The Snow Geese

Yesterday morning I sat at my desk looking out at the snow on the ground and the trees and the kids’ slide when I saw a small group of birds flying in a “v” as some geese and ducks do. But I did not recognize what these birds were–white bodies with black wing tips. After a quick search I discovered that they were Snow Geese! I had never seen a single Snow Goose in my life and they aren’t normally seen where I live. I was delighted. So, in honor of my unexpected visitors yesterday, I share this poem by Mary Oliver:

Image Source: http://www.howardsview.com/SnowGoose/SnowGeeseFly1.jpg

Snow Geese

Oh, to love what is lovely, and will not last!
What a task
to ask

of anything, or anyone,

yet it is ours,
and not by the century or the year, but by the hours.

One fall day I heard
above me, and above the sting of the wind, a sound
I did not know, and my look shot upward; it was

a flock of snow geese, winging it
faster than the ones we usually see,
and, being the color of snow, catching the sun

so they were, in part at least, golden. I

held my breath
as we do
sometimes
to stop time
when something wonderful
has touched us

as with a match,
which is lit, and bright,
but does not hurt
in the common way,

but delightfully,
as if delight
were the most serious thing
you ever felt.

The geese
flew on,
I have never seen them again.

Maybe I will, someday, somewhere.
Maybe I won’t.
It doesn’t matter.
What matters
is that, when I saw them,
I saw them
as through the veil, secretly, joyfully, clearly.

Daylight

Daylight arrives when it will.

We cannot by a wish

or a cry

make it come sooner

nor force it to remain

past that instant

when darkness descends

—KLG

My Journey

I take each

step

with one foot

in my soul

and one

in the world

Do the Trees Feel

do the trees feel
as i feel
this autumnal day

stripped of the last
of their glory
by yesterday’s fierce wind

no green gold red
to hide their hearts
from searching eyes

skeletons laid bare
beneath a low gray sky
starkly vulnerable

do the trees feel
as i feel
this autumnal day

image source: http://farm1.static.flickr.com/124/318798543_7dd1f6f5d4.jpg

OH, MY!

Every so often life presents you with an “Oh, my!” moment. When your beloved touches you or kisses you in just that way. When your child does something so amazing that you are left wondering, “Where did that come from?” When you read or hear a thought so profound that your mind wobbles just a bit. When you see a work of art or read a poem in which the whole universe unfolds.

I had one of those moments this morning. Aware that I had a number of very large tasks to do, all of which had to be done today, I was slowly and quietly moving into my day. I had a warm cup of coffee on the desk beside me. A Haydn symphony was flowing out of my speakers. I had a book open in my hand. I was relaxing into my desk chair for a few minutes of quiet.

Then I looked up…OH, MY!

Outside of my window was a scene that set my soul soaring. A glorious autumn morning. The sunlight coming at that wonderful autumnal angle. The remaining leaves on the trees fluttering in the breeze. A blue sky with just a few clouds flowing across it.

OH, MY!

I set my book aside, turned off the desk lamp, sat back, wrapped both hands around my cup of coffee, and looked out the window. Haydn still played, but now the leaves seemed to be dancing in time with his music. The clouds sailed in front of the sky as if obeying his unseen baton. What a glorious moment!

As all things do, the moment passed. Very quickly, actually. A ceiling of clouds rolled in, blocking out the sunlight. The breeze ceased causing the leaves to dance. For a few minutes after, my heart still felt full from that brief moment. Although it is gone, I am not saddened by its departure. Instead I am glad at the brief blessing I received this morning.

Windvoice

windvoice heard in the trees
telling long effortless leagues
of hot gritty sand
of rocky cloud-encased peaks
of frigid stumbling streams
of tides of green gold grass
of flicker of aspen leaves
of flutter of soaring pinioned wings
of hair lifted to cool hot skin beneath
so much you tell me, windvoice
one question yet i have for you
tell me
you who have
traveled so far seen so much
have you seen me any place

–Sept. 3, 1998

Haiku: Sit By Still Water

Sit by still water
leaves drift through vision
thoughts drift though mind

eddy caught leaf
mind trapped in painful thought
now free floats away

Unchanged

On a typical morning, my meditation lasts 20 minutes. That’s the time I have between when I wake up and when I need to get my daughters up and ready to get on their school bus. One recent morning, however, as I sat down to meditate, I couldn’t get the meditation timer that I’ve downloaded onto my tablet to work. I fussed and fussed with it until I had run out of time to meditate. Oh, well, I thought, I’ll just do it after they are gone.

While getting them ready, I downloaded a 30-minute timer so that I could try a longer sit since I would have the time. After they left, I began my meditation.

Morning dew on spider web. Photo by Author

It was going well, at least from my perspective. I was breathing easily. I was not dwelling overly much on the swingings to and fro of my monkey mind. I was relaxed but alert.

Just about half way through, I would guess, a series of unpleasant thoughts began to arise…accusatory thoughts, dark fears, memories of mistakes and ill-considered words and actions. Isn’t if funny how in meditation, the mind rarely drags out good thoughts! I began to resist these thoughts…labeling each one in a hope they would simply go away. Maybe the torrent would cease, but it didn’t.

So I decided to just sit and let them be. Let them rise. Don’t label them, just let them rise and see what happens. Surely enough, soon my mind was filled with these dark and troubling thoughts and images and fears and fantasies. They howled and danced around me, filling the mental space around me. They seemed like the army that Mara sent to challenge the Buddha as he sat under the Bodhi tree awaiting enlightenment. Shooting their arrows to distract and harm him.

The thoughts came, shooting their arrows to distract and harm me. I could almost feel their weight trying to bear down on me, trying to force me into a slouch, trying to get me to admit to myself that all my recent growth is a sham. These thoughts and images and actions, they are the real me…such was the narrative they told. But I just sat there…breathing…in…out…in…out. Watching them cavort and yell. Not commenting on them. Not resisting them. Just watching and breathing…in…out.

As the Buddha’s story goes, as he sat there unflinching, unyielding, the arrows of Mara’s army turned to flowers and dropped to the ground. Now, I claim no enlightenment. I claim no spiritual superiority. I am just a man searching for his beautiful spirit. What I simply felt that morning was that as I did not resist all those negative thoughts and fantasies, they could not and did not harm me. They did not change me. All the self-accusation, all the self-loathing, all the darkness dredged up, all the guilt that were thrown at me did not effect me. Were they true? Sadly I must confess that some of them were. But some of them were mere fearful fantasies. Some of them were outright falsehoods or clever reinterpretations. But that morning, sitting there in the stillness with my right foot falling asleep and my back hurting, I could see these thoughts for just what they were…thoughts, ephemeral as the smoke that rises when I extinguish a candle. Separate from me…just thoughts.

Morning dew on spider web. Photo by Author

And if my own thoughts and fears and anxieties cannot harm me, they why should those of other people? I am far more ruthless with myself than any other person, so if I can sit before such an assault and still smile, then why should I allow the words and opinions and actions of others to harm me or convince me that I am other than who I am?

I stood up. Stretched. Shook my right foot awake. And smiled.

My Becoming

other’s words actions

rocks boulders in my course

obstructing constricting

yet

summoning my strength

speeding me toward

my Becoming

The Worst Cage

Image source: http://shannamann.com/files/bird_cage.jpg

the worst kind of cage
is one whose bars
we sense but
cannot see

wondering why
our backs are bent
our songs will not rise
our wings will not spread

until in the faintest light
of a blessed morning
we discover someone
left the door open

stepping out

our backs unbend
we stand straight

our songs burst forth
in power and beauty

our wings unfurl
and we soar

to heights unimagined