WHEN - May 1, 53rd Anniversary poem

                       

Sandra & Robert May 1, 1971

One day

when Earth stops turning

stars fall from the sky

oceans dry 

sun not rise

I won’t ask why

Stay with me—remembering

the path we took

and read with me—

the chapters of our book

SURRENDER

I heard a wise man say,

 “I gaze until I see the beautiful.”

And so, I gazed.

Across the meadow,

where I have looked a thousand times

to trees at the horizon gleaming golden

under blue heaven at sunset.

Each time

 in only moments

 brilliant trees faded to brown

and sky to grey.

They didin't mind. 

Each time,

I turned away, not really seeing 

Today, I gazed until—

I saw the beautiful 

  Imagining their joining me in praise--

not for a parting of the sea

or water become wine,

but for the miracle of light 

fading in the grace of surrender

Painting by Robert Louis Williams 

www.robertlouiswilliams.com

MY FAVORITE THINGS

Originally written for the 2021 Call to Artists for a Studio B's exhibit, Boyertown, PA

My FavoritesThings 

Beauty, Goodness and Truth are not just a “few" of my favorite things, but very precious things for everyone to be aware of. I strive to understand and reflect them in my life--falling far short most times, no doubt. Although they are not just “things,” rather they are qualities, or states of being; nevertheless, they are manifested outwardly and inwardly, in ourselves, in others and in the seen and unseen worlds. They are recognizable in people, places and life situations. The words of a song from The Sound of Music only begin to suggest the effects of my favorite things, “When I'm feeling sad / I simply remember my favorite things / And then I don't feel so bad.” There is so much more than remembering and feeling better. Looking for and creating Beauty, Goodness and Truth each has the capacity to convey various levels of meaning day to day, and throughout a lifetime. That this trinity exists affirms life and inspires us as touchstones and guides.

                                          Beauty 

     In William Wordsworth’s poem, “Lines Written Above Tintern Abbey,” he returns after five years to the banks of the River Wye in Wales. Seeing the abbey again, and the surrounding landscape, he realizes that, “These beauteous forms, / Through a long absence, have not been to me / As is a landscape to a blind man's eye.” He tells us the scene living in him all those years, was, “Felt in the blood, and felt along the heart; / And passing even into my purer mind.” I, believe, as did Wordsworth, that Beauty has, “no slight or trivial influence / On that best portion of a good man's life / His little, nameless, unremembered, acts / Of kindness and of love.” When Beauty, seen or recollected, “the heavy and the weary weight/ Of all this unintelligible world/Is lightened.” Young poet, A.E. Housman was also affected by Beauty in his, "The Loveliest of Trees.” He estimates he has "threescore years and ten" to live life (70 years), and realizes that “Twenty will not come again /And since to look at things in bloom / fifty springs are little room/About the woodlands I will go/To see the cherry hung with snow.” Wordsworth and Housman tell us how beauty affects them.  Fyodor Dostoyevsky wrote, “Beauty will save the world.”

Does beauty have such power? Yes!

As newlyweds, over 50 years ago now, my husband and I spent a year in Florence, Italy. I treasured then and now the golden memories of being young, with life ahead, and the beauty all around in a city that, to me, was like a work of art in itself: the architecture, galleries, cathedrals, sunlight falling on red tile roofs and ancient stone, gardens and fountains, tall cedars on azure hills of orchards and vineyards, and the church bells resounding. All are "living" memories. That which is beautiful we love, and in loving, we respect and protect. Whether Beauty in the moment or recollected brings peace and can lighten the heavy and weary weight of the world. In Enymion Keats notes that "A thing of beauty is a joy forever / Its loveliness increases; It will never / Pass into nothingness." 

Goodness 

Under the umbrella of Goodness are many other qualities to consider: morality and ethics, honesty, civility, patience, kindness, compassion, integrity:  actions and deeds. Goodness comes in many forms: Simple: paying it forward to the person behind you, when the person ahead of you at Starbucks has paid for your coffee, or Profound: as the story goes that one of Mahatma Gandhi’s Hindu followers was distraught when his son was killed in a skirmish between Hindu and Muslim mobs: Gandhi advised, ”Go and find an orphan child born of Muslim parents, adopt him as your own son, and bring him to worship Allah with the ideal of non-violence.” A saintly lesson in Goodness!

We do not always see Goodness when it there or appreciate it, when we do see it. We may not be able to adhere to Good when we most need to. It is often compromised, intentionally or unintentionally perverted in personal aggrandizement, conspiracies in political, cultural and even religious distortions. It can be, and often is, difficult to live up to its demands, yet examples are all around, if we but observe with clear eyes, heart and mind. We can also contribute to Goodness in our lives and in the world in significant ways, large and small, for the benefit of another, or for the common good, which fosters hope for and faith in humanity and the future.

