Smooth waters

Smooth waters, when they hit these rocks, 

Disperse into patterns, 

 Variations making ripples, and foam, 

Just as the spirit, 

Pouring into each of us, 

Takes shape, and spreads into a wider world…

When nature teaches

Having struggled all afternoon 

With a painting that just wouldn’t come together, 

I came downstairs , defeated, 

And then, looking out the window, realized 

The sunset was offering to show me 

All I need to know about color and contrast. 

What a gift it is, when we pay attention 

 To what nature longs to teach us!

Small blessings

Cat sleeping on my lap, 

I watch from my window 

As this morning’s moon,

 Embraced by the reflection of our trees,

 Slowly fades from the sky: 

Precious moments of peace to be shared; 

 Small blessings to offer a troubled world.

Slow morning

My phone can’t do it justice, 

 But the morning moon, 

Washed orange by the rising of the sun,

 Sinks down below the mountains

(Those distant islands in the sea), 

Moving as slowly as the elderly raccoon 

Who crawls up onto my deck, 

Dragging his injured foot, 

Braving the cats in hopes I’ll throw 

Some peanuts in the grass for him to eat.

The road ahead

The road ahead stretches before us; 

We cannot know what waits 

Around the corner, sight unseen, 

Yet still we proceed forward, 

Slowing down a bit, 

 Prepared to brake as needed, 

Drinking in the beauty of our surroundings 

 As we go…

Moon over Mary

Driving home from an art event, 

 I happened to notice the moon, glowing 

Low over the nearby hills. 

And so I pulled over to the nearest dock 

To catch its reflection in the water. 

Perhaps you can hear the music 

Now playing in my head? 

So grateful — for the moon, the still waters, 

And all the musicians over the years 

Whose songs have blessed my ears…

Bringing joy into darkness

One of the many joys of making art 

Is the opportunity to add a bright spot or two 

To the endless gray days 

 Of a Pacific Northwest autumn… 

A gentle reminder that we have the option 

Not just to admit to how bad things are 

But to find a way to choose happiness; 

To bring a modicum of joy to dark situations.

May you find peace

May you find, sometime today, 

A peaceful spot to rest, empty your thoughts, 

And breathe the sacred air 

Of love, and trust, and hope, 

That the energy to accomplish 

What you were born to do might be restored, 

Refueled, regenerated, re-inspired.

Alexithymia

I recently learned that as many as 1 in 10 people 

 Have a condition known as alexithymia: 

Difficulty recognizing or expressing emotions.

 And thinking about the high incidence of that 

Makes me curious: 

Are those who have it more successful 

 In leadership roles? 

Could that be why those who DO feel 

Are often written off as too sensitive? 

But oh, how sad, to live in a monochromatic world, 

 Missing the bright colors of emotion …

Take the leap!

So often we imagine 

Some glorious fate awaits us, 

Anchored somewhere just beyond 

 The path that we can see, 

And all we have to do to get there 

Is walk on water — 

 Which we don’t think we can do. 

And so we stand here, on the brink,

 Imagining and regretting, 

Afraid to either jump right in and swim 

Or trust a helpful soul to guide us to our future. 

As my husband’s fond of saying, 

You’ll never win the lottery 

 If you don’t buy a ticket: 

 Don’t just stand there; take the leap!

When the road is wide

So grateful, when the road ahead 

 Is wide and clear and beautiful to boot: 

Doubly appreciated as I age, 

Knowing the choices that we’re asked to make 

Are not always this clear, 

And roads we thought we were meant to travel 

Can narrow down and/or disappear, 

Grow dark or even dangerous, 

Forcing us to retrace our steps 

Or trapping us in dead-ends til we figure out 

We need to rescue ourselves… 

Such open, welcoming moments as this 

Are a blessing, and we lift our hearts in gratitude.

