A fleeting view of self, beyond grief negotiating life loss and truth finding it and saying it evolving into liberating spaces.
A murder of crows, more than those mischievous birds, a canvas for conversations the arbitrariness of organization of permanence, of memory of expectations, of routines violated.
A quest for new skills to adapt to new circumstances, to find meaning, in the midst of surprise, astonishment, fear.
Making sense of the search for new self definition, for new ways of viewing for new ways of declaring one’s world.
Of the bear from hibernation Of moth from caterpillar Kitten from cat Mind from contact with a great teacher Actor first arriving on stage
It speaks to the miracle of life And to the miracles within life The mystery of what happens In such nurturing conditions As permit emergence.
It requires a prior state No longer able to impose its limits A transformation of being Newly able to cope With different challenges Changed relationships With the surrounding world In which dependence, independence Mastery and vulnerability Are differently defined.
The uneven landscape Of human readiness, Readiness that implies something knowable For which we may be ready Uneven when forces from within Face those from without. The blankness of a magician’s face As he pulls the rabbit from the hat The kindness of the doctor When he tells you something difficult to hear The triumphant look of the runner Winning a close race in near record time The radiant strength of the mother Newly with child The ambiguity of a smile From an old friend. And how that landscape changes In moments of surprise Disappointment, anger.
What is character Except the prominence of some features Ready to engage Adaptable to the moment And others, furrowed deeply Little changed But suggesting beliefs Enduring threads of thought Traces of past struggles Inklings of irony.
Into the swamp A solo sally Stepping from hummock to hummock Tenuously balanced While watching for waterbirds, snakes. A wet foot from a momentary misstep The joy of being Of the swamp. I grab the garter By his tail An uneasy relationship Soon he slithered away From his unwanted encounter. But he had displayed his beauty and his strength Through his desire to depart. The fragile frog I caught with care His breath, his eyes Soon suggested he knew I wanted to hold him Only briefly To share his wildness, his courage His pulsing presence. The grey squirrel lingered Almost to say something Then scampered away, out of sight
I finally headed home To my supper My dog, my mom, my dad My bath, my bed, My dreams
To Dear friend Helen, Another birthday tellin’ That another year has passed That we all last and last Driven by the ache To partake of the lake That you can view Each day anew. The mask-less summer Can’t come too soon With all its loons In five or six moons Happy Happy Birthday!
The steady cold The constant cloudy light The seeming sameness that surrounds What a perfect foil For the folly and foolishness Of those who would dance On our toes.
Time to reflect and to recollect Those moments of moment That have shaped The landscape of our lives The topography of our travels The places we persisted The heights we’ve reached And, yes, the depths of our descents.
Yet this is all too much Better left as such Better left not shared not said One’s image not impaired. Instead, ready and prepared To meet one’s weighty foes And step upon their toes!
I did not anticipate That the moments of swearing in Would be so moving As to cause tears, involuntary sobs. Was it relief from allayed fears That had built To just below the level of consciousness? Was it a welling forth of thought and feelings That had gradually been repressed? Was it a sudden realization That we as a nation Came back into view Or, even more, that I found part of myself Again in view As part of the wholeness of nationhood?
It was a moment of redefinition of self, Of rediscovery of lost self Whose absence had prevented Identification with our larger national enterprise But whose absence had also diminished The extent and strength of my own being. The self became more vulnerable To worlds constructed by others Worlds where integrity consistency truth morality Were but dim shadows of the past.
I revel in the re-emergence Of leaders in politics and art Who in the light of these new days Are finding ways to move ahead With confidence and compassion. I can only hope that so many in our society Who seem embittered and disaffected Will be enlightened by the brightness and the promise That are now present.
Striking is the contrast Between my here and now And what’s there beyond.
My study With its sleeping dog In a noiseless house, The quiet reminders of other places From muted traffic, faint voices, and barking Trees rustled by the breeze.
All while There was an insurrection at the Capitol Assaulting the structures society has built To preserve our democracy. The attack, not from the outside, But from within Causing each one of us To question the innocence of our beliefs And undermining our sense of stability.
Thousands of troops now in D.C., Some still being vetted for extremism, Protecting our nation from further violence Lesser numbers in other Capitols For the same reasons.
Not lost is the irony That the pandemic has reached a record peak Of contagion and death While the politics rage with the possibility Of further turmoil
It is against this background That one can take pride In the emergence of a new national leadership That promises to address the sources of disruption And to introduce changes That will benefit our entire society, A leadership that seems to combine serenity With the determination and acuity To act morally.
It is perhaps not odd to wish to see the beyond. After all there is so much past that deserves further thought, deeper understanding. So, too, the present and speculations about the future. The beyond impinges upon us in concept, space and time, unknowable and impervious to careful scrutiny.
The beyond is not an alternative reality, and even though we cannot describe it or its exact relationship to us, it is part of the context within which we think and act. Can we learn about it, or aspects of it, that then become an active part of our conscious worlds? And if so, how? My journey will surely not be yours, neither my experience. But some ways of starting may be similar.
. A sense of incompleteness . Unfulfilled desires . Wishful thinking . What-if exercises . If-only exercises . Story telling and fiction writing . And, of course, exploration and travel.
But the beyond comprises only a part of what these ways might uncover. Because it has a more direct and operational connection to our experience than other things we might imagine, it can open vistas for our imaginations and thought, new dimensions of our experience, new directions to travel, and new reasons to do so.
Where do I look for the beyond? I start with the limits of any aspect of being:
. Place, time, circumstance . Imagination, thought, skills . One’s own history, knowledge . Relationships…
Where do I not find it? Perhaps only in my most inward turning moments, self-absorbed in immediate experiences, pleasures, indulgences; but also not in the variety of experiences of others.
The beyond, oddly, lies very close by, tantalizingly just outside the limits of our awareness, just out of reach,
Light flat Stubborn in its persistence Its sameness Its calm
Saying nothing about the place Awaiting the smallest change The smallest intrusion To which it generously gives prominence And identity
At the same time the intrusion gives identity To those aspects of the place That make the intrusion evident And that, taken together, Construct meaning
Mild movement of the trees Now wind is evident And the light snow Articulating shapes and parts of the trees Clarifying relationships among surfaces Movement of people, vehicles Making evident their paths of movement Revealing their behavior Through speed, direction, energy, noise, consistency
Now the evening submerges all In darkening shades of grey.
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