REJECTION

He sent some poems away to magazines,

and soon they all returned with frowns, and said

they were rejected. He was sad because

they were his friends, these modest groups

of simple words, and so he set them in the light

and let them glow again the way they did

when they had first appeared inside his mind

like lilting dancers or singers singing songs

he’d never heard. They seemed to smile again,

these small unwanted poems, and so he smiled,

and then the world spun again and sent

him several new and tuneful twirling poems.

GREAT STORIES

I was saying to Delycia this morning that the recent events in the life of one of our friends would make a great story, and shortly after, I found myself thinking about some other great stories surrounding us. There’s the story of why the sun shines the way it does day after day, the story of how night knows just when to start its stars shining, the story of this spinning, handsome earth and its inhabitants, the story of a single spider on a shaking web beside the house. There’s the story of how a new breath brings new life to both of our lungs, the story of our muscles somehow showing our bodies how to move, and the story of our bones bearing our weight with reasonable ease. These are stunning little everyday stories that make our lives – and all lives -- great in different and distinctive ways.  

SHE HOPES SHE CAN HELP

"Coffee Shop",
watercolor,
by Nita Leger Casey

She always tries to pour a perfect cup

of coffee. She cares about her customers,

about their sorrows and their unfolding

futures. The steam from the coffee

floats upward like her feelings for Frank,

who comes in at five minutes to five every

morning to improve his life a little.

She hopes she can help him by handing him

a flawless cup of coffee as the sun lifts

itself and lets the new day start. She

smiles because she knows there will be

another customer for her after Frank.

FOLLOWING THOUGHTS

FOLLOWING THOUGHTS

If you follow a thought,

you could find where it goes

and what it does.

It’s fairly easy.

You can simply stand somewhere,

perhaps on a promising morning,

and just release a thought,

be it scary or joyous,

worrisome or soothing,

and just watch where it goes,

and then follow it.

Stay close enough

so you see its special colors

as it steps along

through the universe of thoughts,

and soon enough,

it will slip off

into nothingness, and then,

standing restful and

separate from your thoughts,

you can set another one free

and follow it, just

for fun and instruction.

WHEN YOU FEEL OLD

WHEN YOU FEEL OLD

You could speak to strangers like

you love them. You could carry

someone’s loneliness and discover

you can do it. You could speak

a friend’s name and know it would

be known by the birds in her garden.

You could give the gift of listening

to someone who’s struggling, and you

could struggle, when you have to,

like it’s not a struggle, but a test

you’ve studied for and will ace.

A PERFECT MORNING

A PERFECT MORNING

"Morning at Pratt Rock",
acrylic
by Jamie Williams Grossman

It was a perfect morning. The lamplight

in the living room looked precisely

like it had to look, and the table cloth

was wrinkled in all the right places.

His fingers were impeccably old, his

breathing whistled in quintessential ways,

and his heartbeats splendidly shuffled

on this thoroughly immaculate morning.

SIGNALS

"Morning Moon", oil,
by Carol Keene

SIGNALS

The sky stood up one morning

and made a signal to him,

like people might make

when happiness is holding them.

It was a September sky

with blueness so bright

it brought him a blessing

as he sipped his coffee,

and he signaled back

to the sky that he too

was happy and hoped

the sky and he

would stay that way. 

Saturday 9/13/14

Thursday 9/11/14

Wed., Sept 10, 2014

I DONT NEED MUCH

“I DON’T NEED MUCH”

(Elizabeth D., age 62)

“I don't need much. The sun shining

for even a short time on a dark day

is fine for me. A glass of shining water

in my hand, a piece of toast

perfectly prepared, the sound of footsteps

in soft snow - all these are enough

to bring a feeling of fulfillment.

I eat my meals from a small plate

on a small table. One simple window

in the kitchen lets in a lovely light

which always seems to surround my table

and my small plate with optimism.”

WALKING WITH A FRIEND

"Intimate Friends":,
oil on birch panel
by Gerald Schwartz

WALKING WITH A FRIEND

Walking with his best friend on a summer day

is a new beginning for him. It’s a way

of getting gifts from the sunshine,

a way of seeing a sure sign

that there are more smiles than smirks

in this world. He feels the works

of love inside them as they walk,

hears the sounds of quietness as they talk.

