Hope Shall Bloom

On Saturday, May 20th, four separate choirs joined together in a musical fundraising event in support of Hurricane survivors in the Gulf Coast. We raised $2500 in that event. Below is one of the poems I read that evening. It was written several summers ago (2003), when the war was so fresh on my mind:

Hope Over the Willamette

On the riverbank, a sienna night,
the symphony explodes in black and white.
It's an 1812 Overture. And we hesitate
in the patriotic.

A raging red Mars enters our sky
while the war still simmers, shock of the world,
in a cauldron of gray. And yet
a single goose sails by.

A bold gift, innocence begun? And the moon
rises on the largo like a New World arrival,
still wet from birth
and teary-eyed wonder.

The Mystery of Happiness

"What good is intelligence if you cannot discover a useful melancholy?" ~ Ryunosuke Akutagawa. As the philosophical one, the contemplative one, am I subject to sadness, always? Most of the time? Honore de Balzac said, "All happiness depends on courage and work." I've been courageous and I've worked hard, but the moments of happiness are fleeting. The bliss of being brief as the thrill I feel in the moment when a hummingbird thrums curiously between me and the alluring red honeysuckle only a yard away. Rare. I take the risk to leave a job that doesn't fulfill me, to step out of easy partnerships; I work for poetry not money; I work to live authentically, and yet the endorphins of happiness continue to skip over me. How much should I continue to seek and how much should I determine to settle? I am drenched in moodiness.

Pay Attention

I just returned from a retreat with my Spiritual Direction class. We've been talking about what it means to live in the presence of G-d, especially if one adheres to the idea of justification by grace rather than by works (you are loved unconditionally for who you are not for what you do). One of the primary practices, or disciplines is to pay attention on the Way. I was reminded of this poem I wrote back in 2003 when I first began this study of Christianity. I was coming more from a Buddhist bent. The poem is in response to one of TS Eliot's poems.

P.S./T.S.

Pay attention
on pathways moist with rain
and fallen cedar boughs,
kiss the soil with bruised knees

between breath and breathless

Pay attention
poised, on the edge,
ready or not,
in earthy sacredness

for this is your kin-dom

Pay attention
to the full length of your spine
surrendered on blankets of peace,
effortless in trust

for life can be very long

Pay attention
to hazel and blue, lover's eyes
and robins' eggs
hidden in nests of tomorrow

for this life in the presence

Pay attention
to footsteps on forgiving ground
walk below weighted clouds, which wash you clean
present, connected, insecure, but whole

for this is the Way of today

Beleven Lupine

 Be-lieve
Belief
Be love
Be life
I believe
in the power of Salmon Berry blossoms
to make me smile.
I believe
you can eat the greens of the Oregon Sorrel,
like a Shamrock salad, and you won’t die.
I believe
in Bleeding Hearts and the blessed resurrection
of Trillium every spring ~ oh those priestesses of the forest.
I don’t believe
that skunk cabbage really stinks (even though I know it does).
I believe
in rolling rivers and peacock blue twilight.
I believe hoot owls are wiser than we.
I believe
in the mystery of the silent moth
forever circling a flickering flame, until…
I believe in deathly attraction ~
in loving hard to the bone then letting go.
I believe
that the knots in wooden fences eventually all fall out
leaving peep holes for the curious and the brave.
I don’t believe in fences
or pearly gates.
I believe in death as a simple part of life.
although I’m not so sure that Christ died just for us.
I believe in the majesty of towering cedar.
I believe in the beloved.
Belief
Be light
Be true
I believe in prayers from open hearts
scarred and throbbing along the Way.
Which way?
Every Way.
Every day
I believe
in the kelly green gift of spring.

Making a Change

THE change, actually, and it's making me, not me making it. You know the one ~ remember that year your mom rampaged through the house ripping off her clothes like some crazed Gypsy Rose Lee. Night sweats were the beginning for me. I get so soaking wet that I'm considering wearing pajamas made from Bounty, "the quicker picker upper." I've always had the mood swings and I live alone so they don't really get documented nor does anyone bare the brunt (except maybe Buddy the cat). In fact, the moodiness is actually lessening in intensity, for which I am quite grateful. What bothers me the most is the weight gain. Even my armpits have a roll now. I used to be so proud of my flat, nearly inverted stomach area; now I can claim a muffin top, you know, that sweet rolling cap that flows over the stressed waist band of your too tight jeans.

I took my first NIA class this week. It is a combination of dance, martial arts and aerobics. For those reading this who don't know me, a bit of background: I was a professional modern dancer for 15 years, studied at one of the best college dance programs in the nation, performed in the Kennedy Center in Washington DC, even acquired an eating disorder in order to maintain the svelte tool of my trade. I worked out 6-8 hours a day six days a week with dance classes, rehearsals, running 8 miles, pumping iron, swimming, yoga, you name it. I retired ten years ago and have altered my work out to watching aerobic videos, sitting on the couch, eating a bag of chips. So a NIA class, I thought would be a good transition back into my body. I remembered the moves and in my head I found myself tracking the list of corrections: release the spine but hold the shoulders down, lift up through the pyrimadalis muscle and the rectus abdominus to hold center, lengthen the sartoris muscle and remember that thumb that keeps sticking out when I have unnecessary tension in the hands, hips aligned, lower back lengthened, foot arched without curling the toes, face muscles (zygomaticus) pulled back for an open, easeful look on my face and follow the line of energy with my eyes and my soul.

Well, I remembered the list, but my body couldn't track it and I tripped, I tripped over my own feet with a movement I used to do every day for 15 years. Can I blame it on the change?