Thursday, March 11, 2010

When life happens -- are you there?

I spent my lunch hour yesterday taking headshots of a friend who will be making her directing debut this spring. We had originally planned to do the shooting outside in her garden, but it was cold and she wasn't feeling well, so we shot in her music room instead.

My camera has never been great at indoor work (I still feel guilty about an effort made years ago to shoot a friend's son's Eagle Scout ceremony with a non-digital camera; it was a disaster...) so it was with some trepidation that I accepted this change in plans. And, yes, some of the pictures were out of focus. But she's a beautiful woman, and I know enough now to compensate for the challenges, so I got some truly gorgeous shots. And this one, which was the worst of the out-of-focus ones, shot while she was shifting positions, is actually really cool.

Which is kind of like life -- you know that old John Lennon line: Life is what happens when you're busy making other plans? How often are we so busy moving forward that we don't see where we are? How often does our need for perfection blind us to the beauty of what is?

I found myself talking about this this morning over coffee with a friend -- and then came home to find this wonderful poem in my inbox. So I guess that's my subject for today: enjoy!


I used to worry
about making something big
and important
and beautiful
and necessary

The greatest story ever told
or song ever sung
or line ever drawn
by anyone

So bright
it would shine a light
clear to the other side
of eternity,
and cast a shadow—
my shadow—
until the end of time
or at least as long
as the shadows
that had walked with me
for as long
as I could remember walking.

To pass the time
I lived a life
as best I could,
full of kisses and homework,
faucets and game shows,
glasses and ice cream—
a thousand projects lost
for every lesson learned,
and more recidivism
than you could shake a stick at.
Until one day
(or was it a month?)
when I sat down to rest
(or was I driving?)
and heard the smallest sound
and for once
(or was it just the first time I heard?)
I saw that the light
could be a sound
and a Great Work
as small as a salted peanut
offered up
in the right way.

Which is good
because while Great Works
of the traditional sort
are marvels of time and space,
life offers
far more opportunities
for the sharing of peanuts.

You will, of course,
spend your own days
as you must
for your path is not mine
and your gis yours
to do with
as you will.

But you are everything you need to be
right now
and have everything we need
right there

What that is
or how it will change both of us
when you do
we cannot know.

Only that it will
and you must.

Colleen Wainwright is a writer-speaker-illuminator. You can find more
of her poetry and writing at her website, communicatrix .


Anonymous said...

weather and life

hey... maybe you can get some shots of her later...just for fun, when her garden is bathed in sunlight and warmth.

Maureen said...

Like the poem. I'm going to check out Communicatrix. Thank you for the link.

Joyce Wycoff said...

I'm sure you got some great shots but I LOVE this one and would definitely use it. It speaks volumes.

Jan said...

Lovely poem.

M.L. Gallagher said...

Love the poem.


the communicatrix said...

I'm honored that you liked the poem, especially enough to share it on your site. (And yes, I absolutely had that wonderful John Lennon line ringing in my head as I wrote this.)

That's a gorgeous shot of your friend. Who is, as you say, gorgeous. I sort of dream my hair will magically look like this one day.