Buddha Land

This is a photo of Tibetan Lama Gangchen Rinpoche

taken by Ara Tokatyan. I found it on google,

as featured at ngalsohealingart.wordpress.com

He is not the Lama this poem is about,

but his joyous demeanor depicts the spirit of the poem.

***

She tosses the rice

to the left, to the right.

There must always be rice

for the blessing.

The Lama walks,

blessing the land.

A rainbow appears on the right.

It is said that this Lama

manifests a rainbow

wherever he goes.

A whale is swimming by, in the bay.

The eagle, watching from the topmost scrag,

gives one piercing cry,

then resettles his feathers.

He does not fly away.

Joy beyond joy,

tears on her face,

a Lama is blessing her homestead.

The whale! The eagle!

The rainbow!

Miracles, all.

When the blessing is over,

the Lama smiles.

"This is Buddha Land,"

he says.

Eagle Feather

from google

Poets United's Think Tank topic today, 
as imagined by Ella, of Ella's Edge, is feathers. 
That reminded me of my feather story.


Walking with two friends
along the road
out at the beach,
I explained to them
how much I wanted 
an eagle feather.


"But you can't just 
get an eagle feather,"
I was explaining.
"It is given to you,
when you are worthy."


At that very moment, 
we saw something
lying directly in front of me
on the road.


An eagle feather.


"I think that's for me,"
I said, picking it up.
"I think it is, too,"
they said, in awe.


Some months later,
I heard my puppy crunching
something, behind me.
"How cute, he's eating his pig ear,"
I smiled.
I turned to discover
he had eaten most of
my eagle feather.


I could only laugh.
The universe gives,
and the universe takes away,
even if we're worthy.

Tankas

Grace, over at Real Toads, has given one of her inimitable challenges, (and that is definitely the right word for it), to compose a series of no less than three tankas, which are five lines with syllable counts of 5-7-5-7-7, with a turning point between the upper phrase and lower phrase. 


I was quite pleased to have managed one, but decided to try for three and see what happens.


When cares weigh down my
shoulders like an albatross
till I nearly fall,
I raise my old eyes, seeking,
to the glory of the skies.


  ***   ***   ***   ***


Horses drink deeply
at the trough of fulfilment
then turn to their oats
with pleasure - never let them
see the carrots in your hand.


   ***   ***   ***   ***


Snow falling outside
covers the cedars with lace.
All thoughts of spring are
put back on the shelf until
the groundhog appears again.


   ***   ***   ***   ***


By George, I think I've Got It!!!

1999

My beloved Pup, on our most-loved Wickanninish Beach

Over at dVerse, last Saturday (I am always so far behind. I move slowly these days!) the challenge was to write about 1999. 1989 would have been better. That is the year I took a huge leap, trusting the universe, to the home of my spirit on the wild shores of Clayoquot Sound. There I lived the ten most joyously happy years of my life. 1999 was another watershed year. It seems, my life goes in ten year cycles. In 1999, I could hardly believe it, but I found myself thinking: Maybe I have finished my time in this place. I had thought I never would leave. I wanted to live the rest of my life there, to die there. I still do. But something was preparing me for change, for more loss, in a life of many losses.


The die was cast. My health had failed, I could no longer work (exhausted by the two and three jobs at a time it had taken me to stay in that place) and I had to sell my trailer. Without an affordable place to live, there was no way to stay. So. 1999.


It was a watershed year.
I stood on the beach,
turning in a slow circle:
perfect beauty as far as the eye could see
for 360 degrees.


The thought intruded:
maybe I have completed
my time here.
I couldn't believe it,
but there it was.
Change was coming;
one had to flow with it,
see where it led us.

In preparing to leave,
I collapsed.
I left my beloved Tofino
by ambulance.
No time for a painful goodbye.


In the fall of 1999
I found myself
in the gray little mill town
of Port Alberni.
It was as close to the beach 
as I could afford to live.
And it felt like
the antechamber of Paradise.


In the November rains
I hydroplaned,
totaled my car, 
wound up in intensive care.


When I went home,
I was in bed for a time.
My wolf-dog was tied
on the end of a chain
on the porch,
barking his unhappiness.

He sat looking out 
at the gray city streets,
mourning his beloved beach.


As did I.


1999 was all about loss,
and grieving,
and trying to make a life
in the last place on earth
I had ever wanted to be.


But in 2000,
spring came.
I planted trees.
Pup and I walked
every forest trail
we could find,
visited every wild river, 
lagoon, pond and lake.


We made do
where we were,
since we couldnt be
where we belonged.


In time we moved
from town to country,
and that was better.
When I unhooked the chain
from Pup's neck
and told him:
"You're free!"
he made a little bow,
to thank me,
then danced
a happy wolf-dance
of happiness.


Now, he is gone too,
my buddy, 
my truest companion,
the one whose devotion
never wavered.
I mourn him
and the loss of 
our spirit's home
in equal measure.


Sometimes life hands us our dream.
Sometimes we have to hand it back.
We cannot stay,
so we make do. 
We try to remain
grateful
to have had 
those joyous golden
so-alive years
at all.


Most days,
we succeed.

Snow Dogs

Here is Jas today, shorn of her curls and a 
number of pounds 

since this morning's photo,
which was taken a year ago.

It has been snowing on and off today,

and the dogs are enjoying it.

This is Jas's brother, Lukey, surveying the landscape.

Bad little Blakey, who keeps Pup's memory alive

with his obstreperous behavior.

I love him so much!

Nice to have one little black dog around

to carry on the tradition.

This morning the tree looked so pretty.

Then more snow came,

and more,

not enough to stick around,

just enough to look beautiful falling,

then tactfully withdraw

so the roads could clear.

I declared it a Snow Day, and stayed home

with my cute little fireplace going,

and a good movie

(In My Country, with Juliette Binoche,

about the Truth and Reconciliation Commission

that dealt with atrocities 

committed during apartheid

 in South Africa.)

A peaceful day.

A Certain Slant of Light

Sometimes, around late afternoon, there is a certain 

richly burnished golden tinge to the color of the sun,

which caramelizes every tree and shrub

and lawn and rooftop

that it touches.

The snow atop Mount Arrowsmith

then turns a rich rosy pink,

and pink-tinged wisps of clouds

trail above the hills across the canal,

like candy cotton spun fine

between a child's sticky hands,

and draped over the low hills'

rounded shoulders.

When I happen to be at the pond

at just the right time -

and one can never anticipate the exact moment

these confluences will occur -

I catch my breath in wonder

at the bull-rushes and tall golden grasses,

made resplendent

by this certain slant of light,

as it leaps from frond to frond,

then softly fades,

as quickly as the heron

spreads wide her wings

and lifts herself off

and away,

into the falling dark.

To Lift A Tired Old Heart

Kids, this morning I am sitting here with my head bonging like an old tin drum. My sister sent me this video, of beautiful Friesian horses.  It just lifted my heart with the beauty of these wonderful animals. Take a look, if you need a little uplifting. I especially love the frames of them running free and joyous, like the glorious creatures they are. Enjoy!