I feel her, knitting our relatives together
The past coming forward, speeding to today / this moment
Eras of generations unfurl; we see you, they wave
We feel you; we’ve always been here
I feel her, still coordinating
Always a planner, a bridge to events
Our grandmothers and grandfathers are here with her
They’re all here for us, talk to them
I feel her
An ode to adventures at home in three lines and a photo, continued…
All photos by Blog Woman!!!
It was forever since I looked at where I live. I’ve been mostly in the business of adjusting to new normals – again. Still. Look, can we finally just face that we really have no idea what normal really was? A lot of what was normal badly needed the revision anyway. I guess we’re all still working on it.
In the meantime, home commanded my attention. I forgot what an adventure home is…
All photos by Blog Woman!!!
Summer haikus; poetic respite in between the cares and the concerns of Spring and the prep work for Fall…
Photos from my first attempt at a deck garden.
Effortless sustenance hails
Lusciously coloring life
Carelessly strewn joy
Verdant stems of pride
Black velvet grows in boxes
Seeds of faith, promise & love
This could be a Spring of retreat; a step or two toward the past. Maybe time on our hands and loads of room for reflection. My own longings lean toward the masses questioning all the holes in all the systems that Covid-19 surged right up to our every sensibility.
My next prayer is that all this new-found realization of what matters, this renewed knowledge of what essential is, will not get tossed and lost for good by most.
Reflection choices can be simple too; in fact, the majority of mine certainly are. I can’t believe how much it means to walk in the woods right now. All the smells of Spring are especially entrancing, and I am so in beyond land when I look at the tender shoots that replaced the tiny seeds I planted weeks ago. I’m so excited to be a back deck farmer this year. Small things. The every things.
It was within these lines of thought on this lazy Thursday, I was reminded of a sweet and lovely moment of 3 years ago, when we were allowed more fearless touch.
Wishing all a gentle and inspiring weekend.
I am the first thought
On his mind as daybreak blinks
Sunday morning bliss…
Gently smudging pain’s traces
Sweetly replacing facades
Haiku / Tanka
Inspired by the artwork of: aaronpaquette.net and prompted by: https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/heal/
Visions upon visions,
dreams and dreams,
lost, stolen, taken; gone.
Poets with their poetry of loss,
compete to buff out the latest cracks;
futile puffery, all of it.
Nothing will compare to that gift,
a small click of connection,
the implausibility; the impossibility – that would turn it into the last…
Hope solidified, flat and stark, into knowledge,
that love now lies in the breath of angels,
until we all finally, maybe even wholly, see again.
A few coins laid across the past,
a final gesture of love,
the only one left that could be made in his name.
January 17, 1997 – January 1, 2020
Aye, it was only a matter of time,
as it’s always been;
when promises of stand by me,
inevitably return to the pale,
where comfort is found most,
in familiar bleached power.
She will always wait,
for warriors worthiest of Her heart & light.
Spring blossoms beckon
The fruits of summer’s labor
Healing is not for the faint of heart. It’s a contract built on a vow to harness and clutch only at ironclad strengths.
It’s quiet now; calmed are all those bouncing cells of thought and feeling that ricocheted through my panic borne in another round of ‘growth’.
I have been brought to this hushed place only by the grace of my Relations.
They, who took the suffocating lifetime of pain and lifted it to the skies – where our Ancestors tenderly pulled it into their own hearts.
Toward the centre of the Ancients where such things are cleansed; healed and rendered harmless.
To the place where all things are made sound again and holds a promise that surely
we’d all choose, if we knew.
This painlessness was not instant, oh God, not hardly. I wailed all through their processes.
They let me feel every piercing facet of what we’d endured, and then they mercifully
returned with understanding.
Every sting was an exposed hurt that hadn’t been acknowledged, sometimes for centuries.
Every prickle that scratched through my soul was a reminder to honor it and to turn toward where to offer it.
With every step in every ceremony they led me to, they walked me out of the darkness.
They didn’t need me to believe in them; they already knew I was too lost to know what to believe.
I only needed to follow what was offered, including the smallest fragments of feeling
that said – maybe.
I am a blank slate, as clean as the newborn, my future standing right in front of me, unseen.
I don’t know what to wish for anymore; I don’t know what my dreams are.
I only know I’ve been brought to this place, where every moment is a choice that I can feel only in my heart; a knowing that prompts me to accept it without even a clue as to why.
My canvas is a wide open space and I observe in wonder at what and at who is being placed onto it.
I don’t feel the immediate inserted images are the story, I only know that the reality, which traces to every soul that follows, is so much bigger than my pitiful imaginings.
They’ve taught me the reasons behind the hurt and soothing are far bigger in purpose; every healing moment is for every generation before me and all to follow.
It’s the only teaching I’ve ever been given that I know some day, will permanently alter everything.
It’s quiet now, and I know this is a gift – a treasure granted for maybe only
5 more minutes…