“I’M DOING THE BEST I CAN”

(overheard in New Haven, CT, 2/7/15)

"Light in the Dark", oil.
by Zach Thurmond

She is doing

the best she can.

She carries her worries

as carefully as possible,

and prepares a paradise

for her family each day,

at least as well

as she can,

a quiet home

and wholesome meals

and help with homework.

She is doing

what her dad

taught her to do,

loving with fullness

and truthfulness.

Her ex-husband

hates her, and

heaven sometimes seems

as distant

as the dark sky,

but little things,

like the lovely lamp

by her bed,

help her haul

the load

of her fears.

ON A FROZEN DAY

"Winter Warmth", oil,
by Brenda Ferguson

On the table

an amaryllis flower

found a way

to work a miracle,

and the furnace

in the cellar

was working

its customary miracle

of making comfort

for a fortunate couple

who were quietly loving

being in their 70’s

in their sunroom

on a frozen day

with a flower

for a friend.  

ONE DAY IN MYSTIC

  

We all had our hands on our hips

and the sun was spreading out

its arms above us.

All over our world

walking was replacing sitting,

and speaking was becoming singing.

Someone was coming to a house

and sunlight was landing on him at the door.

Someone else was carrying his cares

as easily as books carry spotless ideas.

We heard the lives of the world

whistling and skipping.

We typed on our laptops

and words stepped across the screens,

praising and shouting.

THE GOOD NEW DAYS

 

"Snow", oil on panel,
by Rene Pleinair

            I’ve often heard people speak of “the good old days”, as though something wonderful was almost always happening back then, but this morning, when I noticed the sunlight spread so smoothly across the snow, I started thinking about this good new day, and all the good new days that lie ahead.  There’s so much that I miss in each new moment,  and sometimes it’s because I’m lost somewhere back in the old days, dreaming of the supposed simplicity of life back when things were – or at least seemed –  simpler and more straightforward.   What’s strange about this is that there is nothing simpler or more straightforward than the winter sunshine that gave a glossy look to the crusted snow-cover this morning. Nor could there have been anything lovelier in the old days than the flames in our fireplace just now,  shaking and swaying and sending warmth our way on this frosty but sunlit day. Like all days, this is a good new day. I’m trying lately to let the good old days lie where they are, far off in my memories, and prepare myself to respect and treasure the good new miracles made right before my eyes, moment by moment. 

SITTING STILL

When he sits still,

he can sometimes see

the cars of his thoughts

slowly slowing down

until they are driving

coolly and casually

along the quiet streets

of his mind.

Little by little

he can see once more

that his mind

is a vast village

with thoughts going

and coming in quietness.

Always interesting

and always harmless,

his thoughts pass by

with a beep and a wave

and then drive off

down the road.  

SURPRISES

"Snow in the Bronx", oil,
by Kay Crain

(about Jimmy H., age 86, after a sudden snowfall)

The snow surprised him

just like so much

surprises him.

He always looks like

something strange is being born

before his very eyes.

Just ice in a glass

makes him

stop and stare,

and a single leaf

fluttering by the window

works magic on him.

He says he broke boredom

into pieces

about 80 years ago.

He says he likes yes

way better than no,

and never stops

being stunned

by how flames wave

in the fireplace.

ON THEIR WAY TO BOSTON

"Highway 70", oil,
by Carmen Beecher

(1/29/15)

Passing cars

on the interstate

seemed like a little miracle,

like letting their lives go

and getting a good gift.

It was a small thing --

she simply stepped

on the accelerator

and then they sped along

like two stars in the sky

sailing along, shining

and passing other stars

with ease, like friends

giving the gift

of peacefulness

as they fly

along the interstate. 

WINTER GIFTS

      

"Snowdrifts", watercolor, by Shanti Marie

     Today’s hard-blowing blizzard has me thinking of the gifts winter gives us. Sure, there are hardships associated with today’s storm, but I’m trying to see Juno’s gifts more than the misfortunes. First, there’s the gift of the fluffy, flying, whirling snow – a sight that still thrills me like it did when I was a boy. Someone who had never seen snow would be astonished at what I see outside my window just now – an endless dance of soft white pieces of enchantment, a gift to make an old guy get young again. Then there are the gifts given by the strong wind -- the flowing, multifarious snowdrifts, as distinctive as sculptures in a gallery. Tomorrow, in the welcome sunshine, I will tour the storm’s museum in our neighborhood, admiring these evanescent, once-in-a-lifetime snow sculptures produced by this artisitic and generous storm. I may feel more fortunate than ever as I look at what powerful but fleeting Juno, now vanishing into the universe, produced for me.     

