Watery wind battered our serene and wondrous landscape.
Fury, darkness, and destruction
were waged upon our bucolic home
as the world we had come to trust rose against us
and the lovely trees and friendly stones turned into weapons
and death came to our neighborhood through raging waters.
In the morning, in the quiet after the hurricane
a tiny buzzing like a bee outside the window,
a flash of a ruby throat
and neon body hovering in the air.
A hummingbird, all of an inch long,
appeared at the feeder,
his biggest need being for breakfast
and a quick trip to a neighboring Petunia blossom.
Where I wondered did he go for refuge in the storm?
How did he manage to live through the nightmare
that destroyed those much larger than himself?
And I think about the children who are battered,
deserted and denied –
where do they go for warmth and hope and loving hugs and safety?
They have, I hope, as does the hummingbird at my window
hearts born resilient
tempered in the fires of loss
and transformed by the power of truth.
Bending like the body of a Willow
her limbs sweep the ground
and loosely dangle
Till straight up like a Sunflower
she stretches to the sky
caresses the birds and sometimes the clouds
Then, body parallel to ground
she opens and opens
until twisted roots untangle and align with the earth
Fastening her eyes on the horizon
she sees the sky blush as it receives
the first kisses of light
The life of dark time recedes
as lightness returns
revealing secrets hidden, now glowing
in the freshness of dawn.
She feels the sun awaken
as all things stand and bow
as she stands and bows in awe
at the return of grace
and to honor the light that lives within in her own heart.
This is called Sun Salutation.
My Life and the Complaining Cow
Lying on my back on my yoga mat
looking for insights on the ceiling
the way astronomers look for stars against the sky
waiting for that one instant when all will become clear.
And when the big solution arrives
there’s no band of angels announcing the coming of the answer
no star in the east, no light in the tunnel, no trumpets or gonging bells, no voice in the darkness
but here come the geese, again, and the complaining cow across the road
here’s the kiss of the fog and whispers in the shadows
here are phone calls from friends and the adoring stares of dogs,
here is unlimited biscotti,
a kiss from my sweetheart
here is my life.
Prayer Takes Flight (An Artist’s Statement)
This morning poems and prayers appeared in the paint
as I smudged colors on an unfolding canvas.
Verses of joy, gratitude and aspirations for truth and life
jumped from the luminous hues
and when I chased after them
I saw yearnings, previously snared in drying pigments,
rushing freely upward on beams of rainbow suns
shimmering in the snow.
All today I searched to see where my fleeing hopes had gone
and now, in the evening skyI see where they have landed.
There are the poems of my heart bouncing in the star lights
and my desires are taking voice
in the cries of the night hawk.
And my paintings have not ended with the departure of those prayers
for, no longer trapped on a canvas
the visions sparkle with renewed awareness
of their Heavenly Source
and return to rain stains and pictures of love and holy light
upon the flat cloth surfaces of artists
and the rolling skin of earth.
Once I called to the past
and the past answered clearly, joyously
Memories dancing with laughter.
Once I called to the past
and the past answered clearly, sadly
weeping tears enough to wet the world.
Today I called to the past
and heard only an empty echo
returning to me
No musical refrain, no complaints of wounded heart.
Maybe the past has died
abandoning me to my very present self
Distractions are deceased
leaving me with this very present moment.