The Sanctuary Within

 

My grandma's cottage,

the cornerstone of my childhood

Sanctuary.

I sought it down all the shambling years.

I finally recognized that 

it required solitude, living alone

in silent rooms, where no anger is expressed.

Peace took up residence within, and,

thereafter, I carried it with me

to each new dwelling place,

 my spirit expanding in the lovely quiet.

In my small room,

full of wolves and books and soft blankets,

I live in peace and gratitude,

as my grandmother did before me.

She showed me how.

For Sumana's prompt at What's Going On - Sanctuary

Little Birds

 

"May my heart always be open to little birds," the poet said.*
Oh, mine is always listening for their song.

My heart is open, too, to the knowing that
there are more beings of light than
forces of darkness in this world.
The arc of justice is long, and I believe
that it will turn again, as it always has before.

"There is a greater landscape than the one we see,"**
more going on than we can understand.
The force of Mother Earth is more powerful
than the corporate criminals doing so much damage,
(wealth at the expense of every other living being.)
But, no matter how rich, they, too, will one day
live the consequences. Or their grandchildren will.

The only door, in my mind, that I close
is against MAGA, fascism, and right wing forces
across the globe, greedy for money 
and abusive power. May they be voted out,
so we can get to work repairing and restoring
all the damage they have done.

Meanwhile, the forest opens its door to me.

A peaceful sanctuary lies within.

*from the poem with this title by e.e.cummings

**I dont remember who wrote this quote.

For Mary's prompt at What's Going On - Openings

Choosing Beauty

 

source

Poetry taught me to pay attention,

to notice the small beauties: birdsong,

a furry bee asleep inside a blossom, the way

mist swirls around the shoulders of Wah'na'juss,

like a cape worn by a dowager, who has watched

the harbour for a thousand years.

It causes me to notice things: a heron perched

atop a snag, the snag itself, bark-worn and

grooved by time, the way my own face

wears lines these days, looking more like

my grandmother than me.

Poetry tenderized me, taking me from euphoric

and optimistic to a deeper place
that sees the beauty

through a prism of sorrow, the heartbreak

of human folly turning towns into war zones,

clearcutting forests, driving other beings

to extinction, heating the earth to a boiling point,

blind to our shared peril.
Whales: beautiful. Whales: dying.

.

Poetry attuned me to the world so deeply

that my eyes leak tears, all the stored tears

of my lifetime, which over-filled my heart,

now released by loss, by love and pain,

by orphaned whale calves and starving children

and times that will never,

will not ever, come again.

Poetry opened my eyes which can never, now,

be closed. It made me see the whole of life,

but through a lens of beauty: a planet struggling

to survive, a world that strives to live, as tenuously

as a fly caught in a spider web that notices,

as it tries in vain to unstick its legs, how beautiful

the morning dew is, and tips its head to drink.

For my prompt at What's Going On: Choosing Beauty.  It's in the eye of the beholder, my friends.

Let Them / Let Me

 

Cox Beach, Tofino, B.C.
Warren Rudd photo

Let them speak their hateful rhetoric,
their white supremacy, their "othering"
of those who came to our shores with hope
in search of a better life, just as
our ancestors did. (We are all immigrants
and uninvited guests on this land.)

Let me turn off the news, or change the channel.
Let me speak kindly to all those
in my orbit. Let me listen, instead,
to birdsong, to smiling dogs barking
for a treat. Let me glory in the gentle sound
of welcome rain on beautiful spring blossoms.

Let them wage their unjust wars, and pay
the consequences, until the whole world
rises up in protest of the mad misguided king.

Let me continue to believe in justice,
in its long arc, which swings from
one extreme to the other, and will
(most certainly) swing again.

Let them ignore the climate crisis
(at their peril), until Mother Earth
reminds them who really controls
the earth, and sea and sky.

Let me, meanwhile, find my peacefulness
walking along the shore 
to the eternal susurration of the waves.

Let their souls pay the karmic price, eventually,
for the lessons they are here to learn.

Let me, having learned mine,
continue to always choose peace.

Mish's cool prompt at dVerse appealed to me - "Let them" or Let me". 

