Another Sunrise

Yesterday I faced some real truth

That I may not be able to stay in this home indefinitely

It is too costly and I will need to let it go

Sooner than I anticipated.

When I woke today I heard you say

It will be all right, It will be all right, It will be all right.

I got up, wrapped myself in your suede jacket

Sat on the lanai on this cool morning

And watched the peach sunrise

Rejoicing in the love we shared

As I watched the light change in the sky

And on the water

And I knew for certain

It will be all right.

Heart Rising

 Heart rising

Made up my mind today I would not be sad in the darkness

Colored this picture with many beautiful emblems

The ocean. The coral reef.

The heart at the center

The sun and the sky and the birds

Despite the downer the last several weeks have been

I feel my heart rising

I feel brighter days are coming

I’m ready

And need to be patient

Had a plan, but…

I had arranged in my mind what I would write about today, but first we had the cancer center and I had to make a run to Publix and make lunch and, oh yeah, gotta make a call to Consumer Cellular because Jim’s phone isn’t hooking up right.

So we make the call and all that I’m thinking is this has to be quick, I have a mountain of grading and interims are tomorrow. 

We were on nearly an hour. The issue isn’t even resolved, and now I have to go to the store and see if someone can fix the problem. Not the way I want to spent my Saturday afternoon this weekend.

Anyway, I became a grump as you can see, but in the midst of it all I looked out the window and 

WOW

The sky.

Pema Chodron says, Beyond all that fuss and bother is a big sky. Right there in the middle of the tempest, we can drop it and relax.

It’s from her book When Things Fall Apart, and it’s one of my favorite quotes of all time.

I can’t say I fully relaxed. But I did feel a certain grace extended my way from that sky, those clouds, and the stunning gentleness of an April day. It’s another example of how nature can reach out and soothe us even in our busiest times.

Glorious Spirit (nonet)

 Today’s inspiration is this photo from my friend Kara Vereen.

Lay down on this fluffy bed of clouds

The sun striking a glowing pose

Evening brings its gifts to us

Resting into this calm

We look to the sky

Through our own hearts

Glorious

Spirit

Soars

Ringing

Today’s inspiration comes from chapter 2 of Jean Shinoda Bolen’s book Close to the Bone. The chapter title is “The Ground Gives Way Under Us.” Then I read Nick Flynn’s poem “Marathon,” and I was struck by these words and decided they deserved a spine poem, simply to process what I have been reading and thinking.

…until this cloud is pulled back from the sky, until the ringing is pulled back from the bell…

until the gate opened signaling 

this new reality, I was a

cloud of uncertainty. It

is worth noting I had recurring doubts

pulled from I-don’t-know-where, coming

back to a rhythm of underlying worry

from fear of loss and 

the loss of fearlessness. The

sky is where I’d look and breathe

until I could see with clarity

the constant shifts, and hear the

ringing of the birds voices, and know this

is joy and a reminder to me,

pulled from inner knowing

back to a place of freedom

from loss and fear,

the yet unknown possibilities in reach, the

bell of joy here in my heart.

Impermanence Everywhere

 

Words standing out to me today keep pointing to the impermanence of everything.

From Mary Oliver:

All things are meltable and replaceable. Not at this moment, but soon enough.

From David Whyte:

the vanishing point of the sun 

extinguishing time forever

I feel I’m floating in a sea of clouds, ever-changing sky, one second here, next one gone.

If this is supposed to be stabilizing, it sure doesn’t feel that way.

Or have I once again been turned away from faith, trust, and joy?

There’s a question for today. 

ADDENDUM

I got home from work and found this in my Facebook memories:

I don’t think it needs a comment from me.  

If/Then —the empty sky

For a couple of days I’ve been reading a Rumi poem called “Out in the Empty Sky,” and wanting to write something as response. (Read the poem here). I know I need the message, so today I decided the only response was to do a breakdown on it and put in my own words what it says.

IF………I can sense God in any real way it takes me to a place which is wide open and free. 

I can see all beauty and my inner mirror gets clearer and clearer.

 

THEN……..…I have no fear of loss, no anxieties about everyday difficulties. I can interpret anything in song and stories when God lives through me.

 

 

One of Those Days

 It begins when you look at your loved one and you know something is wrong.

