mode and mood of the day and, I suppose, always has been.

Thinking and acting our of fear or hope ignores both and tends to have us believe or act of those two emotions without having given thought to what may actually be probable or possible. 

     There are always at any given time and for any given event  opposite perspectives, often without consideration of multi-layered context of anything, large or small. However, we must focus in on the subtleties, the nuances and the realities at hand, rather than the fear or hope of what is to be or not to be.
      I believe there has always been little tolerance for looking deeper, and now, even more so with our nano-second communications of news and social media (within which each extreme finds a niche.) I have been told many times, “You are deep,” which always feels more critique than compliment, to which I inwardly affirm for myself: better to be deep than shallow, remaing on the surface, where one can only imagine what lies below it all.

What often lies below in the bigger picture of things, especially politics, but also advertising, is the powers that be, seeking to direct and control the narrative in their favor to remain in power, benefit financially, remain apathetic or confused. It is easy to submit to these powers or forces--we need do nothing, especially not think! Then the world can be defined in simple, black and white terms: them and us, good and evil—a zero sum game in which if someone else benefits, we lose. It’s easy to craft that kind of thinking into sound bites where "Perceptions are real and the truth is not" (Imelda Marcos). This is the kind of thinking that engenders "tribal loyalty and translates readily into catch phrases to fire up the masses, conjure up worst case scenarios, conspiracies born of fears, reinforcing already held beliefs and opinions, which are often far from the real probabilities or possibilities, but may be self-fulling "prophesies." 
     Nevertheless, this approach speaks to an enormous number of people for whom equivocation and polarization are easier to understand than seeing the larger picture and sorting through the subtleties and nuances that a clearer picture of reality demands--critcal thinking is not a dirty word.

What am I trying to say here? I suppose it is that I am weary just now of attempting to be true to my ideal of equipoise——a balancing act to hold true to my values of freedom, harmony, equality and justice, as it seems more of a struggle to maintain patience, civility, kindness and compassion, when we often hear more about the oppostite than the desirable. Currently, the language and agresson of politicians, commentators and ideologues seem to live by, not the values I hold dear, but in an ends-justifies-the means approach. And the means are getting meaner, louder, more vulgar and unhingled. 

        Is it both probable and possible that things have changed irrevicably and will continue to do so. I think so, but I also want to believe that, while the arc of the moral universe is long and bends toward justice, it does not seem possible that it will bend quickly enough prevent further deteriortion of the common good and common sense. I try remind myself to exepect the unexpected at any moment.

     Anne Frank was able to believe in possibility, even at such a young age and in a dire situation.  She wrote in her diary:

It's difficult in times like these: ideals, dreams and cherished hopes rise us, only to be crushed by grim reality…I see the world being slowly transformed into a wilderness. I hear the approaching thunder….It’s a wonder I haven't abandoned all my ideals; they seem so absurd and impractical. Yet, I cling to them because I still believe, in spite of everything, that people are truly good at heart….I must hold on to my ideals. Perhaps the day will come when I'll be able to realize them.

I read Anne's diary when I was about the same age at she was when she wrote it. I was moved--then and now by her insight and wisdom. It has become a touchstone for me when I am feeling discouraged,  falling into the "not probable," instead of the "always possible." Anne  believed in the Possible—even if she herself would never realize it in her given place and time. There is a power in her words that can create the courage to light the way, to move and shape lives and the world toward the good, however slowly that arc bends.

     Yes, just now I am worn down by some details of the world picture: chaos, starvation, brutality, corruption, malice, perversion and vulgarity and war--always war. Then there is the smaller frame of my own life of a series of illnesses and family situations--with no energy to spare, and seemingly diminished inner resources to cope, so the possible does not seem probable now or at any tiime soon.
     Yet, my core belief in the possible still inevitably rises up and compels me to look even more deeply to also remember the work and efforts of individuals and groups, currenlty and throughout history that have come together—again and again—to aspire toward the moral, the good, the just and the true. 

      I also see my own life in concentric circles reaching deeper from the world to my inner world where the values I hold dear and strive toward are also all around me at every moment—in my family, my friends and my community—here and now--possible and probable.

