Cloud Thoughts

Cloud Thoughts July 29 2010


Sky blue pink –

Invented color from a childhood game.

I drive home now under sky blue pink –

The clouds fantastic roads and windows –

Paths for spirits traveling,

Coming here or leaving.

You sit, a coast away,

Keeping vigil in an ICU, your dear friend about to leave.

I wonder if the paths I see are opening for her,

As she takes a bit of you along

On her voyage into Love beyond.



Reflection

Each of us loses someone dear occasionally. But most of the time, the experience is rare enough for each individual that we don’t think so much about the enormous traffic passing constantly between the physical and spiritual realms -- not only people entering or leaving bodies, but also those, both in body and in spirit, who are dreaming, praying, loving, or remembering.

We no longer see with physical eyes those who have left their bodies – as if we were separated from each other by clouds. But clouds only appear solid. In fact, they are airy, porous, immaterial; our impression of them is no more than an illusion.

Seeing a beautiful, colorful sky rich with cloud shapes, as I think about the act of keeping vigil with a loved one nearing her passing, I'm reminded how close the physical and spiritual realms really are. We live a little bit on both sides of the cloud curtain – embodied, absorbed in physical reality, and also imbued with spirit love, united with our loved ones everywhere.

New York Interlude

A New York Visit June 30 - July 4 2010


Compulsive Over-liver? 7/1/2010

I return again to New York City,

As if returning to a well for water.

The City fills all my perceptive powers; It's a pinnacle experience.

Each rushing moment

Teems with sights and sounds,

With tastes, smells, movements,

And also many feelings –

Tenderness, revulsion, raucous laughter, gentle smiles –

Tapestry of all things unexpected.

I sink into this sea of senses, this compelling other world,

Holding breath until I once again come up

To find the peace of spirit’s realm.



Philharmonic Patriotic Concert July 2 2010

A patriotic concert for the Fourth, though not on the Fourth –

Tunes I’ve heard too often and have learned to overlook –

Sousa marches, historic war songs, anthems –

Melodies I’ve heard at picnics and parades, played all off key,

Amateur discordance gathering on the notes like barnacles –

The music suddenly returns to life, delighting all.

The Maestro wields a magic wand –

Conjures up new sound, new soul.

The audience claps and stamps to show delight.

We stand and roar our thanks,

Then leave, smiling and chatting – new found friends

Who’ve shared a magic moment and together carry forth new memories.



Throngs July 3 2010

A holiday Saturday at the Met –

The halls are full, the lines are long,

I wait to step up closer to the art, as others stand and look.

There are throngs of us – And also throngs of them:

The ones who posed, who painted, who wielded tongs and chisels,

And also  those who owned each platter, gem, and weapon –

And those who cleaned and dusted them as well.

They’ve all left energy within the objects ranked together now,

Hung on walls or ordered in glass cases.

Their souls are still imprinted on the statues, mummies, bas reliefs, and sacramental objects.

The entire world is here -- from antiquity to now, across the globe.

How do we mortals find room to roam among them all?



Pilgrimage to Beauty July 3 2010

I’m one of many pilgrims from across the earth.

We speak in many tongues,

Our Babel a vast symphony of humanness.

We follow crisscrossed paths to see exhibits –

Young and old, hale and lame,

Our measured- out museum steps an indoor pilgrimage to Beauty’s shrine.



Tableau Vivant July 3 2010

She sits on a wooden crate, the slim tree shading her –

A city tree, surrounded by its iron fence.

Her face is hidden by the dark blue baseball cap.

My eye drifts from her giant bosom down her dark-skinned legs, to flip flops on her shapeless feet.

Seated primly next to her – one on either side –

Two poodles listen raptly to her animated monologue --

She and they alone share a tiny world

Though people pass them constantly.

They’re beautiful -- faithful friends, tableau vivant of love.



REFLECTION

Needing respite from the endless noise, dust, and inconvenience of remodeling, I flew to New York for a few days. The holiday weekend was coming up, and I was feeling burned out, scattered, and a bit lonesome.

On a summer holiday weekend, large numbers of city people flee to the country. The city is calmer than usual, except in tourist spots like the Metropolitan Museum, which is, in contrast to the streets and subways, bursting with humanity. These days, New York tourists are more likely to be from Seoul or Siam, Finland or Yugoslavia than from Kansas or Saskatchewan. The Metropolitan crowd was multi-hued, multi-cultural, multi-lingual – a microcosm of the world.

I found myself musing about why New York has become my favorite place to find renewal. It’s a place where I’m blessed to have dear friends. It’s also a place to experience contrasts, to know the euphoria of adrenaline, to stretch my definition of reality, to encounter surprise and drama, to find an enormous variety of sensory experiences and human encounters. Each meal is surprising, whether it be a Nathan’s hot dog or an exquisitely prepared sampler of Vietnamese delicacies. In a great city at the level of New York, the experience of being human is deepened – intensified and mirrored in countless ways. It’s absorbing and edgy, requiring intense, aware response at all moments. One can’t even cross a street distractedly, and survive.

I’ll return home tomorrow with my sensory meters reset, happy to step back again into daily routine, to find quiet moments to fulfill responsibilities, and to enjoy deeply the opportunity to love and be loved by those close to me. My New York moments of intense experiences will remain, though, the memory of their pungent flavors and distinctive sights and sounds continuing to provide the perspective needed to appreciate the quotidian.