He sometimes feels like he’s flying,

especially when the trees are sighing

in friendship while they walk. The gate

called Peace opens for them. They create

a brand new world for each other, a rebirth

each moment of him and her and the earth.

THE GRACEFULNESS IN LIFE

THE GRACEFULNESS IN LIFE

(what Millie, age 69, said at Rocky Neck Beach)

 

"Leading Edge", oil on panel,
by Robin Cheers

I lost a loved one years ago,

but this beach will be with me forever.

I live in a small house now,

but this sandy shore is my home,

this holy place of pretty birds

and waves that wash ashore

with so much style. My son died

of alcohol poisoning at seventeen,

but sometimes I still see Stevie

sliding toward me on the surf.

He bought a surfboard at fifteen,

and flowed with the waves

as gracefully as anyone ever has.

Now, I come to this beautiful beach

to live my elderly life

with the smoothness of Stevie’s surfing,

to see the gracefulness in life

that doesn’t need beer to be seen.

THE CLEAREST LIGHT

(what Jennie O., age 66, a clerk at the supermarket, said)

“I see lots of sad people at the store,

folks who have forgotten how full of kindness

life can be. I can’t blame them, of course,

since I’m sure they’ve seen enough suffering

to switch off all the light in their lives.

I like my job because maybe I can bring

some sunlight into their overcast lives, just

for a second or two. Simply a smile from me

can maybe make someone see the kindness

that cares for all of us, always, except

that sometimes we don’t notice it. I send out

my friendship to every shopper, especially

the ones whose sorrow seems to surround them.

I hand them their receipt, and a smile,

because kindness is the clearest light.”  

JUST SITTING

(with Delycia at The Common Man Hotel, Claremont, NH, 8/27/2014)

Sitting with tea in our hotel room

reminded me that some things

are nearly always sitting. The stones

in riverbeds sit still for centuries

while the water washes and polishes them

so kayakers can see them sitting

and shining in their places. A lamp

sits on a table for days and days

and doesn’t move, whether sorrow surrounds

the people in the house, or joy joins

their hands in reassurance. The lamp

let’s things happen while it just sits.

The hotel, too, takes its time

and simply sits where it is

as we and the planets and stars swirl

through this leisurely universe.    


                                  The Common Man Inn, Claremont, NH

IN GOOD HANDS

 

"Starry Night", acrylic on masonite,
by Toni Grote

         Like most of us, I have spent a significant amount of time concerned about my safety and security, but sometimes it comes to me with clarity that this infinite and friendly universe has me in its very good hands. The truth is that I am not a separate, solitary person, but an essential and sheltered part of a single everlasting force, sometimes called God, the Tao, or just the Universe – a force that is always doing what is absolutely perfect for itself. If I close my eyes, I can see my life as a waft in a wind that never started and will never stop, or a wave in an endless ocean. How can this waft or this wave possibly be harmed? They can change, certainly – every atom in this universe is constantly swirling and transforming – but instead of fearing these changes, I should try to appreciate them. This astonishing universe takes good care of uncountable atoms and cells and particles, forever and ever, and it will take good care of that part of itself currently called “me”. Trust it, Ham.

SOFT AND STRONG

A person could be soft and strong, 

sort of like the sparrows that feed at feeders 

beside windows, their small bodies poised 

in strength and ease. You could sit beside a sorrow, 

and sit straight and resilient, saying to the sorrow 

that you are the supervisor, not it, and you 

take instructions from the sun and the stars, 

not from sorrow. You could get nourishment 

from your sorrow, sitting bravely beside it 

and softly snacking on the wisdom 

that waits inside this feeder 

that something has hung beside your life.    

COMFORTABLE WORDS

    In my reading this morning, I came across the phrase “comfortable words” (see below), and I wondered if I should pay more attention to those kinds of words in the future. The word “comfort” derives from the Latin word for “strength”, suggesting that strong words, those that stand up and speak sincerely and clearly, can also be the most comfortable ones. We say something is comfortable when it’s soothing and restful, and perhaps strong, straightforward, stalwart words, whether written or spoken, can bring some of that kind of comfort to us. After all, sometimes just being in the presence of wholesome strength can cause us to rest in reassurance, knowing that not much can harm us with so much forthright spirit close by. Words that do their work with honesty and force can reassure us, settle us down, and send us toward some faith that this world can be considerably more comfortable than painful.  