THRIVING IN THE BLIZZARD

1/27/15, Winter Storm Juno

"Winter Scene", oil,
by Tom Brown

The birds are grateful for our food in this

outburst of blowing snow. They seem to feel bliss

and relaxation as they take their seeds

and fly away. Their simple wants and needs

are met with ease on this tumultuous day.

They live uncomplicated lives, the way

I’d like to live. They’re thankful they’re alive

in snow and wind. They celebrate and thrive.

ON BEING SATISFIED

   Over my 73 years, I’ve been fortunate to know a few people who, no matter what was happening, always seemed satisfied, and I’m continuously envious of their lucky lives. These are people who genuinely seemed at ease with wherever they were, whatever triumphs or troubles were taking place, whatever the present moment was bringing them. Almost always, they somehow seemed contented, and in a sincere way. Even in sorrow, they appeared to be what I might call comfortable, in the literal sense of being able to bring comfort to themselves. They seemed peaceful with their sorrow, calm inside their unhappiness. Whatever was happening was sufficient for them. They seemed to allow themselves to be saturated with each experience, almost as if they were easily swimming in it, feeling the flow of either happiness or heartache. They were – and are

- a fortunate few, these contented ones, and I only hope something like their steady ease with all of life shows up in me sometime soon.

WITHOUT HIS HELP

 When morning comes he once again lets go.

He tells his heart to carry on, and tells

his lungs he trusts them. He lets the show

of life proceed without his help. The bells

of harmony are ringing with no aid

from him, which makes him glad. The sunshine

spreads without his guidance. The parade

of breezes happens by itself, and pine

trees bend without advice from him. He lets

life work its wonders. He steps back and gets

a view of countless marvels all around

him. He’s amazed and doesn’t make a sound.

SOFT WORDS

When he spoke a few soft words,

they always flew away like birds

and he never saw them again.

The words simply waved and then

disappeared. He smiled and said

good luck to these words that led

their own lives now, flying

softly and never, ever dying.  

IN THE BEGINNING

Thursday, 1/22/15

    

"Writing It All Down"
oil by Robin Cheers

I’ve usually been befuddled by the Bible’s assertion that “in the beginning was the Word”, but lately I’ve been seeing some significance in the phrase. Perhaps words are, in a sense, one of the foremost starting points of creation in our lives. Words, after all, are thoughts made into shapes and sounds, and thoughts are a central source of power for us. Our thoughts, moment by moment, mold and manufacture our experience, and our thoughts take form as spoken or written words which stream through our lives like productive winds and sunshine. In all of human history, hasn’t every disagreement, dispute, and all-out war started with contentious words? And hasn’t every single friendship and affair of the heart commenced with the speaking or writing of gracious words? Words work their commanding magic on a moment to moment basis – the magic of malice or the magic of compassion and devotion. In the beginning of both hatred and love there was, and still is, the word – a single word or a series of these irresistible written or spoken forces.

SADNESS AND REGRET

 

"Infinite Sadness",
ink on paper
by Carmel Jenkin

(inspired by a line from a poem written by two 4^th graders at Pine Point School)

“Blue is the color of sadness and regret”

is what they wrote, these children who let

their thoughts and words go free. They read

the line so softly, like following a thread

they had found in their hearts. Perhaps

they’ve known sadness, seen joy collapse

with no warning. Perhaps regret has filled

some hours of their lives, and chilled

the sunshine of their spirits. They wrote

their poem as if they hoped to float

their thoughts across to all their friends

to share the sorrow life sometimes sends. 

 

A GUEST FOR TEA

She brought us yellow tulips as a sign

of friendship, and we shared our special tea

with kindliness. There seemed to be a vine

of thoughtfulness encircling we three

and joining us together as we talked

beside the fire. All the flames seemed light

like gentle flowers, and our words all walked

together and were generous and bright.