Then you find yourself checking him into the emergency room where you spend hours upon hours in a chair, waiting for test results, watching the incredible staff do things you can’t imagine doing, and you don’t eat because you’re not hungry.

Then the doc comes in and says, it isn’t this horrible thing or that horrible thing, but here is all the data and wow, we don’t know what it is, so we need to keep him here.

You’ve called in all the prayer warriors via text, the friends and family, and that iPhone becomes a lifeline to the outside world…the one that isn’t a medical facility.

And by evening your loved one is eating a hospital meal and you know he’s in good hands. You want to get home before dark, and as you leave the sun and sky and tree silhoette whispers

All will be well

Reflection

 From David Whyte’s poem “The Well of Stars,” this line inspired my words today.

Keep that look in your eyes

and you’ll gladly grow tired of your reflection.

I am always reflecting on things, why they happen.

But this line from the poem reminds me

There is still a lot of “doing” that needs to be done

Reflection is nothing without action.

Delight Song of Celestial Bodies

 Creative Writing Club November 8, 2022

Two writers showed up for club on Tuesday: 8th grader William and 6th grader Hazel.

William wanted to do something collaboratively. We did some writing, and Hazel had this line about "celestial body" in hers.  I then pulled up my "Delight Song of Six Mile Cypress Slough" (see previous post) and we used that idea to do a write around. 

I.

I am a celestial body

I am a piece of floating space

I am the center of the solar system, a becoming star

I am accused of being too distant

I am alive, I am alive

I stand in good relation to the stars

I stand in good relation to the universe

I stand in good relation to all that is beautiful

You see, I am alive, I am alive

II.

I am a celestial body

I am brilliant at twilight

I am always in the dark

I am seen from other galaxies

I am a dot in a telescope

I am a shining star

I am a far away galaxy, waiting to be discovered

I am secretive and sharp and sullen

I am soft and caring and warm

I am what the future looks like

I am alive, yes, I am alive

I stand in good relation to the earth

I stand in good relation to the heavens

I am alive, I am alive.

III.

I am a celestial body twinkling with glowing stars

I am a star that died out long ago

I am sun-kissed and moon-glowed

I am a moon-given presence

I am what a child sees in her dreams but never remembers

I am a trophy with an endless ribbon

I am in good relation with God

You see, I am alive and alive I am

Moments (7 Lines/ 7 Days #58)

 #108Weeks

 

June 20-26, 2021

 

Now that school is over, I've been feeling reverberations from the constant survival mode and trying to keep too many balls in the air. It's pretty outrageous now that I think about it.

I received a beautiful thank you note from Ricky.

Stay in the moment.

My dad would have been 92 this week.

My mind feels free and clear.

Had a great time at Brew Dogs, even though the sweet potato burger was a fail.

Huge orange moon on the horizon when coming home from the cook-out.

Seven Days of Self-Care (7 Lines/ 7 Days #52)

 #108weeks

 

May 9-15, 2021

 

Facing a week of schedule interruption with testing and several other annoyances, I decided to focus on self-care. Here is the result.

Sunday:  Took a walk with Kara at Lakes Park

Monday: New clothes ready to wear this week: cute tops and colorful dresses

Tuesday: Giving kids space to be themselves helps me be calm

Wednesday: Managed an escape from my classroom during lunchtime, and drove to Publix to get some sushi, enjoying the blue sky and white puffy clouds and breathing deeper

 Thursday: Finally returned to my cushion for five minute daily meditation, and my mind is already in better order

Friday: Early morning neighborhood walk on a breezy, cool day

Saturday: Playing Neil Young music at my lesson, getting together with writing group, and finishing an excellent book makes for a perfect day

Today Felt Wonderfully Normal

 Today I met my dear friends Laurie and Annmarie at Six Mile Cypress Slough for some nature listening and writing.  I was inspired by Richard Blanco before making the trip, and used the end of his poem "American Wandersong" for my format.

For now: Gorgeous day -- low to mid 70s right now and breezy. Dew point in the 60s.

For now: Deep gratitude that I am in this place to take this time. Felt impossible over the past many weeks.

For now: The breeze ruffles my hair and I hear my friends' gentle laughter.

For now: Thinking about the Days of Mindfulness I spent here, and thinking how Julia Cameron calls it "heartfulness."  Distant hawk calls. The breeze wraps around me. I can hear the traffic on the other side of the lake and rookery.