Truth 

Truth is relative it is said, which mostly refers to “our own truth,” specific to us as individuals, having formed opinions and beliefs, based on perceptions, experiences and the information we have (or do not have) at the time. It is often  hard to say what is true, and who has absolute truth. Only such truth that absolute and irrefutable are in science and mathematics, i.e., the earth is round and 2 + 2 = 4, though some dispute the former, (maybe even the latter!). The two other truths I fee are irrefutable are Love and Mystery. Living i truthfully has to rest in a commitment (and re-commitment) to seek truth by observing closely, listening with an open mind and heart, knowing how to think ang to employ critical thinking, then speaking honestly, acting cautiously, and as respectfully and kindly as possible in all of our relationships and interactions, which helps create trust in one another and life in general. 

Then there are truths, involving the transcendent, “significant if unverifiable truths, discernible in spiritual teachings, psychological principles, philosophy, myths; music; literature and art, as well as in nature and the inscrutable universe. All have the capacity to inspire, motivate, enrich and sustain us beyond measure. 

Beauty * Truth * Goodness

Often Beauty, Goodness and Truth are interwoven in the meaning and mystery of them. My three favorite things are often separately indistinguishable, as are the threads in a rich tapestry design, yet, each with the power to pass into our purer mind, lightening the burden of this world and, perhaps, rendering it more intelligible.

PROUD OF MY HERITAGE

Note: Each year, Studio B art gallery in Boyertown, PA puts on a theme-based exhibit, and publishes an anthology of art and writing with that theme in mind. This writing was a submission for this year's online anthology: "I Am - Proud to B--You and Me."

When I attended Catholic school, I learned about “the seven deadly sins,” one of which was pride. “Pride” in that context meant a grand, arrogant sense of self, and entitlement to treat others in controlling and harmful, maybe even "deadly" ways! Aside from the religious connotations of pride, there also seems to be a stigma associated with being proud of and/or demonstrating pride in who we are, what we do or have accomplished—maybe out of caution to be as modest and humble as we “should” be, and unfortunately, knowing others may disapprove, discrimate, and worse. 

     However, expressing pride in our lives, who we are and what we value, in other words,  letting our little (or large) light shine, can be a positive experience, both in the sharing, and hearing from others. Such stories can motivate us to do even better and imagine what is possible.

While there is still criticism of those who have come a long way with enormous obstacles and challenges to be able to say they are proud of who they are or have become, there was a shift in the late 60s/early 70s--a social revolution really. For the first time, various groups organized and came forward--encouraged to embrace pride and to express it--even to celebrate their individuality, race, gender and/or ethnicity and to work toward civil/human rights and equality. In doing so, they challenged how they were perceived, portrayed and/or discriminated against. 

     “Black is beautiful” was an affirmative slogan; women spoke of breaking through the “glass ceiling,” and not being seen as sex objects; Native Americans made known the many problems confronting reservation tribes; gay and lesbian folks were coming out of “hiding,” rejecting the discrimination, shaming, and even criminalization due to their gender and/or sexual orientation. 

        When Studio B, a local cultural center called for writing  expesseing what we are proud of, I could not wait to learn what others take pride in. I had never really thought to speak or write about what I am proud of, though I have often felt pleased about many areas of my life. Right off, I thought of the pride I have in family's accoplishments: My husband Robert’s having been a combat artist in Vietnam, and the body of soulful and masterful work he has created since. I have pride in earning a BA and MA while working and raising a family. I am proud of our two sons’ natural abilities and acquired skills, now working in professions in which they exel, love, and are able to support themselves and their families. I am proud of our four grandchildren for their creativity and kindness--all growing up and, no doubt, will have much to contribute to the world.

        I am proud of my country’s laws and institutions that, while they may need monitoring and improvement always, have supported and protected us though currenlty they are being dismantled one by one.  I am proud of my community’s many initiatives working for the common good—focusing on our similarities, rather than our differences, providing informative, creative, cultural, educational activities and events, such as Studio B has done and is doing.

After much thought to what I am most proud of, I can say: I am most proud of my heritage. Both my paternal and maternal grandparents emigrated to America from Italy in the late 1800s, leaving everything behind—never to return to home and homeland, family, friends, neighbors, and cultural roots. They had not much to bring with them of material value, but what they did bring with them them were courage, fortitude, and faith that they would succeed in their desire and need for a better life. 