“. . .when he spake and cheered his Table Round

  With [. . .] comfortable words.”

      -- Alfred, Lord Tennyson, “The Idylls of the King”

PRESENCE

"Presence", oil, by Kristin Grevich

     Perhaps all of us know people who seem to shine with what we might call “presence”. These are people who seem thoroughly present, wherever they might be. When you’re with them, they give the gift of being completely with you, entirely in attendance, wholly here right now. In a strange sort of way, the presence of these people can create a sense in us of expansiveness, extensiveness, almost boundlessness, as though when they enter a room the walls seem to dissolve and an uncommon kind of freedom is felt. They are not only present with us, but completely content, satisfied, and pleased to be right where they are, which sometimes makes us feel, for perhaps a few moments, something similar, something satisfying and reassuring and empowering.      

SMILING AT WRINKLES

"The Old Man and the Sea", oil,
by Kay Crain

  It’s strange to me that so many senior citizens seem to hate their skin’s wrinkles, since I feel rather fond of mine. After all, wrinkles in the skin show that a person has survived for scores of years – has made a good fight of it, has stayed strong through decades, has done what needed to be done to enter the eminent empire of old age. Wrinkles mean perseverance, stamina, staying power. In some parts of the world, people with the most wrinkles receive the most reverence, simply because they’ve endured and carried on – and also because others sense that wisdom silently spreads out from these creased and craggy senior citizens. I’m not sure how much wisdom my old furrowed head contains, but I do smile when I see my wrinkles in the mirror. I give a silent shout of thankfulness that life has given me all these ridges and grooves, all these wrinkly badges of honor, all these crumpled emblems of a long and lucky life.   

COMING TO MYSELF

     In the Bible story of the prodigal son, one translation says the wasteful son “came to himself”, as though, in the midst of the confusion and dissipation of his life, he suddenly came face to face with his actual self – with who he truly was. I was thinking of that story this morning, and it reminded me of a conversation I had years ago with a friend who had suffered through a long and enormous sorrow. He said that, to his surprise, his sorrow had actually helped him understand who he was. He was a very successful teacher and devoted family man, and yet he said that only through this recent suffering had he gotten a glimpse of his true nature, and even a small glimpse of the nature of reality itself. He said it seemed like he’d been blind all his life, and now, in the calm after all this sorrow, he could suddenly see. I remember that something in his eyes seemed resplendent when he said that, and he smiled like a man re-made, which astonished me, because I knew the devastating nature of his sorrow. Like the prodigal son, his anguish had somehow shown him how to “come to himself”.

     Strange, that at 72, I’m still searching for my true self. I’m sure it will be something surprising, and perhaps beautiful, when I finally find it. When I do, I’ll think of the reborn Bible son and my suffering but thankful friend.

ON BEING FRESH

"Fresh Breeze", oil,
by Robin Cheers

I was sometimes a sassy boy, causing my mother to scold me for being “fresh”, and now, strangely, at the age of 72, I’m still fresh, and feeling lucky to be so. It seems odd that “fresh” sometimes means shameless and brazen, whereas I always took it to mean simply something new, something spotless and unused and pristine.  As a boy, I guess I sometimes felt that kind of freshness as I lived the capricious and lucky life of my childhood, and I feel it more and more in these whimsical days of my 70’s. I feel fresh thoughts arriving almost always. True, they sometimes seem like the “same old same old” thoughts, but I somehow feel their freshness as they switch on their lights inside me. Each thought is as unsullied as the sunshine I see before me as I’m writing this outside. Each feeling flows from a fresh source, no matter how old and familiar it may seem. Actually, even with my wrinkles and slumped shoulders and squeaky voice, I’m feeling fresher than ever (in an un-sassy way) and finding some fun in it. (I can see mom smiling at the news.) 

GOLD FREELY GIVEN

"Sunlit Leaves", acrylic,
by Jennifer Vranes

     Mowing the lawn this morning, I came upon some golden leaves spread beneath one of our birch trees. It was a surprise, of course, since it’s still not yet midsummer, and, when I was finished mowing, it started me searching for other unnoticed golden surprises. I sat in a lawn chair in the backyard and simply started looking around for gold and its likenesses. Within seconds, I saw the golden stripes on the peace flag that flies from the trellis over one of our gardens, and then the golden zinnias beneath it, and then the clouds of golden daisies beside the house. Soon I seemed encircled by gold -- by lilies and sunflowers and speckled sunlight on grass and even the pale golden sides of our neighbor’s house. And finally, as I was finishing my search, I saw the flash of the wings of four goldfinches fluttering around one of our feeders.