For now: I've come to understand the water is higher than it should be and this is upsetting the ecology. Must be why I'm not hearing the nightly frog chorus. Off to the southwest I hear a whistling bird -- Laurie says it sounds like a creaking playground swing.

For now: An alligator draped across the log, limp, tail curled to catch the sunlight; hawk calling out across the Slough.

For now: A Limpkin picks his way through the water, lifting his legs high and pacing in between the trees.

For now: White feather floats in the clear water, bright green salvinia touching its edges.

For now: I came. I listened. I wrote.

Remember Yourself

 Caboose poem inspired by "Blackbirds" by Julie Cadwallader Staub

We live and move and have our being here,

in this curving and soaring world.

We do not always recognize our influence

or remember what we came here to teach.

It's happening always.

It's our state of being.

It's who we are

at the core

     the heart

     the things pushing us within,

     whether we feel it or not.

Take your eyes to the sky and learn.

Remember yourself.

It's big.

     It's bold.

          It's ever-changing.

Lost in the Night, Found in the Morning

This past week I had my students do a little creative activity related to a couple of poems in our textbook. After studying some things about the poems, they had to choose a line from one of them and use it to begin a poem of their own. It was a beautiful surprise to see how many slid right into this activity, and produced lovely little pieces of writing. They only "rules" were it was to be 7-12 lines, and they had to include an image with the poem.

This idea is not a new one -- to use a line from one poem to begin another. Yesterday I decided to call these "caboose" poems.  As a kid, I always loved waving to the man in the caboose at the end of the train. I miss cabooses a lot!  I see the line the poet gave us as the train and we're the caboose, waving to them letting them know they inspired our own writing.

***

One of my morning practices is to read a poem and write one of my own. Today I decided it was time to make a daily practice of "caboose poems" specifically.  Here is my first one; the line is from Joy Harjo's "How to Write a Poem in Time of War."

 

Smoky sweet sunrises

where I love to be

in the morning

with music, prayer,

thoughts and words

and coffee and plans

Where I set myself

strong and vow to

do no wrong

(and fail...sometimes)

The wildlife calls

as does the sky

reminding me

I am here

while the clouds

paint and illuminate

while the sun 

does its sun thing

I am finding the me

lost in the night

of dreaming

Power Spot

I discovered a new power spot today.

I first learned of power spots from Danaan Perry in his book Warrior of the Heart. It’s a place in nature where you can sit uninterrupted and preferably unseen.

This new spot is in Lakes Park. I had another spot there at one time, but when they did maintenance on the walking path they took out the vegetation that kept me hidden.

I was delighted to find this spot today in the marsh area, with a smoothed out limestone rock to sit on. A place to go to gather my inner power, think, and pray.

😊

Walking in a Different Direction Part Two: Lakes Park

Today I finally did it. I pulled myself out of the house, into the absolutely perfect Florida May weather, and took a walk at Lakes Park. I know I have not been there in a long time, and I went with the purpose to do my usual loop through the woods.

Lone Palm Morning

I expected the usual Sunday crowd, but the people were few and far between. The pavilions and play areas are roped off, the exercise equipment fenced off, and the picnic tables overturned.


When I got there I changed my idea of where I wanted to walk. I decided to walk around the lake, rather than go into the wooded area. Very quickly I realized something -- when I have walked around the lake, I tend to start in the same place and walk in the opposite direction than I was walking this morning. And as I wrote about a few weeks ago, I was seeing a lot of things I haven't noticed before, getting glimpses of photo opportunities I rarely see.

Ibis Island

Walking Toward the Rising Sun

I had made up my mind just to walk and listen and watch. What I witnessed was a wildlife that is getting used to fewer humans. I could feel the lack of human dominance I usually associate with the park. (And that is with good reason: it's a wonderful park!)

One instance of this was a Little Green Heron that looked like it was going to walk across the path I was walking. I never see Herons doing that there, let alone the elusive Little Green. I trained my camera on him, but he stopped and eventually flew off.

Anhinga Rock

I took a few more pictures, then headed home with my sun roof open. The radio played a song that made me cry: Jerry Salley's "I Want to Thank You." It made me think about all the people in my life who encourage my faith and belief in myself and the goodness of the world.  It was a perfect way to begin my day.