        How? by working hard and long, enduring whatever it took to orient themselves in a new world, at first speaking no English and with no highly marketable skills. My paternal grandfather worked as a janitor in a school outside of Philadelphia. My maternal grandfather worked in a shoemaker’s shop. Both grandmothers raised children, kept house, made meals, baked bread, planted and maintained gardens, put up the harvest for the winter and much more. They had no luxuries, no sick days, no vacations, no “time off.” At first their homes were heated only by fireplaces or pot belly stoves, but they were cozy, and we were welcomed with open arms. They, as most Immigrants (even now if possible) became part of an existing ethnic community which supported their transition in many ways, while still honoring their own traditions.

I am proud that I come from such heritage (as many of us do)—from adventurous souls with the necessary bravery and determination (and probably lots of fear and anxiety) to work toward a better future. They became American citizens, but were often discriminated against and sometimes from one ethnic group to another. Nevertheless, they did make the best of life, little by little. No matter the challenges, obstacles and setbacks, they carried on. In doing so, they helped make America become a more perfect union, built by the “tired, poor, and huddled masses yearning to breathe free.” They were welcomed under the “lifted lamp” of the Statue of Liberty “beside the golden door!”

    America was the “golden door,” hopefully, not yet too tarnished or closed off to remember the huddled masses—those who, given the opportunity in dire circumstances, demonstrate extraordinary strength and perseverance. My immigrant ancestors (and many of yours, no doubt) were extraordinary. They were grateful, as we are, to endure, sacrifice, and to model and pass on the values of education, work ethic, faith, hope, kindness, and love. Of course, the greatest of these is love.

Now, in only the third and fourth generations since my grandparents' arrival, their extended families have that better life they had envisioned. I am so very proud to be a descendant of such heroic stock. 

Grazie mille (many thanks) to my Italian grandparents: paternal - Else Arnone and Giuseppe Rotondo, and maternal - Mini and Ricardo Speranza. And to my husband Robert’s Italian grandparents: paternal - Maria de Martino and Antonio DiGugliermo and to his Polish maternal grandparents: Wielkie dzięki! (many thanks) to Stephania Suchodolski and Witold Skowronski.

And also to Studio B (proud to have it in our community) for the opportunity to honor our ansestors here, and for many of us to share and to hear about our sources of pride. 

ROAD HOME

Written 7/9/23 after second open heart surgery

The road home

turns, twists

on rugged ground.

You stumble you fall

Don’t look back—

to where you left the door ajar 

to let the light in

gradually becoming aware

you would be leaving the place 

where you were you—

         belonging

Don’t look ahead

It is hard now

You are here

on the road to another place

not far but long to travel

on unfamiliar terrain

not knowing who you will be

when you arrive

Keep going

the winding road 

Is illuminated by stars

that no longer exist

Don’t look back

RED GERANIUM

A variation on Sylvia Plath’s“Tulips”

Red geranium

it's the red geranium

excitable explosion

red blood red

the red geranium--

 lifts me

with breathing color

healing my heart open

for love of 

the red geranium

the red geranium

Moon

 

Moon unfurls her cloudy sails.

All night, a silver ship of light

rises on the sea of sky

drifting window to window,

then sinks below the horizon.

PICTURES AND PARABLES,

Behold, a sower went forth to sow, and when he sowed, some seeds fell by the wayside, and the fowls came and devoured them up. Some fell upon stoney places, where they had not much earth, and forthwith they sprung up, but because they had no deepness of earth, and when the sun was up, they were scorched; and because they had no root, they withered away. And some fell among thorns; and the thorns sprung up, and choked them. But others fell into good ground, and brought forth fruit, some an hundredfold, some sixtyfold, some thirtyfold. Who hath ears to hear, let him hear. (Matthew 12:3-9 KJV)

    

The sower/seed parable above is affirmation of the familiar saying, "a picture is worth a thousand words.” It is replete with images that reveals more than words alone can. We also find such analogical images in and through stories, myth, poetry, plays, film, music and song. Whichever way we experience pictures, even those in our memory or imagination, they have power to evoke feelings, associations and meaning, and may even reveal truths and wisdom to live by.

The sower/seed parable conveys a reality that knowledge/truth may be received and understood, or not. Its wisdom is contained in the image of "seeds" that must fall on fertile ground in order to root, sprout, grow and bear fruit. It presents a literal, as well as a figurative reality to ponder and maybe to inspire us to be that fertile ground.

The fertile ground is none other than our imagination, and our intellect’s capacity for seeking and a deeper understanding. Some of us are disposed to be fertile ground; some of us learn and understand through our life experiences, and/or we perhaps have conscioulsy cultivated our capacity to receive what there is to be learned. Some of us, for a variety of reasons and circumstances, are not fertile ground, and therefore the seeds of truth or wisdom do not to take root, sprout, blossom and bear fruit.