We can be Suns

So lovely, 

 To look out the window on a cloudy day 

And see the colors of the sun break through, 

Even though, moments later, 

The sky’s all gray again… 

Imagine, if each of us could be suns like that; 

Spots of color in what now seems 

A sky made unrelenting gray by the guns of war…

Remote but still connected

What is it that drives some folks to choose 

So remote a place to live? 

I’m reminded of C.S.Lewis’s book, 

The Great Divorce, in which people keep moving 

Farther and farther apart… 

And yet, have I not done the same, 

Perched on a cliff as we are, between 

Two horse farms and the sea? 

Somehow, no matter where we’ve lived 

We’ve found community, and cherished that. 

I pray these folks have been able to do the same, 

Their lives enriched by friendships 

Despite the distance.

Art astonishes

Art astonishes me, yet again: 

Who thinks — and has the expertise — 

To paint this on the side of a building?

 I am repeatedly humbled 

 By the imagination and inventiveness of others; 

The ingenuity that resides in the hearts and hands 

Of other, more accomplished artists…

Highlighting fragility

After a day of rain, 

A break in the clouds, a patch of blue, 

And there it is: the promise of the rainbow — 

And yet, what I find I’m focusing on 

Is how bare those branches are;

 How many needles have been lost 

After so dry a summer: will they return? 

Their bareness makes my heart ache; 

Like seeing someone lose their hair to cancer —

 So fragile, and so vulnerable, yet still standing…

The workings of the muse

Art takes many forms, 

And who’s to say which ones have merit? 

Though this might not be to your taste, 

It’s still possible to respect 

(Whose origin means “to see again”) 

The effort and the thought involved; 

The willingness to respond

To the workings of the muse, 

However that might manifest…

A Sunday welcome

Whether you believe she falls 

At the beginning or the end of the week, 

Sunday welcomes us into her loving arms 

As a parent welcomes a tired child, 

Cradling us and carrying us 

 To a peaceful, quieter place; 

Offering us a respite 

 From the challenges before and behind us, 

While reminding us yet again 

Of the blessings to be found 

In stillness.

The true friends

Who are they? 

The true friends,

Who let you speak your mind without retribution; 

The ones with whom you can totally be yourself, 

Who help you learn who that fullest self is; 

Who honor the bright vermilion spark 

In you that ignites the world 

While sharing in the deep pure flow of spirit 

That lies beneath and fuels us each 

As we green the world together.

When music teaches us

I grew up in a house filled with music — 

Mostly classical (my Mom was a pianist) 

Or religious (both parents sang in the choir) 

Or my favorite — at least as a child — 

The soundtracks of Hollywood musicals. 

So of course, on seeing this photo, 

The song that whispers in my brain 

Is Bali Hai, from South Pacific — 

Which is inevitably paired with 

“You’ve got to be taught, before it’s too late, 

Before you are six, or seven, or eight, 

To hate all the people your relatives hate; 

You’ve got to be carefully taught.” 

… And the good news is, that musical taught me 

Before I was six, or seven, or eight, 

About the evils of prejudice — 

 For which I will always be grateful.

Born of the same stars

Scrolling through my photos from yesterday, 

I was struck by the similarity between these two. 

On the left, faces of Polynesian ancestors; 

On the right, detail from the trunk of a large tree.

 I find I ache for both, and am lost in memories 

Of a time we made the decision 

To fell a large oak that was threatening our house.

 It was the first time we’d cut down a live tree, 

And I remembering being shocked 

 To hear it scream… 

When will more humans realize 

 That we and the trees are born of the same stars, 

Each scarred by the traumatic events 

And losses that befall us?

On reflection…

There’s something so enchanting; 

So intriguing about reflections: 

The distortions that can transform 

Right angles and straight lines 

Into sinuous, undulating filaments 

That dance across an image in delicious abandon… 

We, too, can be transformed 

 By making time to reflect; 

Softening or blurring our rigid assumptions 

And finding new connections 

 Between past experience and present challenges.

The appeal of beauty

It’s hard to resist the perfection of beauty — 

Wars, divorces, and celebrity mags 

Can all attest to that. 

