This moment, now

It’s the last day of the year, 

And I find myself wondering, 

“What should I be focusing on?” 

Torn between looking back and looking ahead, 

There’s so much I could say about 

How good or bad it was, or it could be — 

Or I could focus on accomplishment: 

My best or proudest moment,

 Or what I hope to do in the coming year. 

But as I ponder what priceless wisdom to share 

The cat jumps on my lap and settles in, 

Purring as his paws gently knead my chest, 

And as I sit, stroking him, 

And watching the world outside my window 

 Slowly reveal itself in the morning light,

I realize that this, this moment, now, 

The trusting, and the ordinary, 

Is enough; is really all there is.

A question of boundaries

Our state highways have these ridges 

Down the center of the roads, 

And sometimes on the edges, as well. 

They’re put there, I assume, 

To warn distracted or sleepy drivers 

When they start to stray 

From their appointed lanes, 

And it’s helpful: the noisy bumping that you feel 

When accidentally crossing that yellow line 

Is a powerful wake-up call, 

 Easily interpreted, and easy to respond to. 

 But there are other wake-up calls 

(And for the anxious, they’re everywhere) 

Less easy to interpret, to agree upon response, 

Or act upon, if even you agree: 

So some of us travel through Life on high alert, 

Confined to ever-narrowing lanes 

While others seem to drift unseeing 

Across boundaries which some would deem 

Quite clear. 

It’s a mystery, and a source of much 

Disagreement and confusion…

On the brink of change

Finding ourselves on the cusp again 

Between the old year and the new, 

Drifting between the siren twins 

Of memory and anticipation, 

We pause to appreciate 

 The quiet and the dark; 

The deepening embrace of peace, 

And the knowledge that what’s done is done, 

We did the best we could with what we knew, 

And now’s a chance to rest before 

We’re called to embark again for shores unknown.

Accommodating obstacles

Who, on seeing the grace with which the trees 

Bend with all the challenges they face — 

The storms and seasons, growth and overcrowding; 

 The wet years and the dry; 

 Fierce heat and enervating cold — 

Might not find themselves inspired to believe 

That we all have, born within us, 

 The resources that we need 

To adjust, adapt, and utilize 

 Whatever time and nature choose to throw at us: 

That spark of confidence and selfhood deep within 

That ensures we can survive, 

If only we are willing to stay flexible and present; 

To breathe and bend and stretch our way 

 Through all our future holds, 

Accommodating obstacles 

And learning as we grow.

What’s real?

We know that old saying,

That even a broken clock 

Is right twice a day. 

It’s also true — at least twice a day — 

That there are times when the light inside 

And the light outside my home

 (And possibly my soul) 

Become somehow indistinguishable, 

And it becomes challenging to know 

Exactly what is real and what’s reflection.

 I like the blurring of those lines, 

And seek to replicate it in my art, 

To see what truths reveal themselves 

 When the answers are not obvious 

 And we’ve not been told in advance 

What we’re meant to see.

The messy aftermath

And now, here we are in the messy aftermath 

Of a Christmas that may have fallen anywhere 

On the gamut between horrific and fantastic, 

But either way, some kind of cleanup — 

Whether emotional or physical — 

Will probably be necessary. 

And then, of course, we’ll need to find a way 

To resume whatever passes for normal 

In our exciting, pleasant, humdrum or dreary 

Lives. 

Or change. 

Or vow to change whatever needs to improve 

In the coming year. 

We can do this. 

Really — we can! 

But first, perhaps another cup of coffee…

Hope and joy

 

Soothe the suffering; shield the joyous

As the final countdown to Christmas begins, 

While young hearts fill with anticipation 

 We hold in our thoughts all those who suffer: 

For all who are alone while others gather; 

And all for whom this season brings 

Not joy but painful memories; 

For all who are sick or dying 

And those who care for them; 

For all who grieve losses too great to bear; 

For the homeless and the refugees, 

The victims of war and oppression, 

For the lost, the cold, the unemployed, 

And all who live in fear or pain, 

We pray they may find peace. 

