Meditation On Green

Posted for Poets United  Poetry Pantry

the color of life, of growth,
tall, spindly pine
draped in old man's beard
a thousand fern fronds
under whose umbrella
twin blooms
small as a baby's tears
peek pertly
jagged stump
covered in soft thick moss
framed by tall cedars
among whose lofty branches
songbirds flit
their trill echoing
across the sleepy forest
winding trails
through the silence
paths springy, living
underfoot
where we walk
heads thrown back
-alive!-
one with the ferns the fronds the trees
their height that teaches us to strive
the sky
a compass for
all our flighty dreams
clouds drifting by
one breath two breaths
leafy breath
and human sigh
birdsong
ringing through
the silent canopy
piercing me through
with each piercing
I'm made new
becoming
becalming
forest floor alive
under our
live feet
step so lightly
don't crush the mosses!
fairies drinking dewdrops
from the white bell-shaped blossoms
frogs in the skunk cabbage
yellow jonquils
line the deadened pond
the forest holds its breath
and waits
it waits
till we are gone

Fairy Tale

[image from 67pics.com]

Once upon a time there was a woman entering the winter years of her life. She still remembered how she had felt as a young woman, but her heart was careworn, her body exhausted, her life experience enough to reinforce that yes, she was now 64, that once unimaginable age. She was ready to assume the mantle and venerable title of Crone. This was fine with her. She was more than ready to sit on her porch swing, to survey the green trees, full of the cheerful singing of birds, the buzzing dart of hummingbirds, the tapping of woodpeckers, the chatter of squirrels, the occasional raucous caw of a raven.

On her porch swing, she travels. Sometimes she is in the simmering African veld, the murmur of her bamboo wind chimes clacking, evoking images of elephants marching trunk to tail through the savannah, lions lying amber and majestic in the setting sun, wildebeeste moving across the great and thirsty plains. Or she might zip over the summit to the wild beaches, wander the endless sandy shore looking for sand dollars and abalone shells. Or, better yet, take up temporary residence in a tiny wooden cabin perched on the edge of the sea, no human habitation within sight or sound, only the spout of a surfacing gray whale for company.

She might travel back, to the town of her childhood, to lanes full of the scent of wisteria and mimosa, yellow japonica trailing over white picket fences, sprinklers shush-shush-shushing in the evening dusk. To years when life lay all before her and hopes ran high, all the possible choices spread before her like a banquet, herself too unawakened to realize she was the one to do the choosing. These were the years when the fairy tales would all come true. One Day when she escaped childhood, the magic would happen the way all the books and movies promised. The fairy tales promised a prince, a happily ever after, everything life had lacked so far.

During her twenties and thirties, she walked city streets staring longingly into windows, seeing couples everywhere, looking up from books and smiling, bringing each other cups of tea. She was searching for a home, both physical and emotional, a home and partner for her body, a place for her heart to land. In the end, the lesson she had to learn, and the moral of this fairy tale, is that she had to become that partner and that place for herself before she could live there with somebody else. Because this isn't a movie, by the time she figured this out she preferred living alone to doing any more battle with bumbling princes tilting at windmills. This is her happy ending.

She didn't waste much time exploring alternate realities, the lives she might have led, the books she might have written, love that stayed, children who flourished and did well with happy hearts. Life is what it is; she is blessed with and grateful for what she has been given. Her perspective is on the larger landscape, the soul's journey. In other lifetimes, or other realms, she will find what once she sought here.

Some days the porch swing traveled back to coffeehouse years, when the magic happened and life began anew, or the years when she gathered her strength under her, then made the mighty leap to Tofino, the one dream of her life she made come true all by herself.

Best of all were days when she sat and swung back and forth content just to Be, in the present moment, listening to the clinking of the wind chimes, watching Tibetan prayer flags fluttering in the breeze, hearing the yips and growls of happy puppies tumbling on the lawn. Days when the world left her alone to enjoy and savor her life, her peacefulness, when she pushed back all the cares and responsibilities that threatened to swamp her now frail shoulders.

Once upon a time, this woman dreamed big dreams. Then Life happened and she learned the journey is about how well we travel, not Getting There. It's what we pack and bring along with us, not the prince, that saves us in the end: heart and humour, courage and steadfastness, hope and gratitude, reverence and wonder.

Not the fairy tale she had dreamed of, it was more of a Grimm's cautionary tale, or A Series of Unfortunate Events. But it was the tale that was hers, the path that had unfolded under her feet as she walked along looking at the sky. She built this life out of driftwood, patchwork, masking tape and a refusal to give up. Inch by inch and row by row, she planted and harvested her garden, and with that harvest nourished her children. She gave them roots and wings. Whether they use those wings to fly, or to perch, terrified, on ledges is up to them. She can only wish them sunshine, blue skies, laughter, spirit, relentless hope, dreams and some of the strength she had had to have, in order to make it through.

My Beautiful Bird of Birds

Well, here is a treat. I was poking through my papers, looking for a particular piece of writing, when I came across this poem my son Jeff wrote a few years back. Thought I would post it for your enjoyment.

