long nights, small days

Missing Pieces

Not so much the bird

but the shadow of his song

Not so much thin slivers of ice

but the bliss of banished thirst

Not so much an open heart

but the pulse of an impeccable solitude.

~Winter Solstice December 2009

Hello November

November, an interlude of falling, flame-colored leaves and scattered rain. It arrived too quickly, like middle-age, I suppose, yet is not without its wonders.

Children have departed for their various and exciting pursuits. Will and I turn the garden over for winter, gleaning immense tomatoes and curious squash that have hybridized. We feast on green spaghetti squash and the remains of basil, green beans, and surprise potatoes from the carrot bed.

Unexpectedly, Carrie called me northward to Olympia, where she was injured. The past few days have been a whirr of medical-center visits, a surgery to fix her broken jaw, and recovery. Which is perhaps made easier--for her--by the stormy weather. Confined indoors when she'd planned a long weekend climbing and camping expedition with new friends.

A mother's vigil is never easy. Faith rides inside my heart, a miniature, flutter-legged cricket of faith, that Carrie will mend. Felling far from home, yet so much gratitude that I could be at her side through these ever-darkening days of northern-latitude autumn.

Echoes here of old friendships. Just hearing the soft New Zealand tones of Diana's voice on the phone, or Mary's encouragement, mean so much. Two very dear friends who are coincidentally in the area, this place that Carrie now calls "home" close to the sea. Sheltered, yet beckoning to her free spirit for longer journeys ahead. Maybe this is a place where free spirits settle?

My heart feels very full, nourished by brisk walks in the cold rain, fresh air, the steady pulse of friendship and the way that the earth prepares herself for wintertime. A time to slow down, to give a moment's pause. To appreciate mobility and all the gifts my senses summon.

In a small global-village type shop in downtown Olympia, the proprietor demonstrated a variety of singing bowls from the Himalaya. Because I want to create more ritual during poetry readings, whether in class, or in performance, I sought some sound. Each singing bowl, each bell, each chime carries a unique tone. Soon, the shop and the cafe were alive with the various gong-chime-tones. And I had innocently connected each of us, so many strangers in this little global village shop-cafe, into harmonic waves and circles of sound. My heart felt lighter; filled with a smiling warmth. I chose one small, turquoise bowl that touched my inner spirit.
Here. Now. Slow. Touch. Listen. Listen. Notice the prayer inscribed around a lotus pattern.

Miles away, some artisan walks in the Himalaya, glad with this gift of soul and sound, that has traveled so far. . .to this place, to reach . . . .me. And those with whom I will share the music of the singing, turquoise bowl.

I walked out, into the rain again, returning to the place where Carrie sleeps, recovering her strength. Leaves the color of many different flames scatter like an artist's paint upon the canvas of concrete sidewalks, broken bricks.

I listen now to the soft breath of my daughter sleeping, and wonder whether to wake her with the song of the singing bowl, or to let her dwell in the land of dreams, as pain ebbs away, molecule by molecule, moment by moment.

Goodbye, January

Hello, sliver of visible moon, surrounded by an audience of stars. Hello, vast universe that supplies so many un-answerable questions. Hello, son who left home on Monday to find his way in the city, and is now returned, here, alive after a serious accident on 101. Hello, miracles.
Hello, warm winter day of planting potatoes and turning the earth in wonder at all that grows, untended, during these past busy weeks. Hello multi-hued calendula and dormant plum tree.
Hello sweet moment of gratitude. It is the slivers of hope that matter, the empty space inside the O, the infinite unfolding of moon, the way a heart beats on and on and on as I take it for granted, so busy, moving from point to point, class to class, project to project.
In this quiet moment of night, I give thanks and ask for guidance into the next hour, day, month.
Upstairs two young adults sleep, in their childhood rooms. We are safe, at home, tonight. Hello, dark, sweet night. Isn't this what every parent in the world wants: that our children be safe?

Beginnings

Raining all night; I dream in fragments of poems, in several languages, some forgotten, the taste of mud upon my lips, and guava juice on my tongue.

This rain attempts to clean her lovely blue earth ~
Today I swim in poems and wonder, what will I offer the students? Young, third grade students who will hold the gift of pencil and paper in the palms of their hands, and feel the heart of spirit in their being-ness.

Today: I will abandon all peripheral activity and devote my full self to being there, to rattling around with a basket of cast-off artifacts, offering this tesoro of poetry, these small tesoros of artifact to the students—to discover what they might discover, to touch the miracle of the new year, full of hopes, dreams, desires, sadness, confusion, and the pure, sure stream of words and symbols that arrive from the end of the pencil . . . .

The wind chime reminds me that it is not all about rain: there are other surprises outside, and within. Honor it all. Ask for it all. Listen when the poems arrive. Be patient. Practice keeping the heart open.

Fountains of words, a zephyr of words, slash-bend-limb-breaking-tree words, words in smoke, words in ice ~ The chime reminds me that a large part of our earth hides beneath ice ~ Where is the brittle ice of last night’s star? Who lives there? What footprints hide in the forest mud?

Night has turned to a zones-of-gray mist morning. It is the moment to begin.

Where are my frog rain boots?

What comforts you on rainy days? What do you wear? Where do you go?