     It was a golden few minutes for me, a gift freely given to an old guy who gives thanks for a golden life.

LOOKING AT LILIES

     Yesterday, as I was looking carefully at some of the pearly, pristine blossoms of Delycia’s asiatic lilies (photo), I felt a blossoming feeling of reassurance inside. In this seemingly self-destructive world, where children are any war’s most numerous victims and where chaos and abhorrence sometimes seem far more prevalent than contentment and comradeship, it’s cheering to stand before the simple loveliness of a single lily blossom. Looking at lilies, really looking at them and seeing their implausible charm, one feels an unfolding of hope inside. Yes, there seems to be dislike and disorder everywhere, but look for lilies, too. Beauty of far greater power than evil is all around us, even in a small garden in a small seaside town.      

SHADOWS AND WORRIES

"Afternoon Shadows", acrylic,
by George Lockwood

      Driving on the interstate this morning, we passed through many shadows of trees across the road, and it started me wishing I could pass through my concerns and worries as smoothly and easily. Truth is, worrisome thoughts have no more solidity than shadows. They are like wispy winds of the mind, having less substance and shape than breezes blowing across lawns. The worries that wander into my life would wander right out again if I saw them for what they are – flimsy and frail cerebral shapes, no stronger than shadows across the interstate.  

SUNRISES INSIDE

"Summer Sunrise", oil,
by L. C. Neill

I’ve changed my mind a million times, and lately I’ve come to see those changes as sort of like sunrises inside me. Each change was not just a change of thought, but more like a switch in minds, as if I replaced one mind with another, as if changing my mind brought a whole new morning of thoughts to my life. And actually, doesn’t each new thought start a fresh flow of other thoughts in our minds? Thoughts can work wonders the way sunrises start new days. A thought is not a material thing we can hold in our hands, but more like light that illuminates, for a moment, not just our minds but our lives. It’s almost like our minds become brand new when a new thought rises like daybreak inside us.

WATCHING THE TRAIN

"From the Train", oil,
by Sharon Schock

            Like a never-ending train, thoughts are ceaselessly streaming through my mind,  and I would like to learn to simply watch the train instead of climbing aboard. What I hope to do, you might say, is stand by the tracks, or perhaps on a hill above the tracks, and simply observe the thoughts as they pass. Like watching a train back in Missouri when I was a boy, watching my train of thoughts could be a fascinating experience. When a defensive, self-protective thought comes by, I might say, “Wow, look at that bizarre thought!” or, when a happy thought passes, “How did that beautiful thought get made?”, or, when an ugly, scary-looking, boxcar kind of thought rumbles by, “That is one hideous thought!” The trick is to just observe the train, but not jump aboard. So often in my life I have recklessly leaped onto a thought, closed the door, and ridden with it as it careened here and there. Fearful thoughts have taken me on many a riotous ride over the years, as have thoughts of envy, anger, defensiveness, and countless others. I simply need to refuse to get on the train. It’s much more fun, and far less hazardous, to merely sit on a hillside and watch with fascination as the endless train of thoughts harmlessly and safely passes by.

ALWAYS GOING SOMEWHERE

"Saturday Race', oil,
by Thaw Malin III

     In my busy teenage years, I recall my mother often saying that I was “always going somewhere”, and, in a weird sort of way, I still am. Actually, I have no choice, since everything in this universe is constantly stirring or shifting or racing. There is no such thing as standing still, no matter what my eyes might seem to tell me. Even when I’m sitting in my laziest way, all my cells are transforming in a swift and unceasing manner. Also, the electrons in the hydrogen atoms that compose a sizeable part of my body are traveling fast enough, physicists say, to circle the earth in 18 seconds, and the planet I’m spending my life on is soaring around the sun at something like 67,000 miles per hour. Plus, even while I’m doing my morning meditation in the steadiest silence and serenity, the solar system I belong to is barreling around the Milky Way at close to 600,000 miles per hour.     

     So yes, mom, in this astonishing life you gave me, I’m still always going somewhere.