FABRIC OF LIFE ~ GOOD AND EVIL

Expressions and analysis of good and evil are as old as humanity itself—evident in history, mythology, literature, philosophy, theology and the arts, yet the relationship and nature of these opposites remain a mystery. My consideration of that relationship is subjective, based on nothing other than imagining "what it is like," and a life-long wish to understand how and why the terror and horror of evil continues to exist in the world with such frequency, severity and magnitude.
    While good and evil are usually thought of as opposites, I have come to feel they are fundamentally and forever woven together into the fabric of life. Thinking about evil and good in that way, it was a natural progression to picture a loom as a foundation for the relationship of good and evil. Warp and weft are the components used in weaving to turn thread or yarn into a fabric. The lengthwise or longitudinal warp threads are held stationary in tension on the loom, while the transverse weft threads are drawn through over and under the warp, creating a pattern by filling in the gaps as they intertwine.
    The warp threads are stable strands held in place by the loom. I imagine them representing the good: understanding, empathy, peace, compassion, kindness, charity, generosity, love—in short, any and all qualities and actions fostering and supporting humanity and life. The weft threads represent evil in this analogy--all that is deceptive, unjust, opportunistic, insidious, violent, destructive, exploitive, perverse, vengeful, hateful, obscene--all that threatens humanity and life. The pattern created, for our purposes, should be thought of as structural, rather than visual. The weave itself represents the fabric of life wherein good and evil are inseparable.
    Of course, life and living often require compromise to mitigate harm and/or bring about the "best of all possible worlds." Still, whether or not we individually experience the severity of evil I have described as terror and horror, we know that it (as well as good) exists at every moment somewhere in the world, both near and far.
    For me, the Holocaust stands as a pure evil, staining and straining the fabric of life, affirming both the effects and the depth and scope of humanity's capacity for evil. The fact that it is denied by many is an evil in itself. That it and other genocides have, still do and will happen can never be comprehended (or forgotten). All evil or harm is woven in and around what perpetrators see as some kind of threat or benefit to themselves, or, inexplicably for the perverse pleasure of it!      From time immemorial and ongoingly, we know of barbarian invasions in the early centuries (currently Russia's attack on soverign Ukraine), the Cusades, the Inquisition, the pograms, slavery, sex trafficking, lynchings, gang and mob violence, school and other mass shootings. Also, currently America is enduring the corruption of a powerful few to deceieve the many, to incite violence, encourage belief in conspiracies, discrimination and demonizaiton of "the other." It is sad to hear some in our own government perpetrate the what such and refuse to stand for truth, justice and human rights for all Americans.

    The motivations for good or evil, and the ways they are expressed are many, sometimes unintentional and/or mysterious, but each has the ability to affect our lives positively or negatively. All instances mentioned have been forever with us-- and there is war--always war. Still, the fabric of life also contains the good, the beautiful and the true--those ideals and values to be cherished and lived. We can strive for such through adherence to a spirutal practice, the rule of law, and by supporting the work of individuals, organizations, agencies, etc. (some well-known, others not so) who have, do and will risk life and limb to protest injustice, heal, advocate for freedom and human rights in large and small deeds of service, sacrifice, kindness for betterment of our country, communities or in our own  families and friendships.
    We, as human beings are the only entities on Earth, possibly in the entire cosmos that are able to develop a higher consciousness and conscience through reflection and to seek self-and world-knowledge which may help us idenetify and determine higher values to live by. Through our intentions, creativity and work we are able to communicate and serve those values for the common good. It is not likely that evil will ever be eliminated, but we can can aspire help diminish it by our own thoughts words and actions. There are those who dream of a Utopia, or at least a more perfect world, as well as those who are determined to create and live in a Dystopian one.
     It is interesting to consider, aside from the loom analgoy, the often what we intend or perceive as good may result, if not in pure evil, than in negative effects on ourselves and others. Conversely, our missteps, bad decisions and judgements may result in positive effects for others and ourselves. For example, remorse for our transgressions may lead to a better understanding of ourselves and others with forgiveness and reconciliation.
    Though there are and have been attempts at reconciliation and compensation from individual to individual, and on a global scale, such as the Nuremberg Trials and the South African Truth and Reconciliation Commission, the lessons have not been well-learned, as the cycle of evil continues on the world loom.
    My rather simple, imaginative picture here focuses on the inter-connectedness of good and evil, but does not attempt to address the many reasons for the "why" of evil, but my sense is that it has to do with what we value (or not), and how freedom is thought about for ourselves, but it is often pursued at the expense and rights of others--therein lies the rub! So we live in this fabric of life, and must endure evils, or if we are able, to do whatever is possible to address and/or mitigate its harm to ourselves and others.
    The value of the weaving analogy in imagining the relationship of good and evil, the reader can judge, and not too harshly I would hope.