Great Blue Heron Detail

Great Blue Heron Wide View

45. Among the Joshua Trees

#64Challenge

The next assignment for my creative writing classes is focused on an overarching theme of "change." They will read two poems and read the lyrics and listen to John Mayer's "Waiting on the World to Change," and then decide on their theme and format and write.  I always offer a model of my own. This is what I wrote for them -- and for me, and anyone who cares to listen.

Among the Joshua Trees: A Lesson in Slow Change

In 1990 I visited Joshua Tree National Forest when I was in California. I didn’t know until I arrived what a Joshua Tree was. The photo above was taken when we first entered the park, and I got so excited seeing these unusual trees: spiky, slow-growing, with branches that rise up. The tree was named by the Mormons who thought of the tree as Joshua from the Bible reaching his hands to the sky. The Joshua Tree lives in arid conditions and depends on perfectly timed rains to keep it flowering and growing. They are not in a hurry, and grow for a very long time – up to 300 years. They live amid other desert flora and jumbo boulders of red stone.

Now this is 2020, and I find myself living in an arid time. I am without my classroom, without the ability to have natural connections to my students, filling my days looking at the computer. This is as dry as it comes for a teacher.

So I turn to the Joshua Tree. I am reminded of the hope and strength it symbolizes. Its changes are slow. It is not in a hurry.

Most of us are feeling like we’d like an end date to this pandemic. We want to return to our gatherings and classrooms and be able to buy groceries without fear.

But here in the desert of life today, there is no time frame. There is no end date. There is only the will to survive in tough conditions, to see it through, one small change at a time, until the future becomes the present.

In Florida we are used to our swamps and rains. We are used to things growing quickly, green and glorious.

But today we are in the forest of Joshua Trees – spiky, slow moving, and raising our hopes to the sky.

It is an uncomfortable place.

It is a place of grief.

In the hardest times of my life, I have looked to a symbol to help me through. Today I turn to the Joshua Tree. It is the symbol of Endurance because it grows without sufficient water. It is the symbol of Strength because it overcomes unfavorable conditions, and has the power to make progress against all odds. And finally, it is a symbol of New Beginnings. It has the ability to produce leaves, flowers, and fruits.

The Joshua Tree is a concrete image for me, one to remind me I need to look to my own life and see what I can produce in this dry time, this quarantined life.

It has been stated more than once that we will come out of this time as different people. I think that could be true. But only if we endure, find strength, and see this as a way to a new beginning.

I am keeping the spirit of the Joshua Tree inside of me, as I face times of disappointment, resentfulness, and worry. When those feelings arise, I will see it as a chance to change my vision. Turn to endurance. Turn to strength. Turn to a new way of seeing things. The gifts given by the Joshua Tree.

The fruits and flowers will be realized one moment, one turn of a thought at a time.  I vow to do this for myself. I vow to do this for others.

With the Joshua Tree by my side, I believe I can make it out of the desert, into a new future yet to be imagined. This is the essence of slow change.

I will make it. We will make it. Together.

Erasure

Slightly inspired by Mary Biddinger's poem "The Subject Pool." Mostly inspired by a trip to the Rauschenberg gallery yesterday.


Yesterday the subject was
Robert Rauschenberg
and how he would draw
and then erase what
he had drawn, and he
thought, who would care?

So he arrived at de Koonig's door
and asked for a drawing
he could erase
and the great artist obliged,
and RR spent a month
erasing that piece of art.

And people were horrified
that he would destroy
a masterpiece.

But Robert just shrugged.
"It's complicated," he said.
"It's poetry."

***

That was as far as I got
in the video; I had not
allowed enough time at
the gallery, and they were
getting ready to close,
so I left.

Stepped out into the bright day,
the sky above the campus
mottled with clouds
on a lovely blue background,
surely ready to erase themselves
at any time.

Cloud Room

A poem oddly inspired by Billy Collins poem "Fishing on the Susquehanna in July" in which he writes about never having actually fished on the river, but instead stood in front of a painting of a man fishing on it.

Cloud Room

I stood in a cloud room the other 

day totally delighted,

and then I went outside and

saw the same clouds out over

the bay, palm trees in the 

foreground.

It was much more beautiful

than the cloud room.

I tied my wish for our country

on the Wish Tree -- the one almost

lost in Irma, but gratefully

resurrected.

All my wishes are for my country

now, to come to its senses.

As we stand in a cloud room

enamored,

Forgetting the real thing is

what matters.