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.
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.
Goodbye my friend
sail on
the sea awaits you
words without end
The children tell me: Be Kind.
The monk tells me: Listen.
My mentor says: Love.
Note: During my morning walk today I met again the woman in red. Photos from my walk.
Clattering sound of falling kitchen pans brushes aside her reverie
Her eyes fix on the sea
Fog distorts perception of distance, silence ushers thinking confidently
She adjusts herself in the writing table
With a new ambition
She writes, her fingers trembling with words.
Evening crickets will summon her to sleep
The rooster will wake her before dawn
Seldom she considers to stray outside these boundaries
Her stories wanting to be heard
Like mute feelings suddenly freed from captivity
How to express the river’s yearnings
The delicate exposure of what is hidden
Abundant play before learning the alphabets
The forest changes, weather comes with seasons
She feels fresh facing open spaces, the deep and simple questions, enhancement and pruning
The mysteries of truth and moments of need
Finding her way in intricacies of language
If she has nothing to say, she stays silent.
She may play her violin in front of the llamas
Or she may hold the cat close to her chest
Hum a melody to its ear
Don’t let desire turn to dreaming and fades
Even when distance dims
She has to consider the end
What is meaningful to her
To flourish the goodness life
And encourage herself to cultivate
Habits of the heart.
Should I haiku
my way to you
light bends
The apple falls
flowers attract butterflies
bees circle around
Mothers wonder
children run to sounds of a waterfall
does enthusiasm measure distances
The kite laughs with the wind
free and unafraid
a boy watches
Inquisitive, often in motion
a bird moves from from to branch
to opening spaces
I decide to be better
procrastination flirts
catches my curiosity
The splendor of order
my thoughts and a nightingale singing
a pebble and thunder
The swan’s wings sweep the air
clouds coalesce like a quilt
the pond and I mirror the scene
The swan, lovely and silent
unruffled by wakes of passing boats
somewhere, a monk in contemplation.
Unafraid, swelling with confidence, she prays
the snow falls on top of trees
first week of December
My strength begins
paddles breaks the water
the ducks glide
The bell’s sounds of angelus
a moment of remembrance
farmers stand silent on the field
With darkening sky
poetic storm enters her vision
sharp and exhausting
Bowls and fields catch raindrops
seasons of need
umbrellas cover workers’ heads
Hummingbirds suddenly
seem to be everywhere
Chasing each other
or hovering over the lavender
The morning fog rises gently
You are standing in the midst, smiling.
I look at you and start talking
to myself.
You ask why ?
My way of clearing my mind
sometimes it gets crowded with thoughts.
Don’t you get frightened
when it gets empty?
Maybe that happens
when someone you love leaves,
walks away.
The hummingbirds leave one by one
and my friend
I am alone again.
The fog returns
I feel cold
I linger awhile
before I return home.
note: Books I’m reading: War and Peace. I was persuated by an article about Yiyun Li reading War and Peace once a year. And reading it along with others-Tolstoy Together.
Also reading Inseparable by Simone de Beauvoir.
An orphan she has
Few stories to tell, few attachments
How could she show passion,
Or care for someone
But she knows where ripe plums are,
Which mushrooms are edible
Where to find spring water, safe and crystal clear
How to be resourceful
Habit and prudence and street smart
She starts learning the constellations,
Learns how to be afraid and be calm
She looks at the flowering vines,
Sleeps like an owl and wakes up
To her full height, realizes
Distances between trees, between her
And trees, her and others
She is a distance of her own.
Things she cherishes, go away
Teaches her gratitude.
Her beautiful eyes say, thank you.
note: The book I’m reading: Ten keys to Reality by Frank Wilczek.
I will have surgery on my right ear next week. The discomfort is tolerable at the present time.
Sometimes I have to take some analgesics.
Traveling for so many days
435 bridges and 234 tunnels
Losing landmarks and diverting to side excursions
A lavish description of arriving somewhere
After getting lost
Like newlyweds entering their first house
Whatever the sizable differences are
They can be traced to algorithms
Like sentences they have to learn because they are new
After awhile they can talk and understand
The end is an accomplishment
Carried by patience and time.
They are foreign to each other
Like a blinding snowstorm before beginning of summer
Afterwards seasons go uninterrupted, seem seamless
Though there are days of grief
Some days of longing, others of mirth
Ambiguity eases into familiar themes
They arrive to a place they understand
Life changes gradually into bliss
Remembering words of Aristotle
We yearn to reach the good at the end.
“Joy like a river in her soul”, words of a young boy
Sharing his mother’s state of being.
A town nestled next to a river
How does one tear down and build anew?
River dredging begins Flood Control Master Plan.
Town awakens, sounds of bulldozers and cranes,
People wearing helmets working
Design to demolish, preserve, develop, convert
Empty complexes, aging structures, dormant land
Long deliberations in what the town needs:
Hotels, shops, restaurants, or something abstract
Community park in summer turns flood diversion space in winter.
Building a promenade on riverfront,
Passageway along railroad tracks,
Connecting Vine Trail, continuity without impediments
Collaboration with artists and role of the arts,
A time for coffee and twisted cinnamon rolls.
One accent, the Passages, a segment of passageway
Once a haven for graffiti’s passion and restlessness
Now a channel for artistic expressions,
Vivid, vibrant, living project
Come, look, linger, get involve.
Walking home I hum a Dave Brubeck’s tune
I prepare smoked salmon and cream cheese sandwich,
A bowl of peach yogurt and blackberries for lunch.
I take my time. I do not eat with haste.
Like town dreamers, like my friends
I, too, have choices and concerns
Should I join the frenzy of high technology
Pulsing reminders of “constantly possible productive moments”
Or walk with artists and pilgrims in shared humanity
Learn value of life, bear the task, persevere?
In my solitary walk, my mind can’t remain still
How will the young boy paint the river?
Let image follow imagination like spells of delight
Art’s idea whispers, shouts, bends then leaps to clarity
A journey of praise of what one truly loves.
In art and life, one will leave one day, the other stays.
I will write my praise.
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