World Dance

"Everything dies, sooner or later.

Winning or losing, everything dies."

Truth, no matter my attempts to ignore,

deny, avoid this fact.

"The game of pain plays and stays and repeats 

that everything dies sooner or later. 

But the sky behind the sky tells you its secret 

close in your ear and warm against your lips: 

everything lives."

The sky behind the sky...

how I love this way of putting it...

what we can not see or wrap our head around

yet somehow we know it exists.

Everything lives... defies my small mind to understand.

In some cases I can accept this as fact.

We all die little deaths and bigger deaths 

over and over and over.

But there are areas from this vantage point,

where dead is dead as in gone.

Mom's physical hands to hold,  dad's physical hugs...

alive in my memory, yes, but generations to come

will not have that physical memory to recall.  

Perhaps when I myself am dead, 

I will be able to see a truth in this?

"The world is to big to lose."

Is it?

 

All The Night Stars

"The stars shine forever, even when dead.

So do we."

I confirmed that some stars do continue to shine after death.

The idea that we will too, is delightful. 

Whether real or metaphorical,

I'll take it.

"Ignore the background noise of wars. . .

Fear is a sheer nighty on a skeleton."

I adore the image of fear as a nighty on a skeleton.

It reduces it to comical in a grim kind of way.

"Sorrow is wild flowers in a graveyard

over our tomorrows.

Another "haunting" image which does 

 not reduce to comical but defines

in a bittersweet way that matches a sad reality.

"Always remember to shine."

 

Mountains On The Inside

If words could be volcanos, this is close...metaphorically speaking.

I confess, I prefer softer language, steely eyed spider webs

and water smoothing rock simply by flowing. 

That being said, it's exhilarating to consider this 

amount of power inside of our skin and bones...

the magnificence of mountains... 

the vastness of oceans...

the crowd of people awaiting our directions...

"Open your mouth the way the volcano opens its mouth.

There's an ocean inside you, the ocean that covered the earth once.

Call out the mountains inside you and let everything begin."

May all that is not serving goodness be turned to cinders.

Let the volcanos roar.

 

Homeless Is The Wrong Word

"Don't define people by what they don't have

as if the home that isn't there was realer

 than the person who isn't in it."

Isn't this a splendid way of thinking?

It humbles me.

"People don't talk to places: not imaginary places,

not controversial places,...People talk to other people

who have mouths and who can talk back."

I'm not proud of my immediate response

upon encountering someone we could consider 

"homeless" (unhoused?).

Mother Teresa I am decidedly NOT.

I do not see an individual person, I see someone I 

feel sorry for which fills me with guilt and shame; 

immediately followed by the strong urge 

to depart, and avoid the entire situation. 

I fear engaging with them as I assume 

it leads to expectations 

I am unwilling and unable to fulfill.  

  

Why I Write Poetry by Julia Vinograd

"Because I can't trust God to look after the world and my friends."

I unearthed this poet due to Poetic Outlaws.

 I am chagrined I didn't know about her.

She blew bubbles at the police 

while participating in a demonstration

in 1969.  Some police even joined in!

"It may be God's will but its my won't!"

A tiny piece of me rears up shocked at this "blasphemy";

while a giant piece of me applauds the honesty.

It is a brave statement (for someone with my upbringing) 

and the epitome of what it means to be human.

She had me at "it's my won't".

"I can't change anything but I am a poet

and if I can't trust God, I must speak

for the world and my friends."

And that she does with fervor and truth.

 

Mindful

"Every day I see or hear something that more or less

kills me with delight."

I went back to read it again to make sure "kill" wasn't a typo.

The juxtaposition of kill with delight sits a bit off center

but I take her point and salute her word skill.

"It is what I was born for--to look, to listen, to lose myself

within this soft world--to instruct myself over and over

in joy and acclamation."

I'd like to say we're all born for this very same thing...

"instructing ourselves over and over in joy and acclamation."

What if this began in kindergarten?  What if there were

age appropriate textbooks written for such a course of practice?

Would this world be a different place to live in? I'd like to believe so.

. . ."the ordinary, the common, the very drab, the daily presentations."

This is my favorite line...we get so caught up in the rare, the unusual,

 the  scary, the outrageous, the out of the ordinary--

rushing past the "daily presentation"... 

taking them for granted, forgetting 

the wonder of their dependability.

"how can you not help but grow wise with such teachings as these?"

This reminds me of the first time I saw an 

Orange Fringed Orchid (Platanthera ciliaris)

blooming in the grass at the side of the road. 

 I was enchanted!

Someone remarked, "it's common."

I was still enchanted nonetheless and I am to this day

when I catch a glimpse of one...even more so now that

I've befriended this poem.  

 

Sunday

"Not a day to argue about fleeting things

that are outside our peripheral vision."

I would not limit this sentiment to Sunday.

I recommend at least two or three days a week.

Happy Friday.