Friday, April 1, 2022

My Most Imperfect Offering

 


The practice of wabi sabi,
being with the beauty of
the imperfect, I have
turned into an art.

This is life, the poet said:
the aging body, the greying hair,
the slow days and fast weeks,
the gentle bending towards the earth
waiting to receive us.

Old age is deep time.
We sit in silent rooms
where the phone never rings.
But we know some truths by now
that the young have yet to learn:
we are the single drop; at the same time,
we are the ocean's wave.

This is how it is:
my heart, an undiscovered country,
my heart, an open book, still waiting
to be read
and understood.

My grandmother's eyes
look out of my face.
My mother's eyes
look out of my daughter's.
This is how it is.
We hold on,
we let go.
We keep silent
when the words don't work
and wait for time to soften
hearts and memory.

Reflecting, I scatter aged blossoms
to make a soft place
on which to kneel.
When I am ready, 
I ring the bell,
one solitary ring. 
I pray to the All-That-Is
to accept
my most imperfect
offering.


The first part of this poem was inspired by "Wabi Sabi" by Sharon Corcoran. The italicized words are hers.

8 comments:

  1. one of my very favorites of yours, Sherry. brimful with clarity, peace, elegance ~

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  2. A gentle acceptance of the inevitable...sadly beautiful

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  3. This is good, Sherry. Very deep.You characterized aging just as it is. Very poignant. This one is a keeper and one for your memoir! One of my favorites!

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  4. "Old age is deep time.
    We sit in silent rooms"
    Bless you! I picture you in a home where all of your images live on the walls for your enjoyment and deepening. That is what you give. Do not kneel before it is time.

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  5. Hard it is to capture the grace of age, its contradictions and blessings, but here it is. And we are an imperfect species trying to make heaven on earth. How much we have to learn.

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  6. Your perfect offering is beautiful, wise, gentle and poignant, all at the same time. Thank you for the gift of poetry, Sherry.

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  7. <3 Why is it so difficult for us to accept ourselves as imperfect beings? I do love the part where you describe,
    "the gentle bending towards the earth
    waiting to receive us."

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  8. You have a beautiful soul, my friend wise and thoughtful. The blossoms of age have seen many seasons.

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