If only spiritual beauty were as easily 

And readily recognized and valued…

About that dirty laundry

This was the first time I remember having seen 

Someone literally air their dirty laundry. 

And now I understand the association with shame:

 I believe we find it shocking 

That they didn’t wash it first! Did they not care? 

Did they not even see? 

Or did they just assume we’d turn a blind eye? — 

Which you could take just a wee step further, 

And use to explain the phrase “spin doctor” — 

The person who, like a washing machine, 

Tries to clean up the story. 

The problem, of course, is there’s just some dirt 

That no amount of bleach — or excuses — 

Can ever successfully erase…

Swimming alone

There will always be those times 

When you feel like you’re paddling upstream, 

Alone in a sea of non-like-minded creatures. 

It’s good to share the water, 

But it’s okay to paddle away 

When the going gets rough: 

It’s unlikely you’ll be able to change 

A fish into a duck.

The thing about forgiveness

The thing about forgiveness is 

You’re going to have to clear out your arsenal; 

Let go of all those real and imagined 

Slights you’ve been storing up; 

All the times someone said no 

When you wanted yes; 

All the remembered instances 

When things didn’t go your way; 

The insults and the wounds imbedded 

Deep in the bunkers of your brain; 

The ones that have been fermenting for so long 

There’s a pool of acid leaking into 

Every step you take; every sentence that you utter. 

All the weapons you’ve stored up 

 To fire off at the least provocation? 

You need to let them go.

The power of love

Seeing how the force of water 

Has carved its way into the rock, 

I find myself feeling hopeful; 

That the power of love, of spirit and compassion 

 Will carve its way 

Into hearts that have been hardened; 

That light and truth will pour their way 

Into souls that live in darkness; 

That love, and light, truth, spirit, and compassion 

Will always prove to be the stronger force…

Long distance relationships

Looking at the broad and graceful spread 

Of the branches as they arc across the cars, 

I wonder how they support themselves 

 Over such long distances. 

How do the leaves out at the tips 

Remember that the leaves at the other end 

Are still part of the same tree — 

Or is it only humans that have those issues?

That whiff of oneness

And there it is again, 

That whiff of oneness; 

Those moments when we share a common 

 Breath with all that lives: 

The trees, the grass, the deer; 

The horses in the barn — all drinking in 

The nectar of morning light; 

Inhaling peace; exhaling puffs of gratitude.

Imagination

Somehow, in this pile of stone I see 

Some creature, rising, clawing his way out 

From beneath the burdens that he carries, 

Or perhaps a runner, crouched and ready 

For a race he may not win… 

Imagination’s wonderful; our astonishing ability 

To project onto our surroundings 

The emotions of the moment 

 Or whatever story we’ve just seen or read 

 That occupies head space — 

 Which is why we tend to edit 

What we watch and what we read, 

To protect ourselves from feelings 

 We’d prefer not to unearth…

While we were gone

While we were gone, autumn arrived: 

The trees have begun to turn, 

And the sunset’s once again moved south, 

Hiding behind the trees instead of 

Hanging out over the ocean and the cliffs.

 I mourn the loss each year, and then adjust: 

We humans grow adept with time 

At mourning and adjusting, especially as we age — 

The thousand tiny deficits 

 That pare away our confidence and competence, 

Yet still we persist in living, and find new ways 

To cope with all the change and stay 

As self-sufficient as we possibly can…

Beautiful imperfections

With time, even as the new 

Continues to be born in us, 

That which has been around a while 

Starts fraying at the edges; holes emerge 

In our carefully constructed vision of the world. 

But imperfections have a beauty of their own, 

Adding a texture and a richness to our thoughts; 

A complexity and depth one rarely finds in youth, 

And so we celebrate emerging openness, 

Though it must also serve 

 As a harbinger of endings; a reminder 

That the full-fruitedness of autumn 

Will lead to harvest, 

 And the ground in which we’re planted 

Will be plowed under to make way for the new.