"Yellow Tulips", oil,
by Delilah Smith

MY DREAM

(on the birthday of Martin Luther King Jr.)

I have a dream that life will one day be

the marvel that it truly is, that love

will rise triumphant, and a joyous spree

of kindness will begin to dance above

the burial ground of hate. I have a dream

that clouds of sorrow will become the clear

and open skies of comfort, and a gleam

of goodness will be there to shine and cheer

up our disheartened world, and yes, I have

a dream that wisdom will become the salve

to spread on fear, and gentleness will fast

become the force that frees us all at last,

thank God almighty, frees us all at last.  

 

SPLENDOR

"RESTFUL" oil,
by Tom Brown

    I hope these words don’t sound too prideful or self-admiring, but I must say that I see splendor in myself. Of course, it’s the same splendor I see in every person I pass in the grocery store, in every manifestation of sunshine, in every shade of color on quiet winter days, and in every drifting ripple in the Mystic River. This entire universe is an endless and fabulous display of splendor, and since we’re all part of the universe, we, and all things, share in the splendor. Somehow, all over the earth, lungs keep lifting and falling with beautiful evenness, and hearts keep helping billions of us – people and panthers and butterflies – stay strong in splendid ways. Just the fact that I can carry my teacup to my lips is a magnificent accomplishment, given the countless nerves and muscles that must flawlessly function together in the process. When birds wander above the river, they do it, always, with smoothness and splendor, and when the girl greets me at the grocery checkout, her smile is a minor miracle to me. All of us – people, small stones on the shore, flames in a winter fireplace – share in the splendor of this earth that somehow and miraculously became our home.

BEING UNIVERSE-CENTERED

   I guess I’m no more self-centered than most of us, but I’m looking to let something else become the center of my life from now on – and I’ve chosen the entire universe. Strange as it may sound, I want to become more universe-centered. Instead of pondering the problems my little self seems to always have, I’d like to wonder more about what’s happening outside of “me” – what’s happening in the homes of people who are suffering with illness or scarcity, and in the homes of people who feel lucky to be alive; what’s happening in the forests and valleys across the world, where animals and plants prosper while I fret over my paltry problems; what’s happening, even, among the planets and stars as they swirl me along on our endless passage through time without end. I’ve grown weary of worrying about this small segment of the universe called “Ham”. There are majestic miracles surrounding me, for millions of miles on all sides, and I want to stay centered there. I want to set my “self” off to the side and see, almost for the first time, the wondrous universe that’s been waiting for me.      

WISDOM SPEAKING

    Like all of us, I occasionally pick up some new knowledge here and there – even some wisdom now and then – but surprisingly, a very high kind of wisdom speaks to me, and all of us, all day long. Unfortunately, I am often too frazzled with forty different things on my mind to listen to these quiet calls of wisdom (or Wisdom, since it’s everywhere) – these soft voices of understanding that signal me from both far inside and far away. It takes stillness to hear what Wisdom is saying. It takes settling down and setting aside the countless concerns I carry with me, and then absolutely listening to what this wise force in my life is softly saying to me.

OFFSPRINGING

     In our blended family, Delycia and I have five children and four grandchildren – our “offspring”, to use an old-fashioned word – but I’ve been thinking this morning about another kind of offspring we might lay claim to – our thoughts and spoken words. After all, we, in a sense, “give birth” to thoughts and words all day long, sort of sending them out into the world as the creations – the “children” – of our minds. Each day, thousands of newborn thoughts are brought forth in our minds, and, somewhat like children, they instantly start making their presence felt. They mix with other thoughts, making more new thoughts, and then perhaps new spoken words to be newly delivered to the world. Just in the last few days, we have given birth to thousands of these full-of-life thoughts and words, these short-lived offspring that materialize in innocence and wholesomeness and help us share our lives with each other and the world.  