THE WAY

The Narrow Path

That moment

that point of no return

when there is no one to save you

at the end of the yellow brick road

only you

your beating heart

the pure white of your true self

The strange thing is

you knew it all along—

but everything said:

if only, all I have to do is,

what will people think if?

The Upanishads speak:

“The ancient narrow path that stretches far away—

it has been touched by me, has been found by me.”

Have compassion

forgive yourself

let go despair and

grief unimaginable

all obstacles imagined

that made you stay so long

kept your world dim

created a void

built a wall

separated your heart from love

Look

above--the silver moon is rising over frozen fields

geese gather at the river

ready to take flight

At the edges of earth

waves are rolling to shore

as they have for thousands of years

Turn with courage

feel it become Light

fill the void

burn the nothing

become everything

The wall is shatter

the distance closed

You are on the ancient, narrow path

SYCAMORE

I want to be a Lady of the Sycamore—a sycamore in winter bare and luminous

white trunk standing straight—

serene among dry brown fields

branches spreading tall against the sky

misshapen into beauteous forms

unshaken against the wind.

I want my ashes to rest 

between two sycamore

at the eastern gate of heaven

the first rays of morning sun

greeting my grey earthly remains

warming the dark dust

beneath opulent, tormented arm

white and luminous 

offering sustenance to the dead.

                                   

MYSTERY MEN

For two days, I had seen the Unabomber look-alike in a baggy orange sweatshirt restlessly wandering around through the halls of the hospice center where we each had a friend who lay dying. 

    When we passed each other each time, I tried to read the words printed on his sweatshirt below an image of planet Earth, but couldn’t quite make them out. He wore his red hat over his wild, shaggy hair—reminding me of those clown hats with a wig attached. Around his neck, was a heavy silver chain with a figure dangling from it.

    On the third day, at the coffee cart, still unable to make out the words on his shirt, I asked him, “So, who’s the little shiny fella there?” pointing to the dangling figure on the silver chain.

   “The patron saint of lost causes” he answered. That says it all, I thought, but still haven’t figured out what the “all” is. Did he believe that America needed to be “great again,” but didn’t have much hope that it would happen, or was the lost cause his friend who, like mine, had no options left, except to wait for the grim reaper to swing his scythe?

  I misunderstood and asked, “But Judas isn’t a saint?” that much I knew, but I had the wrong saint, or in this case, sinner.

“No, no, no. It’s St. Jude,” he said sarcastically, suggesting I should have “not Judas Iscariot, the apostle who betrayed Christ.

    “Oh, sorry, that's who I was thinking of, silly me—for thirty pieces of silver, right?”     

    “Exactly!"

     Exactly thirty pieces? I wondered. 

Just before I bit into my multi-grain muffin, I blurted out, "Well, they say no good deed goes unpunished.”

    “What do you mean, good deed? His was the greatest betrayal in the history of all the world.”

     "You mean the greatest catch 22.” I corrected him this time, explaining, “if Judas hadn't turned Christ over to the Romans, he wouldn’t have been able to have "died for our sins," which was the reason he came to earth. So, they both died, Judas' hanging from a tree and his friend and teacher on a wooden cross, sometimes referred to as tree, right?”

    “Well, never thought of it that way", scrathing his head, “but Christ in died in victory and Judas in defeat.”

     Then, I decided to put the mystery of it all and the three mystery men, Christ, Judas and the Unibomber out of my mind for now. It was starting to sound like a sporting event.

    I poured the third mystery man a coffee, and passed him the cup. We stood eating our muffins in silence. Then, nodding to each other, we moved on into our respective friend’s rooms—to watch and wait at the foot of their beds.

My friend died after a long evening, and I wept.

On my way out in early morning, I passed mystery man #3 coming down the hall. Our eyes met for a moment in a kind of farewell. As I looked again at his orange sweatshirt, this time I was able to see the words below the image of our lonely, blue marble planet with the words: 

“YOU ARE HERE.”

                                  (2018)