And for those who are simply exhausted 

 By the demands of the season, 

 We pray that the weary will find rest.

Safe travels

Wherever you’re headed this holiday season, 

And whatever your method of transport,

 I wish you safe travels, the kindness of strangers, 

And joy at the end of your journey.

Deep winter blues

The long solstice sunset: 

A gentle reminder 

That the deeper the blues, 

The brighter the joys shine in contrast.

Blessings in disguise

This robust angel is actually 

A ceramic wood stove that was removed 

In this past year’s construction project. 

It was very heavy, so they only carried it 

 A few feet past the house, 

Which has been bothering me 

Because it blocks my view. 

So I was amused to realize 

 The reflection of the lamp by which 

I meditate each morning 

Had turned her into an angel — 

And isn’t that the way of things we resist? 

How often the people and events 

Which drive us crazy 

Turn into blessings in disguise…

Colored by the season

Those winter days, 

When everything we see 

 Is filtered through the colors of the season,

 Past memories and future 

Hopes and expectations.

Anticipation

As we approach the final 

Diminishment of light, 

Hope rises as we eagerly 

Await a brighter horizon. 

We give, share, and receive 

 Not just the gifts of Christmas, 

But the promise of new life; new possibilities: 

An end to past concerns, 

A wealth of gratitude, 

And a renewed generosity of spirit.

A moment of peace

Whether the holidays bring chaos or sadness, 

Make time today — if only a minute or two — 

To picture yourself 

 In whatever peaceful spot you imagine: 

 Perhaps on an island, completely alone, 

 Closing your eyes and breathing the scent 

Of salt water and fir trees; 

Blessed by the sounds 

 Of the waves and the birds. 

Breathe. 

Breathe again. 

Peace.

Protection from the storms

Perhaps it’s just the time of year, 

But seeing this shot makes me think 

That each and every one of us 

Needs and deserves a place of safety; 

A community, a family, a system of belief, 

A home where we can tie up 

 And feel protected when storms threaten. 

But knowing that there will be times 

When that seems unavailable, 

We also work to cultivate 

That security and stability within us:

 Internal peace, in which we can 

 Find refuge from what storms we may encounter.

Tightrope walking

There are some tightropes 

 We were born to walk; 

For which we have the exact skill set required. 

But there are others

Which will never fail to stump us: 

Where the tension’s wrong, 

 Or the wind’s too stiff, 

And there may not even be a safety net. 

We can’t always avoid those, 

But we can choose to learn from them; 

Use those experiences 

 To help refine our sense of self, 

And guide us to become who we’re meant to be.

When paths converge

That moment, 

When all the paths you’ve traveled 

 Finally converge, 

And you can see your way clear 

To the home that’s always awaited you, 

Here, in your heart.

The nature of trust

My first response, on seeing this sweet sculpture, 

Was a sadness that my cats, 

Who are siblings, 

Don’t do this any more: 

The brother now delights in attacking his sister. 

But once I set aside that thought, 

I began to appreciate how beautifully this captures 

 The nature of trusting relationships: 

That we can rest in the knowledge 

 That the other will watch over us, 

And we watch over those we love, 

That they may find peace.

Echoes of peace

May the quiet colors of a winter morning 

Echo in your heart, and bring peace.

At the end of the rainbow

What if you spent much of your life 

Following to the end of the rainbow,

 Only to discover there’s no color left, 

And no pot of gold at either end? 

 Would you regret the journey, 

Or the choices that you made? 

What choice could you make today 

To restore some color to your travels?

Stop a minute

He stands, regal, majestic, 

Beneath the holly tree, 

Bathed in a circle of light, as if he’s waiting 

 For whatever joys and challenges 

The holidays may bring — 

 But there I go, projecting again, 

Having awakened early, my mind circling 

Round that endless list of holiday to-dos. 

