A Poem On A Thursday

A few by Czeslaw Milosz...

Love

Love means to learn to look at yourself
The way one looks at distant things
For you are only one thing among many. 
And whoever sees that way heals his heart, 
Without knowing it, from various ills—
A bird and a tree say to him: Friend. 
Then he wants to use himself and things
So that they stand in the glow of ripeness. 
It doesn’t matter whether he knows what he serves: 
Who serves best doesn’t always understand. 


Faith

Faith is in you whenever you look
At a dewdropp or a floating leaf
And know that they are because they have to be.
Even if you close your eyes and dream up things
The world will remain as it has always been
And the leaf will be carried by the waters of the river.

You have faith also when you hurt your foot
Against a sharp rock and you know
That rocks are there to hurt our feet.
See the long shadow that is cast by the tree?
We and trees throw shadows on the earth.
What has not shadow has no strength to live. 

A State Of Praise

Lately I've been feeling like a buffalo--in the sense that I feel abundance and gratitude. The Plains Indians believed the buffalo to be the most sacred of animals--it was the major source of sustenance and yet it did not readily stampede and run from hunters. As if it desired to give the gifts that its body provided. For this reason the Plains Indians likened the buffalo as a kind of prayer--praise for the richness of life, for harmony, and gratefulness for what was received. I am not running scared, rather I feel utter contentment and honored to be on this pathway. For over a year I had been living in hyper-speed--so many trials and changes and opportunities for growth. I had so much longing! I realize now I was searching for a place to rest my heart. And now--now it's come to find a home and it is peaceful. I've found a place to rest, to be thankful.

A Weekend In Pictures

Jess and I had such a great time hanging out this weekend. Despite the cold, I managed to take her on a tour of several of Des Moines hot spots. She loved it here! Loved the people and options and unique places and look of things. When we weren't touring the town we were lazing at home with good coffee and music and talk. Our weekends together always feel restorative and insightful.

 Phoenix getting dressed up before Jess's arrival. Her latest kick is wearing swimsuits over clothes. I caught her standing on the bathroom counter putting star stickers on the wall...

 Did I mention Fisher is obsessed with playing santa? He really gets in to taking on different personas. If he doesn't become an artist like he says he wants to be I'm pretty certain he'll be an actor. Here we are at the Science Center before we dropped him off at preschool--Phoenix is telling him what she wants for Christmas.

 My turn...

 First night with Jessica!

 Came across this sweet bike rack in East Village--an old radiator.

Night numero dos!

Weekend Plans

Look out Des Moines! One of my best girls will be heading westward to this here city today, slicing her way in a tin box through the cold to spend the weekend with me. I imagine I'll take her out to my favorite sushi joint tonight, then we'll stop at a few of my favorite haunts, and later on sit in the blaze of music for hours and talk about the world and writing and love and doing and goings on. We'll figure out the missing pieces--ones we didn't even realize were missing--the right words only a good friend with a bead on your heart can flesh. Tomorrow there will be much of the same. And dancing--lots and lots of dancing. (And Kristina, there will be missing you--the completion of our triad!) You'll be inundated with pics of me and Jessica once this weekend is through. May all of you find a richness to your weekend...

Incredible Shadows

A friend recently sent me the link to this site which includes the work of two artists who assemble trash in such an astonishing way that when light is shown it creates shadows of people in various poses. I couldn't help but think of the idea that "we are what we consume". The shadows are absolutely incredible and the materials used to make them are utterly gritty and disgusting. But therein lies another truth--we are often clouded to the wake of our consumption. So often we see only what is in front of us and not how our choices mar what we can't readily see. We toss it aside, tie it in plastic bags and let the world deal with it. This is the art of sustainability in a round about way. Have your mind blown here: http://www.thisismarvelous.com/i/4-Amazing-Shadow-Sculptures-by-Tim-Noble-and-Sue-Webster

Excerpts

Instead of starting my morning with coffee and a thought to expound upon I dug into a book I picked up the other day: Super Brain: Unleashing the Explosive Power of Your Mind to Maximize Health, Happiness, and Spiritual Well-Being by Deepak Chopra and Rudolph Tanzi. I'd been wanting to read this for a while and I feel the pull to fill my mind with books and learning--to make that my focus these days. I mention this because my posts might be sparse for the next few days. I'm doing research for future thoughts! Here are a few excerpts from the first chapter:

"One of the unique things about the human brain is that it can only do what it thinks it can do. The minute you say, 'My memory isn't what it used to be' or 'I can't remember a thing today,' you are actually training your brain to live up to your diminished expectations. Low expectations mean low results. The first rule of super brain is that your brain is always eavesdropping on your thoughts. As it listens, it learns. If you teach it about limitation, your brain will become limited. But what if you do the opposite? What if you teach your brain to be unlimited?"

And in regards to biofeedback loops: "Try the following exercise: Look at the palm of your hand. Feel it as you look. Now imagine that it is getting warmer. Keep looking and focus on it getting warmer; see the color becoming redder. If you maintain focus on this intention, your palm will in fact grow warm and red. Tibetan Buddhist monks use this simple biofeedback loop ... to warm their entire bodies."

Back to reading...

A Poem On A Monday

I've been on a kick lately--enjoying the photography of Noel Kerns. I am drawn to his photos of ghost towns, of industrial decay. There is something alluring and romantic about seeing constructions that had once been lived and loved and worked in. A representation of toil and of what it takes to sustain our physical lives, and once they have been used up or something else comes along, it's left abandoned. Small Iowa towns are dying (factory farms and the promise of larger towns and cities have resulted in dwindling populations) and I imagine some day tourists will come visit these areas for the first time. The reason--to see the bones of a certain slice of history. Growing up, I had a friend who lived in the country and near her house was an abandoned trailer. And by abandoned I mean it was as if the inhabitants had just vanished, leaving all the accessories of their lives--clothing, food, containers, books, furniture--behind. We used to think it was some brave thing to go wandering around that trailer, to peek in the windows and even tiptoe through the rooms. I'm not sure why we felt the need to tiptoe around in there, a place unlived in for years, but it seemed like the honorable thing to do in the wake of all those things that had belonged to someone. So here's a poem about that place (which was previously published in White Pelican Review), but first here's the link to Noel Kern's website...http://www.noelkernsphotography.com/

Abandoned Trailer

An uncapped wine cooler,

three sips gone, near the kitchen sink

and dirty dishes, frying pan

on the stove for some ghost

with a hunger. Garbage bags full

on the floor. Raccoon droppings

in overturned dresser drawers.

Women’s dresses, bright make-up

in the bathroom, bobby pins, some

combs. There’s a crow’s nest

by the bed. Broken windows,

target practice holes. Sofa,

lonely chairs.

When they left, they took only

a car and their skin. What release

that must have been.

Front door slapping shut and they

looked back once at home

choked in dust from their tires

feeding open road.

No one remembers them. 

For years I’d wander through their

rooms like a wind and wondered

what air it takes to abandon.

There’s a strong bone behind

hands that quit. A raw heart to change

when so few of us could.

They’re mocking us in their deserting,

or else teaching. All these bits

are nothing. They saw this and ran

through dusty fields to know the sky

under their arms, at their back

like an oath, loose as gravel.

Ripe feet shooting sparks

like waterfalls, the certain miles.

Casey Lord