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.

A Question

The fisherman looks at the flowing river.

The fish can evaluate three lines.

What is the art of fishing?

The catch or the waiting?

The Fall

Walking to the river

I met many women walkers today

in twos, in threes

walking a dog,

walking a stroller

walking with a walker

I heard conversations 

words I could not understand

I passed by an adult retirement home

glanced at people playing bocce

The sun was higher now

almost home

In crossing a street

my shoe stubbed the edge,

Like a lightning, I hydroplaned

on a concrete walkway, 

For a moment I could not believe

it happened

large bruises on my knees, 

palms of my hand

my stick laying in front of me, 

my eyeglasses, intact

my bones, none were broken

A car stopped,

a lady driver got out, offered  

to help me. I thanked her

I stood up on my own.

I arrived home to attend 

to my wounds.

I was full of gratitude.

An extraordinary day

Can you see the blackbird?

The books I am currently reading: Middlemarch by George Eliot and The Artist’s Journey by Marcia Shaver.

Abandoned Grocery Cart

Jammed with the rocks at the riverbank

Submerged in water at high tide

Saved by a fisherman brought inland

Now you are with flowers along the walkway

Which journey will I find you again?

You can’t venture on your own.

Will you vanish somewhere

Or drift into oblivion

What will happen if Kierkegaard

or Salvador Dali find you?

I don’t think I will be dancing in strawberry field

I may write about absurdity of abandoned grocery carts.

Perhaps some ideas are astonishing

We think of wild things

Like kissing at the middle of storm

I will not be writing in Russian.

note: The book I am reading: Either/Or by Elif Batuman.

How & Why

thinning darkness

voices rising, footsteps of children

soul of a new day

start a work,

a particular work

to find a worthy self

before a final stage

there is a longing

when work is done

life is still incomplete

seeking until the end

doing and giving

the highest region of life

Is it a messy tangle

or a real knot?

She disappears in the crowd.

note: Books I finished reading: The Present Alone Is Our Happiness by Pierre Hadot.

The book I am currently reading: Purple Hibiscus by Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie

The Root of All Things

A man measures the distance between the trees

The distance of the trees from the path

The distance of the trees from the river

He looks at the sky

His mind can roam infinitely

“Leaving behind unilateral view of things”

Man is not the root of all things

He is not the measure of all things

He finishes his work

Returns home where he tends goats

And bees and grows a garden

He is the village philosopher.

A battered penny among the flowers

Musing

The tide is flowing out the river

It’s 73 degrees and sunny

I greet a fisherman

Meet 2 pretty spaniels, King Charles spaniels

A runner with headphones 

passes me

A duck needs another duck

Connect yourself to a wider world

Transcendence is not achieved alone.

Today is similar to yesterday

It’s 75 degrees today

A plane cruises above positioning for landing

A bird flies skimming the water

As if testing its flying skills

As for me, watching and remembering.

Metaphors in Idleness

Sometimes you want to spend a day to idleness

Some people are not for greatness

You have to know which one to elevate, which one to endure

To choose one character is an act of courage

Dancing when you should be praying

When procrastination awakes doubt enters

You fast while in the temple of Weeping Women

To cleanse yourself

Tomorrow morning, early, you will visit the waterfalls

And enter the cave behind the falling waters

A shelter for you till beauty

And strength thread in your consciousness:

An armadillo waking

An astonishing reflection in its eyes

note: photos are from my wlak to the river on Thursday. The day is sunny and warm. Beautiful day to go out .

Begins With A Question

Life is not a simple flow of time

 A lived experience

a taste of beauty

then taken away

Is there enjoyment in being immortal

though everything you touch is not permanent

a statue, a stone, unlike a snowflake

everyone will pass away

and you remain

immortal, you,alone

with all your elaborate memories.

Can we still ask

and live life’s hard question

or remain submerged in modern angst?

Or are we waiting like a jar

to fall into fragments on the floor?

Or do we bloom for each other on virtual reality?

In the reddening sun

we should not be content

just to be alive.

note: I finished reading the book, Paris in the Present Tense by Mark Helprin. About time, art and life and love.

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