I need to follow his example: 

Stop a minute, take a breath, 

And revel in the beauty that surrounds me.

A welcoming practice

What if, instead of stressing out 

Over all that’s asked of us in this holiday season, 

We decide to take on a practice of welcoming? 

Welcome the guests and carolers 

 Who come to your door; 

Welcome the cat who crawls in your lap 

Or plays with the ribbons 

 When you’re wrapping presents; 

Welcome the child who needs a hug 

Just when you’re on the phone; 

The dog who needs walking, 

The mate who needs talking — 

All the inevitable interruptions: 

Welcome each as reminders 

 To wake up and breathe.

Accumulated stories

The pieces we collect over the years —

 The pottery, the knickknacks and the paintings — 

May well make little sense to those who visit, 

But to us each gift or purchase tells a story 

(Those that don’t will get tossed out along the way) 

Of a friendship, an adventure,

 Or a place that brings fond memories to mind; 

Some enchantment, brief or lasting 

Whose echoes we’re reluctant to discard…

On flowers

Perhaps the reason we love flowers 

 Is because they allow themselves to be 

So totally open and vulnerable, 

So fully who, what, and where they are 

In each stage of their brief lives: 

There’s so much grace in that — 

No self- consciousness, no worries 

About the past or the future. 

Just to open slowly, blaze and bloom, 

Fade and then fall… what bliss!

What light reveals

Yesterday the winter clouds parted briefly 

And a patch of sunlight fell just beyond 

The roof of my neighbor’s house, revealing 

This golden stand of windswept trees, 

So far away I’d never really noticed them before. 

With time, I’ve learned 

Each photograph’s a metaphor; 

Each with a story — or two, or three — to share, 

But this one I’m not sure I want to hear.

 I like the thought that there’s beauty everywhere, 

But I’m not sure how I feel about being reminded 

We mostly only notice it 

 When the brief light of fame 

Brings it to our attention: 

I’d like to think we’re more observant than that…

Let the light shine through you

Just as we do not need to see the sun 

To realize it must be shining bright, 

We do not need to proudly proclaim our faith: 

Its presence will proclaim itself 

Through the light we bring into the world.

Celebrate the aged

So often we assume 

That as things age, they lose their beauty, 

If not their value.

 But who would deny 

That the appeal of this picture 

Lies in the charm of the old truck, 

The washed out textures of the barn and its roof, 

And the magnificent curves of these ancient trees? 

Rather than mourning the loss of suppleness,

 Let us celebrate survival, 

 And the wisdom that comes with experience.

Fragile reminders

As the skies grow gray 

And the grass turns gray with frost 

We long for color, and feel doubly blessed 

When our loved ones bring us flowers. 

These fragile blooms remind us 

To be grateful for life’s blessings 

And mindful of those less fortunate 

Who desperately seek shelter from the cold.

In gratitude

The snow kindly held off 

Til our drive home, 

The gallery was packed 

 With friends and strangers, 

The paintings beautifully displayed —

 A lovely evening: all my worries were for naught. Thanks for all of your good wishes; 

Now back to our regularly scheduled program!

Winter storm

I’ve spent this last year working 

 Toward a show that opens tonight 

In a gallery far, far away

 (Actually slightly more than an hour’s drive) 

But of course tonight there are warnings 

Of snow and high winds, 

So the trip promises the possibility of adventure. 

And so, though I’m a person of faith, 

The worries begin to surface: will anyone come? 

What if the lights go out and no one can see? 

And what if we can’t get back home? 

Who would care for our cats? 

Perhaps I should never have offered to hang 

This painting, appropriately titled 

Winter Storm!

We are enough

As the chill of winter deepens 

And the sunset colors fade, 

We send hope, and warmth, and comfort 

To those in need of each, 

And do our best to carve out 

 Quiet time for ourselves 

To remember we are loved, and we are enough.