DAYS OF REVERENCE

    The word “reverence” has to do with treating someone or something with respect and honor, and it strikes me that today, and any day, deserves this kind of treatment. As I sit with Delycia during breakfast with bright sunshine slowly spreading across the yard, I almost feel a sense of amazement at the appearance, once again, of so many marvels this morning. This sunshine, for instance, has brought its gifts to us from billions of miles away, and now it’s making our winter grass look almost golden and the side of the house next door shine like a sheet of silver. I see the trees swaying slightly in passing breezes, which makes me wonder how many little and large movements I will see today – the sway of Delyica’s arms as she walks through the house, the easy passing of cars along our street, the sudden rising of birds from a bush.

    Like all days, this is surely a day for reverence, a day to welcome and bow to and give a greeting of esteem and praise.       

BRAND NEW SLEEPINESS

     I was feeling sleepy a few minutes ago, drowsy and heavy-eyed, but it occurred to me, strangely enough, that this sleepiness was brand-new. I’ve been thinking a lot lately about the simple fact that each moment of my life is completely new, a totally fresh entrance of new sights and sounds and thoughts, and it made sense, as I thought about my drowsiness, that it, too, was completely new. It was, you might say, a fresh drowsiness, a clean, unspoiled, up-to-the minute tiredness. It was fatigue, but a pristine, mint-condition fatigue. My yawns seemed flawless, just right. My eyelids were closing with freshness and sparkle. It was lethargy of the latest, new-fangled kind.         

TODAY NEEDS ME

        Most of us probably have days when we feel somewhat superfluous, like we’re just an unnecessary speck in an immeasurable universe, but fortunately for me, I usually wake up from that misunderstanding fairly fast, and see again, with a smile, that today needs me. I see again these simple but striking truths – that the universe is endlessly harmonious, that I am an essential part of that harmony,  and that whatever I do today will be a soft but continuously influential force. l am needed today. The oxygen atoms I send out from my lungs will he used again and again in countless ways by the universe. Every step I take will move limitless molecules around, and thus move the universe. My smiles might bring blessings to careworn lives. A word of thanks might throw a streak of light across someone on this day – a day that’s very special, like all of them, and a day that definitely needs me.

SUNS IN DEWDROPS

  I recall seeing, on many summer mornings, the sunlight reflected in small drops of dew in the grass, and, thinking about it on this gray day in winter, it seems as though the sun itself was in those summer dewdrops. When I stand in front of a mirror, I am, in a sense, in the reflection, since it looks exactly like me, and so perhaps it could be said that the sun is, in some way, inside each drop of summer dew. When I walk across a summer lawn, perhaps I walk among millions of sparkling suns. On this winter day, when grayness gives its quiet gifts to us, it’s good to remember being among dewdrops with suns inside them.   

INFINITE POSSIBILITIES

     It sometimes seems awe-inspiring to me how many possibilities exist in my life – how many different thoughts, feelings, and events could maybe happen, even in the next few moments. It’s like I’m a small but essential stream in an endless ocean of possibilities. Who knows what will happen in the next few hours, or even the next few seconds – what current of life will come and carry me along, what thoughts will waft me here and there, what surprises will suddenly show themselves? The verb “to surprise” originally meant “to seize”, and it does sometimes seem like I’m seized, moment by moment, by one startling surprise after another. True, I don’t often think about this startling aspect of life – this tendency of life to be reborn and brand-new each moment – but it’s there, nonetheless. Each second, the shoreless ocean of my life shifts, a little or a lot, and a new and splendid surprise arises. 

TAKING MYSELF LIGHTLY

     I recall hearing someone say that angels can fly because they take themselves lightly, and it always sounds to me like excellent advice. I’m not interested in flying, but I would like to shed some of the seriousness which occasionally weighs me down. I sometimes walk around like I have loads of responsibilities on my shoulders – like I’m some special superman who has serious tasks to perform, tasks that simply must be done by me alone. On those days, I take myself way too seriously. Unlike angels, I’m weighed down by a dreamed-up sense of my own importance. On those days, flying is out; self-absorption and slogging is in.

    On other days, lucky for me, I get loose from this seriousness and see myself for what I am – just a twist and twirl in the everlasting dance of a generous universe. My silly self-importance disappears like a small star in the vastness of dawn. I feel light on those days – light and free and ready to relax with life instead of wrestle with it.