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.

Seeking OThers

It’s becoming clearer and clearer to me that I need to leave the familiar, but I don’t want to do it entirely alone-I want to seek others who can offer perspective into my predicament, who can help guide my passage.”

-Suleika Jaouad, Between Two Kingdoms: A Memoir of a Life Interrupted

A Letter

Avoidance of annoyances repeatedly

Life remains in narrowed preferences

I know some words to add, some experiences 

To relate, must not let them fade away

I open my eyes in the morning

Utter my first intelligent thought

A praise may be or a prayer

To see, not necessarily to understand

Not inquisitive but to experience

Is it too late now to find the reason

For not knowing?

My relationship ends unexpectedly

Without any arguments or strained voices

A decent separation, not devoting time

To keep each other’s attention

The dinner loses the delicious taste

We become monuments to each other.

Sometimes one has to cross a perilous river

To deliver a letter of forgiveness.

note: I finished reading Piranesi by Susanna Clarke and Kant’s Little Prussian Head & Other Reasons Why I Write, an autobiography in essays by Claire Messud.

I’m reading Jonathan Strange & Mr. Norrell by Susanna Clarke which I started reading a long time ago but never finished and For Whom the Bell Tolls by Ernest Hemingway. All these long reads in the time of Covid.

Happy Independence Day

I walked to the river before noon. Mrs. Abstract was doing her aquatic exercises in a friend’s pool.

The day was sunny with a warm breeze. Other walkers were enjoying the day. The fishermen were patient. The boaters were in full colors.

Happy Independence Day.

 

 

 

 

Listen

I walk to the river this morning

listen to the songs the birds are singing

and the sounds of my feet touching the earth.

Have you heard recently

the sound of your feet 

walking over autumn leaves?

 

 

Looking back

I remember

a halo of black curly hair

and your distracted face.

 

 

Listening

Sometime I am blinded of what I know

Prevents me from listening

At the end of the tunnel, I hope, is another way

And in the ocean, after I hoist a sail

The wind will pick up

And carry me to a wider reality.

 

I start putting words in my pocket

The birds start picking and scatter them

Some fall on front yards, others on the river

Fish snatch the floating words

The fishermen jump with surprise

People come out of their doors and greet me 

I feel embarrassed, I answer with greetings

I’m thankful, their dogs like me

Tomorrow I will take a basketful of words to the Farmer’s Market 

I will sit next to the mushroom grower

She tells stories about creatures in the forest

I will be a good listener.

Late in the vine

When I am old and grey

Grapes allowed to remain on the vines

Pages worn but alive

Weather drawn but sweet

Ancient and not too poor in wisdom 

Will you sit by me?

We can listen together

Stories of your wandering.

And are you still playing

Beethoven’s later piano sonatas?

Further questions

How do you tell a story without interruption?

Can you remain silent after every question?

Can you?

Will rain be a violation of silence?

Walk quietly when walking inside yourself.

Distraction

Arranging themselves for photos
Their faces distracted by music
Isolating their own thoughts.