I must admit that the beauty of where I am privileged to live helps me bear the heartbreak of our shared global situation, as I don't have to look far for viewscapes that lift my heart. But this spring 21 grey whales (so far) have washed up on west coast shores dead, from starvation. The ocean is warming, killing the krill and planton they eat, thus killing them too. And the climate of this rainforest I live in has changed too - barely any rain all winter, endless hot sunny days, worry for the forests, for wildfires, for reduced water resources, for what is yet to be.  And capitalism carries on, the God of the "Economy" always trumping planetary survival. Sigh. 

Water From the Well

 

Image by Deborah Koff-Chapin
(link below)

Traveler

walks through the woods

carrying water from the well,

with which to

give drink and sustenance

to other wayfarers.

She has a kind smile.

She gathers everyone in.

She loves people.

Then she retreats to her cave

for replenishment,

where solitude and silence

are her best friends.

Traveler

needs trees and water,

in whatever configurations,

in order to live.

She can crowd herself into

the tiniest treehouse,

the better to savor

the singing etudes of the forest

and the larking, joyous

perambulations

of the river's song.

Traveler

is now coming

to the end of this journey.

Another pathway beckons

as the morrow dawns.

She is all filled with wonder

at the passage she has made.

She knows now

that she is not alone,

that Beings are guiding

her every step

from the Great Beyond.

An old Traveler poem for Susan's prompt: The Journey. In 2011, Elizabeth Crawford and I took a Soul Card Journey together. During the month of April, each day Elizabeth posted a card from the artist Deborah Koff-Chapin at  https://touchdrawing.com/. I started tapping the keys, like I was taking dictation. It was an amazing journey resulting in my small book of Traveler poems.

On Sorrow

source

 

What can I tell you about sorrow
that you don't already know -
you who have lost loved ones
to broken relationships, to illness,
to death, perhaps to suicide itself?

Surely, you should be writing this poem
yourself.

I have known losses all my life,
and have carried them until they told me
they needed to be set free
so they could journey on.

They told me: live your life for us,
who have moved on, who no longer
catch our breath at the way
the mist clings to the mountain slopes
in early morning, who can no longer walk
those long sandy beaches stretching to forever
(but maybe - just maybe - sometimes our spirits
swoop back, like eagles on the wing, to take a peek
at those beloved shores.)

My old eyes look out at a darkened world
the opposite of what this life should be.
There is sorrow, perhaps a fatalism, that humanity
learns everything the hard way and must
experience the trauma the way a baby
pokes his finger into the socket
to learn not to do it again.

Meanwhile, Life goes on. Each morning dawns.
Birds and whales make their spring migrations,
through all the difficulties humans have placed
in their path - whales washing up dead
of starvation on west coast shores, 50% of birds
now gone - disappeared as if they never were.

(And yet, my friend heard a marbled murrelet
early this morning, which brought gladness to my heart.)

Life wants to live, and struggles to survive.
So what can I tell you about sorrow?
Only that our human sorrows are small, compared
to the sorrow we have inflicted on Mother Earth,
who weeps like human mothers do
at all that man has wrought.

21 grey whales have washed up this spring on west coast shores. They show signs of starvation. This year's super El Nino means warming seas which kill the krill and plankton they eat to survive. 50% of the world's birds are now gone. Insects too. And governments continue on their suicidal course of oil and "the economy", which will not save us when the support systems of the planet collapse. Especially with who is in charge in the US at the moment, impacting the whole world,  who doesnt believe in anything but stuffing his pockets. I try not to be bitter. I focus on being grateful. But I could have done without the current situation, which is like a dystopian nightmare from which we can't awaken, because half the US government has turned into the Stepford Wives for love of a demented old king who cares for no one but himself.

Power/Not Power

 

The big bad prez rules with
cruelty and toxic power,

as the adulation he craves
forever eludes him

while

a humble monk inspires millions of hearts

with simple words: kindness, compassion,

mindfulness, peace.

What most beings long for.

There is a lot of what some people see as power going on these days, but truly it is cruelty, bullying, corruption and incompetence. I turn to the monks with relief - some beauty midst all of the injustice. Below is a beautiful song of thanks to the monks as they return to their home countries. How they inspired us!