Is there a way to cultivate that capacity in ourselves and others? I believe so if we have intentions to practice and develop or guide others to do so. Is it not the task of teachers, parents, clergy, or other trusted sources, to offer seeds of wisdom and knowledge to “fertilize” the imagination and intellect to receive seeds of practical, cultural, social and moral import for living a life of goodness, truth and beauty.

A true teacher, spiritual or otherwise, may prepare fertile ground through providing experiences which exercise, develop and expand the imagination and intellect (critical thinking), while being vigilant for and respectful of the individual's freedom to discover on their own. Lively lessons and experiences engage minds, hearts and hands and can impart a capacity to develop, expand and deepen the ground of imagination, inspiration, intuition and intellect. 

Such seeds will not be left to “scorch” or “wither,” as the Biblical parable suggests. Rather, they will live on wordlessly, "speaking" to our feeling, thinking and willing—

        Thus, fertile ground is prepared, ears are opened to hear and eyes to see.

NOT FADE AWAY

 Nothing, but energy is lasting, neither in the material world, nor in memory over time. I am thinking of precious mementos we keep and treasure, sometimes taking them out to hold to our hearts and remember those from whom we received them. Those treasures, however seemingly ordinary to others, sustain, enrich and deepen our tentative, yet tenacious, grasp on life—and on the everlasting energy of a life and love.

These thoughts come to me the day after Christmas (2022) on hand of a card our grandson, Finn (15 at this writing), made for us, his grandparents—me (Nonna) and my husband (Juju). This is the very kind of treasure of which I speak. His card may be kept for a generation or two after I have “shuffled off this mortal coil,” but with no one to truly know or remember what it has meant to me. Its memory and meaning will be lost.

But what it represents will never fade away?

 

Dear Nonna and Juju,

I love you so extremely much. I am so grateful

or all the Christmases we have had together

and will have the rest to come. Merry Christmas

from your #1 grandson, Finn.

I will treasure this thing of beauty for Finn’s creativity, the effort put into it, its message, but, most of all, for the shared love it represents. While the card itself may be lost or forgotten in time, the love it represents will remain beyond this earthly plane. I believe that.

        “Love that’s love not fade away” is a line from a song “Not Fade Away,” made famous in the 1957 by Buddy Holly, and again by the Rolling Stones in1964.

“Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks/But bears it out even to the edge of doom” are lines from my favorite Shakespeare sonnet, #116, which also expresses in a more formal way that love is everlasting. I imagine throughout time there have been infinite mentions of and references lasting love—in literature, poetry, song, philosophy, and in sacred texts.

“In every religion there is love, yet love has no religion.” (Rumi)

Any distortions of love, or inability to express it dissolves in the perpetual light of love that is always with us, shining upon us beyond space and time.

When my sister and I were clearing our parents’ house after they had passed away, we found a notebook my mother kept toward the end of her life, containing her familiar sense of humor, as well as sentiments she never would have expressed out loud. There were words, oddly enough, from a song called “That’s All She Wrote” Our mother wrote that the "laughter didn’t outweigh all the tears."

There was a note she kept from our brother who had left it on the keyboard he played saying that he would never play music again. It must have been his realization that a once-enjoyable talent, ambition and interest were now eclipsed by his addiction to drugs and alcohol. He died from an overdose.

My sister and I gathered the journal, note, and other papers that, while maybe not precious treasures per se, were undoubtedly expressions in one way or another, of an underlying  love that wanted to express itself in an untenable situations--that could not be understood or explained. one cold winter night we put them in the fireplace and wwith a wish that all the sadness in the house, harsh things said and left unsaid would dissipate in the rising smoke to be received by the heavens, where only love remains.

Is there proof that love is eternal, connects us beyond this earthy plane? Do we just want to believe that it is? These are questions we may ask, doubts we may have. I believe, while the precious things we hold dear in life are after all, just things, the energy of the precious love they represent is does not fade away. Whenever there has been true love, a soul connection, it is eternal.

When our loved ones depart, treasured mementos are symbols of the love they have taken with them and their love they have left behind with us.

        Remembering them is connection.

I know intuitively that this is so and is affirmed by my experience of love over a lifetime. While I remain on this earthly plane, I will cherish Finn’s card, a reminder that our shared love is forever—simply, but aptly, reflected in the lines of a song: 

“Love that’s love not fade away”

and a sonnet:

 “Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks

But bears it out even to the edge of doom.