Mountain Climbing
I’ve tended to plot straight lines of perpetual ascent
Through sky, toward sun, to pinnacles.
But find myself plodding
Through unforeseen terrain,
Of vertical cliffs, sudden turns
Daunting drops,
Hoping I’d find my way.
From time to time
I’d reach a height
And stand aglow
Victorious
In bright of day.
But my stance would be shaken.
Life’s curves come unexpectedly.
I’d twist and twirl to depths
To dark crevices
To sit in shame.
In time
I’d settle my soul
Glance up through floating clouds
And reconsider a climb.
But like Sisyphus’s trial
My course had no end
The golden summit is not to be possessed.
Receiving the Present
Each morning, I awake.
Ideas flit through the curves of my brain:
“Can I build my body to bike to the beach?
Could folk dancing in my living room cultivate community?
Where would a solar shower sit in my yard?”
A train of thought rambles.
Temptation sweetly whistles
Ready to take me on a ride
To a perfect world.
But first
I step from the box of my house
And plant my curved feet on arching earth.
Oak leaves crackle
Bahia grass bows
Damp soil soothes
As I pace supple, solid ground,
left, right
left, right
to my growing garden.
On the edge
Between plant and sky
Conical okras twirl
Spiraling lima bean tendrils dance
In an ever-changing array.
I inhale sun’s rays and sky’s waves
Visitor that I am from the framed world
Of rectangular phones
Flat screens and
Linear text.
I stretch stiff straits from my back
And bend to touch musky earth.
I try to grasp Nature’s ways
On these brief, enlivening sojourns
But her welcoming smile spreads miles past my gaze
In expanses of mysterious, quiet passages
Of majestic pines, parading palms,
Fanciful ferns and nesting needles
From eons of her embroidered dance.
I find, though, I follow patterned paths
Fumbling on familiar steps
As when I started sowing seeds years back
Cherishing each broccoli rabe and tomato seedling sprouted
Running circles in search of spots to plant each life.
No matter I was running out of space
No thought of how I’d consume the fruit
No care for what I could tend to.
I felt the need to grasp each possibility
And bring it to fruition
In my foolish
Frenzied fight
Against loss
And letting go
Though I carried too much.
But Nature tarried on
As warm-hearted parent smiling at a child
Trying to mimic cherished ways.
Through seasons, I have watched.
Not all lettuce seeds sprout.
A portion of pumpkin seedlings thrive.
Zucchini arrives from nowhere and extends.
Thoughtful neighbors bring sweet potato starts.
Something’s always going.
Something’s always growing
Beyond my doing.
No need to grasp.
More’s on its way.
Consenting to Circles
Having inhaled natural day
I stroll back to my house.
Inside
Through open windows
Sun lightens walls
Breeze billows curtains
And brushes my cheek
Singing
Life is here
Life is here.
Reflecting on the present
I collect strands of thought
Still in my mind
And jot them down
To consider later
Then settle into the day’s doing.
It’s Monday
So I’ll wash cotton bedding
Sweep terrazzo floors
Shake and lay out woven carpets.
I’m trying to mimic life’s cycle
Tomorrow I’ll pay the water bill and record receipts
Wednesday, I’ll can split pea soup and make oat crackers
Everything in its time
By my design.
I used to do the fun stuff
Scribble down a song in my head
Call Jess to chat
Crochet cotton towels
Or what called in the moment
Read a text that came through
Or the book by my bed
Or walk in the rain.
I’d cram in dusting end tables
Pruning a bush overreaching the walkway
And mending torn spaghetti straps
When the need could no longer be ignored
Then rush back to the real stuff.
I’m learning
To tend to each task
In its time
As part of a circle –
Creation and dissolution.
I’m leaning into the picking up
And putting away
Reflecting on what’s past
Readying for what’s to come
Partaking in the process
Relaxed in the ordering.
Though I struggle still not to take on
More than fits
As waves of endeavors arise
I’m becoming aware of
Distinct strands of motion
And separating out what needs attending
What’s mine to do
And leaving the rest.
No longer seeking heights
But following as the path weaves
Its magnificent fabric
In mysterious folds.
Not focusing on gaining
Status nor goods
But garnering lessons
Of the Way.
Understanding
And good will
Are pinnacles
I walk toward
Through every hill and valley
Of my earthly path.
As the wheel of life turns
Compressing me as it churns
Breaking walls
Making my soul part
Of its masterpiece
Of which I choose to be a part
The work done
In my being
Unseen by outer world
Shines through all
I say and do.
As we enter quiet of winter
I’ll not turn to electric bulbs
Once dusk falls with fading sun
But settle into darkness
Putting aside fright
And the need to act.
I’ll fan the flame of inner light
Take stock with inner sight
Look upon barren landscapes
Ponder what’s beneath
Reflect on what’s passed
Consider what’s coming
And pause
Before moving on.
Sometimes, the way forward is back and around.
