sabbatical

It seems like every day I read a new article about the need for a sabbatical from technology and the fast pace of the world. Those slow pandemic days are fading fast.

Some people talk about a secular Sabbath, some want to revive the religious one. Some people propose not only ditching technology for 24 hours each week, but creating new shared rituals and places for community during those times. Some talk about just taking a day to go and sit with the trees, to experience the world at their pace. I wonder how many of us could actually slow down and withdraw from our devices enough to actually spend a day that way.

And all of these ideas are a hard sell in a capitalist world.

the water reflects
the world through the trees dappled
sky moving over
rocks and feet planted
like hushed reeds waiting to sing
the songs of quiet movement
and transforming light

This drawing is part of my attempt to try different things in my art journal. Many artists write on their pages as well as draw. The image is based on an advertisement photo–I removed the models and the product (I can’t remember now what it was) and wrote spontaneously about the landscape. Whatever they were selling, I wasn’t buying. But I always notice trees.

let life move
while you rest outside
and listen

For earthweal, Interdependence Day.

centermost

become empty—o
pen yourself until the wind
fills you to zero

draw yourself in circles, hold
your essence out, listening

For the final day of NaPoWriMo, the prompt is to write a poem in the form of a series of directions describing how a person should get to a particular place.

Thanks to Maureen Thorson for once again providing a home for poetry and for all those who read and commented on my efforts this April.

abiding

If I became
the wind, I would be
breath itself–

no need to swallow
air and turn it
vibrating into sound.

I would be
the universal chord
transformed into stories

that appear suddenly
surrounded
by stars,

carried by
the voices of
cosmic seas.

I would speak
in parallel
with the trees,

listen
as they released
their wisdom

on the wings of
birds, woven
with ancient messages

still wild and waiting
to be translated
into form.

I would be
the light
reflected as sky,

the night’s
dark
mystery.

I would be
every song
all at once,

the portal
into what can’t
be seen.

Do you hear
the whispered
invitation?

It is the unbroken
promise of
the moon’s return,

the painted journey
of the sun hovering
on the horizon,

of the waters
that rock the ages
into safe harbors.

Will you follow?
Stand open
and still

and be
prepared
to fly.

I’ve been working on this poem on and off for awhile. And I may work on it again, but here it is, as of today.

light years

black
hole
rabbit
hole—is it
curiosity
or gravity that pulls us in?

black hole sun s

The NaPoWriMo prompt for Day 7 is to write either a shadorma or a Fib poem. I’ve written hundreds of shadormas (see Days 4 and 6 for example), so I decided to try a Fib, inspired by this article I was reading in the NY Science Times: https://www.nytimes.com/2021/03/24/science/astronomy-messier-87-black-hole.html

It’s a form that seems especially good for questions.

resounding

bells
answer
each other
ringing over
and over as they
tangle with the wind, spin
sailing into echoed waves–
voices patterning the air with
streaming currents, orbed layers of song

A reverse nonet for Colleen’s #TankaTuesday words, mingle and drift.

I had an idea for the art and I did a few different versions with ink and watercolor on rice paper. Although none are exactly what I had in mind, they all have aspects I like.

Also linking to dVerse OLN.

and as a bonus two very different versions of The Carol of the Bells

The Color of Zero

Zero nests in between
darkness and light–
the black snake of the enso–
ouroboros consuming itself,
surrounded by circles
of white waves that are all
colors condensed
into the vision of none.

The emptiness of white
is contained in the deep vast
eternity of black–
an uneasy balance of possibility
ready to step into the abyss
like the fool.

Zero is the harlequin of innocence
wearing the mask of either/or–
comedy and tragedy opposing
but always joined–

a placeholder, not grey,
not veiled, but reflecting
an infinity that can be
seen only in relationship,
that when multiplied becomes
both more of what
it is and more of what
it is not.

Dusklight and dawnlight hover
on the border of uncertainty–
the hidden rainbow
and the vast uncolorable
center of waiting
that is
the cosmic
mind.

For the dVerse prompt of synesthesia, provided by Grace.

autumn moon (bundled in hope and fear)

The shadows follow my intersections with the moonlight as I move the ground with my feet.  I am not thinking of who I am or where I might be going.

Cocooned in myself I walk alone, yet I remain threaded to the aliveness of what passes me by.  I cross paths and spiral through scattered clouds, patterned in parallel with the shining dark sky.

who
enters this
circle of night?

 

More moon meditations for Frank Tassone’s haibun prompt at dVerse.