Connections

Even a fox can get exhausted

straining for all the sounds.

The world will shrink if it doesn’t change

Opulence doesn’t guarantee happiness

She learns from an Indian friend

A butterfly can tilt Indra’s net.

Delight when scenery 

unfolds before you

wherever you are.

You may be alone 

but you will not be lonely.

Her silence is a conviction 

not to judge others 

by any standards.

She will pass by a garden

and admire a flower

for what it is.

A neighbor will ask her, 

Did you see Mary today,

going to church dressed 

improperly?

It is a warm weather finally,

she will answer.

She may not be precise,

that’s what she sees.

Pilgrimage

A pilgrimage of the heart,

an errand of the spirit

I will take a morning walk 

and knock on my friend’s door,

lean on a tree, feel the root’s vibrations.

I  will fold my hands and listen to stories:

People walking, their pockets heavy with stones,

birds singing sad songs and hiding  their wings from the sun

riverbeds with broken porcelains,

multi-syllabic prayers uttered in silence at Angelus.

A child and a lady smile and wave 

when I pass by on my way home 

on the sidewalk with wild flowers 

blooming next to the iron fence.

I have been walking to the river again since 4 days ago. I did not walk today.

Beginning

February 4, 2023

Good morning.

First day of my Sabbath Project

I’m a beginner. A believer? Not yet. A faithful? Oh, no. Far from it.

What is the sudden reversal?

The mystical women of the Middle Ages. I’ll start with St. Clare of Assisi and Mechthild of Magdeburg.

What’s Sabbath Project? Getting up at 8am. Meditation for half hour. 

Musing

The failed experiment will not be a singular experience

could be wide with ramifications

is it unusual to have unhappiness early in life

and to have fullness of life later?

Sighting an uncommon bird

will be peculiar day.

a point of celebration.

The jellyfish dance,

glitter in the night

Walking in Festival of Lights

December Twenty Six

at sunrise

a bird leaves

its perch

a tree painted blue

a wind chime hangs from a branch

a bird sings from faraway

a mother looks at her child

imagines colors of her voice

the sun recedes behind the mountains

she adjusts the aperture

takes all the photos

a long story begins

yesterday

a snowstorm

a child was born

The Past

There was once a place

Where the mountain breaks the softness of sunrise

Where fishermen sing while tending their nets

Where I grew up,

The narrow streets and old houses play in my sleep

People meander and talk at sunset

On Saturdays a farmer’s market

Filled with animated visitors.

I miss the place.

The past is part of the present

I will understand happiness 

Depends on differences of small things

Will make sense later

I am fit not from running

But from gardening

I want you to come with me

And visit this place

You are a good listener.

The future 

Can be full of chatter.

I become too familiar

With the world around 

There are possibilities

We can laugh together.