Dreams Do Come True

November 4th, From the Edge of the Continent and the Edge of a New Century

My husband Will suggested a trip to the city so we could watch the election night returns on a real television. We checked in to our favorite hideaway and spread out the wine and snacks and tuned into the buzz-machine. It was only mid-afternoon, with all polls still open nationwide. Justin invited us to a way-cool new climbing gym to burn off some anxiety. Which we did. While they climbed, I took a long run in the sun along the bay. I knew that the outcome of so much would be determined in a few hours, by millions of individuals like myself who had stepped up to vote.

Then, way earlier than we anticipated: The Election is Declared!!! Senator Obama Wins. McCain concedes and calls for national unity. A new light gleams on the horizon as a new leader stands to serve here in our confused America. We, the people have elected Barack Obama, by enough of a landslide to make concerns about voting-machine-tampering a moot issue, at least for this election.

Whether the promise of change and hope for a sustainable, healthy future actually manifests, it is clear that Barack Obama is willing to lead from the front and shake up the status quo. Ojalá. We hope.

The election of Barack Obama with Joseph Biden as #2 is a critical first step for we the people to restore America’s image as a beacon of freedoms and open horizons. I feel hopeful that one person can make a difference, one voice being heard does matter, each vote is an expression of freedom. It is not about the newly elected president. He is only one man. We must stand and work for change, in whatever capacity each of us is capapble of. Sí, se puede. Yes, we can.

The election is not the victory. Victory will only come with each person working in a small way to end the war, to bring the troops home, to be more tolerant of diverse people living different religions, lifestyles, languages. Victory will be apparent when children breathe clean air in shelters free from violence. Victory will be apparent when people dedicate themselves to healthy choices, and make all effort to cure those who are suffering. Victory will be apparent when the hungry eat. Victory is apparent when dreams come true.

In 1963, Reverend Martin Luther King, Jr. declared some of his dreams. They did not manifest in his lifetime, but they are apparent as dreams come true now, in ours. What a gift he gave, to articulate a vision for the future, so that we the people have a road map to help guide our footsteps toward liberty and justice for all.

"I have a dream that my four little children will one day live in a nation
where they will not be judged by the color of their skin,
but by the content of their character. I have a dream today.
I have a dream that one day down in [...] Alabama,
little black boys and black girls
will be able to join hands with little white boys and white girls
as sisters and brothers. I have a dream today."

~Reverend Martin Luther King, Jr. ~
~excerpt of his address during the March on Washington, DC 28 August 1963~

Speed Dialing for Change

I made some phone calls as a Barack Obama volunteer during the campaign--thinking that it just might make a difference in a swing state like North Carolina or border state like New Mexico.
When I phoned, many people were excited about voting and wanted to share their excitement. A 92 year old man mentioned that one of his friends had NEVER before voted, but was voting this time. This man was very proud that he had already voted, early, and there had been a long line. He voted with his grandson. Another woman called out to someone else in the room that it was a Barack Obama volunteer on the phone. She quickly told me that her entire neighborhood had already voted. "We are for Barack Obama all the way." Another woman asked where to get a yard sign. Out of 60 calls, only one person was curt.

I do not like talking on the phone. I did not have the time to make the calls. It just felt like a small act that made sense, like taking your own canvas bag to the market instead of wasting a plastic or paper bag that will end up in the landfill. Phoning total strangers to remind them to vote for Senator Obama for President became a warming experience. I felt closer to those I spoke with in different regions of the country.

Two awesome outcomes are evident in the 2008 election. People in this scattered democracy are finally standing up to vote. Secondly, there are clear differences between the vision for the future as articulated by each candidate during debates. McCain promised to build at least 45 new nuclear power facilities. Obama voiced his confidence in the power of individual Americans to conserve energy, discover alternative sources, and to re-tool industry toward sustainable, clean energy sources like solar, wind and hybrid vehicles. With some help from the government.

A huge outcome of this election can be felt while speaking with the new generation. Many youth who are voting for the first time ever (3 young adults in my home) are no longer (as) apathetic (as before.)

Let’s all work to assure that the promises of the campaign transition into actual results: domestic rebuilding, restoration of international diplomacy, building alliances for peace.

Maybe phone banks can help after the election. Do the elected officials really want to know what people think? Call us once in awhile and ask. Elected, public officials must not lose touch with the common people out here in nowhereland, usa.

Reaching

Here in the northern hemisphere, we enter the season of shorter days and longer nights. Fewer eggs in the hen house. Huckleberries ripen; the dahlias are spent. Darkness upon awakening, scattered stars if there is no fog. Diminishing daylight hours are proof that the shelter of my beloved, of our children, and our dearest friends are but temporary arrangements in the larger scheme of things. All the more reason to savor a moment. To offer a prayer to those who live with much less abundance, with no safe moment of their own.

The apple tree I climbed this morning is older than I am, and is probably as old as my grandmother, if she were still alive. I like to think that this tree was growing in a time before cars, when wagons and teams of horses traveled the ridge. Maybe the blacksmith whose old barn stood by the apple tree ate lunch there, in the shade, during the season of ripening apples. My children learned to climb trees here, and have always loved this tree, the one closest to the school bus stop. Now, my children are too old for the bus, and too old for the school, and I am climbing like a child to reach the apples that have not yet fallen.

I hope that our children return here some day with their own kids, showing them their favorite trees, giving them raw slices of tart apple to teethe on. They might wait nearby, gathering windfalls, while the new generation learns to climb, to lean, to reach for that one fruit that is being cradled against the deep, pearly blue of a vast, unknowable sky.

There is a mystery within each seed, within each layer of soil, within each falling leaf. When midwinter arrives, we'll plant a few new trees, a gesture toward the future, toward the difficult and often bleak-seeming future.