My Beautiful Bird of Birds
by Jeff Siddhartha Crazy-Horse Marr, who is much alone, but dearly loved.

My Beautiful Bird of Birds across the sky
In what distant arbor rests your golden wings?
In what far field rings your precious pipe-notes?
I think the wind touches coldly your black hair
And weary for pillow is your gentle head
But why do you tread alone through forest darks?
What is the sunset to you if all alone?
Do your eyes scan the far horizons in vain
For an echo to your solitary heart?
I too take my lonely footsteps in the world
In my home I burn my lantern in the night
Look out! I'm looking out for you. Come to me!
Are you not seeking most a warm homecoming?
Then find upon my breast a sanctuary.

Peace Pilgrim

[from the cover of her book Peace Pilgrim]

"I shall remain a wanderer until mankind has learned the way of peace," she said. She wanted to stress "the importance of the message, not the messenger", so she never revealed her own name, as she walked and spoke for peace. This woman, wearing only the clothes seen in the photo, the tunic of which had pockets containing her only possessions, walked more than 25,000 miles over three decades, from 1953 till 1981, through all of the United States, the provinces of Canada and parts of Mexico.

She walked as a prayer, hoping to inspire others with her message of peace. Her message was simple: "This is the way of peace--Overcome evil with good, and falsehood with truth, and hatred with love."  She walked till she was given shelter, and fasted till she was given food. She said she never had to go more than three or four days without a meal. Sometimes she slept in ditches and covered herself with leaves.

At the time of her death, Peace Pilgrim was walking across the country for the seventh time. She made what she called "the glorious transition to a freer life", in a head-on collision as she was being driven to a speaking engagement.  Her friends wrote, in the dedication of the book they compiled to spread her message:
Free of earth, free as air,
Now you travel everywhere.

The book of her teachings, Peace Pilgrim,  is available through Friends of Peace Pilgrim, 43480 Cedar Avenue, Hemet, California 92344. Here is one of Peace Pilgrim's poems.

World Without Man

Before me flowed the gurgling, placid river.
Behind me rose the tree-clad, peaceful mountain.
"Man says this is his world," I reflected,
"And yet there was a time when there was no man.
Did this old world exist the same without him?"
"I was flowing then," murmured the river.
"I was standing firm," whispered the mountain.
"Man now," I thought, "seems bent on self-destruction.
A million fiendish things he has invented-
Each one more deadly than the one before it.
If he succeeds in self-annihilation
Will this world he says is his go on without him?"
"I'll be flowing still," murmured the river.
"I'll be standing firm," whispered the mountain.

Puppies With Antlers

In the spirit of the season here are some photos from a few years back, when Lukey and Jasmine were happy, wriggly, irrepressible puppies and I thought it would be a wonderful idea for a Christmas card to put antlers on them. It was a two-sister project. This is the money shot:) Lukey in red, Jas in blue.

And this is what it took to GET the money shot!

Hee hee! Patience and lots of treats - it was exactly like trying to get a shot where ALL the children have their heads turned towards the camera and arent braining each other.

But exactly!

Master Lukey

Ms. Jasmine ~

always a sassy gal!

Now the following is really sad - Pup's dignity - his wolfish sensibilities - were so deeply offended - he gave me such a look of betrayal and deep embarrassment, that I never did this again. In his later years, he never again sported antlers.

I now so regret embarrassing him like this.

Poor old boy.

(But you'll note I can't resist sharing the photo!

And there likely will be More!)

When the Going Gets Weird

[image from net.newsment.com]

[posted for Poets United Thursday Think Tank prompt: Weird]

When the going gets weird,
the weird turn pro,
my Sis told me,
with pride
and sisterhood,
acknowledging
my excellence
at weirdness.
Weird has always
felt familiar.
Weird comes with
its own
built-in laughter.
Weird makes
the ordinary
stretch its wings
and try a little harder.
Weird puts a shine on
and does a little tap-dance
just to entertain you.
Weird turns a world of
Anybodies
into
Somebody Specials
with their
amazing,
totally unbelievable
stories.
If Weird could speak,
it would tell you:
Come sit by me,
sweetheart,
and let me tell you
a few good tales.

Slightly Haunted

It was 3:20 a.m. I had been reading and had fallen back into a deep sleep. In my dream, there were old people with haunted eyes and limited faculties walking around. Geez, I thought, I hope this isn't Death!

Then I became aware that my bed was haunted. It was vibrating and the blankets were being riffled. Horrified, I was trying to tell my sister in my dream what was happening, but no words would come out. Both horror and haunting intensified. There was a lot of "whuffing" going on, and movement. The blankets took sail a foot above me. like Aladdin's carpet.

Aaaaaaagh!

I jolted awake to find Jasmine jumping against the side of my bed and pawing at the blankets, to tell me she wanted Out. Immediately. Pup was pacing up and down the hall, whuffing importantly.

Argh! Stumbling half-asleep along the side of the road in the dark, being dragged by one, then the other dog, I wasn't sure what felt worse, dream or waking. :)