Time seems too fast

Invisible sobbing

the clouds crying to the sun

But too early for snowflakes

After many days pass they run away

Sliding in snow covered meadow

To a frozen stream

What should they do next?

They may start sharpening the knives

They will need them in carving the ham

On Christmas dinner. They are on their 

Own. Holidays can be exhausting.

There will be time for being alone

And relaxation on a beach somewhere

But their relationship goes too fast

Autumn then winter then summer

They hardly remember spring

Or too tired to remember

But they are very fond of life

From simple dinners with discussion 

About the disappearance of post-modernism 

Or its reemergence. Or simply talking 

About dragons and fairy tales. They have 

No time to grow old.

“Kintsugi”

“In Japan there is a kind of reverence for the art of mending. In the context of the tea ceremony there is no such thing as failure or success in the way we are accustomed to using those words. A broken bowl would be valued precisely because of the exquisite nature of how it was repaired, a distinctly Japanese tradition of kintsugi, meaning to “to patch with gold”. Often, we try to repair broken things in such a way as to conceal the repair and make it “good as new.” But the tea masters understood that by repairing the broken bowl with the distinct beauty of radiant gold, they could create an alternative to “good as new” and instead employ a “better than new” aesthetic. They understood that a conspicuous, artful repair actually adds value. Because after mending, the bowl’s unique fault lines were transformed into little rivers of gold that post repair were even more special because the bowl could then resemble nothing but itself. Here lies that radical physical transformation from useless to priceless, from failure to success. All of the fumbling and awkward moments you will go through, all of the failed attempts, all of the near misses, all of the spontaneous curiosity will eventually start to steer you in exactly the right direction.”
-Teresita Fernández, sculptor
quoted by Maria Popova in Brain Pickings

Hidden things

Slippage, sleep page, lines dangling
Fumbled utterance after waking

When one or two heartbeats are misplaced
Though not missing, we feel fear

Failing once we will fail again
When far away from the divine

How can we return to life
Our mind filled with emptiness and fear
Going through raiding guns and raging
Fire, names unaccounted for and missing?

In the brightness of a full daylight
We have to look for what is hidden
To make our life whole again.

Yearning

Completeness

You bend your head to listen
Changing the direction of your thought
The umbrella collapses against the wind
You stand up and leave the conversation
You are afraid you lost something
Your life yearns for completeness
Something bold and ordinary
Like the hundred quests to fold origami
Imagine the mystery of longing
With a simple lantern to guide the way
To find the piece missing
And all the steps to the last breath.

note: Mrs. Abstract and I visited Sequioa National Park. We stayed at a B&B with a beautiful miniature fairy garden.

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Mrs. Abstract enjoying the morning reading a book next to one of the three rivers.

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The Little Things

The Little Things

To search a question is not to find an immediate answer
But to hear a voice that may lead to an understanding

Unfurled, uncoiled, unchained
free like a kite unleashed
You glow while saying each word
as if they are sacred

She goes out with her camera
anxious to discover a world,
new and independent from her mind

Where do you start
When you want to piece together a broken bowl
You will learn from the small pieces
Opening the closet and selecting a new pair of slacks and blouse
Which scarf to wear on a misty day
What to prepare for dinner
The little things like learning to love again

Time

Enhance your experience
The wastebasket is not full yet
Symmetries are abundant in sounds and numbers
Difficulty shall not be the first step
A tribe can lead to the next
In darkness you can hear whistling
Interruptions are shadows between lights
The liminal spaces, glimpses of returns
The mind brings and scatters, the bees and the butterflies
The neurons connect the patterns and coincidences
Learning to see not only with one’s eyes
Lots of questions and the search for truth and beauty
I will learn to sit still
The universe is expanding
The garden is lovely in spring.

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secret whisper

At dawn you were riding a hot air balloon
anticipation of beauty and terror
a landscape of vineyards, mountains, houses in cluster and solitary
one thousand, two thousand feet or higher

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the perspective became wider, objects became smaller
even at the highest point a limit of what you could see
a grain of sand of reality or imagination
light and vision, dreams
lingering at the threshold of waking

then the balloon descended
restoring a balance,“the gravity of unadorned song”
doesn’t sound “intelligent or coherent”
of “what just vanished, a shadow moving away”.

After clouds lifted you experienced
a brighter morning, an eternal frame of hope
“a line of beauty”, “ a riddle”,
“a beauty wedded to something meaningful”,
psst, a secret whisper from an alleyway.”
note: the quoted words are from the book. The Goldfinch, by Donna Tartt. The story is rich, superb.