Gone
This morning
the wasps nest
in the center of my porch
that required courage
and presence
when I left
when I returned
was gone
vanished utterly
as if the well anchored hive
and all of the hubbub
never existed
and I miss them
and am sorry
I wonder what
mighty coated being
carried it off
to enjoy the delicious
meats inside
or perhaps
the collective swarm
gathered their strength
and lifted
their home
from mine
to somewhere
less disturbing
to them.
We’ve negotiated a treaty
The wasps and I.
Yesterday we were thrown into
a sudden and terrifying conflict
when I opened the lid of the bird feeder
and laid bare their well crafted hive.
I dropped the entire construction
in the center of my porch
and ran
as several startled hornets
circled and memorized my face.
The remainder of the day
I gave them a wide birth
outdoors.
Sentinels warned me from
their safety perimeter
by hovering in that awkward
menacing way
directly in my vision
legs and abdomen dangling.
From the window
inside
I watched as one steadfast Mama
remained to warm the larvae.
Hours later she was joined by another
and close to nightfall most,
by my estimation,
returned to cover the newly
open and vulnerable nest.
This morning, they seem to have decided
I am no longer an immediate threat.
And I feel a similar guarded respect for them.
I was able to enjoy my coffee
on the glider
less than five feet away
and observe as they cleared
the shimmering dew
from their dark wings.
They remind me of Rilke’s
Dragon Princess.
Perhaps all the swarms
we unwittingly expose
do not wish to attack
or sting
but are waiting for us
‘Beautiful and brave”
to hold our anxiety
to let them live
and nurse their creations
and leave each of us
to our vigilant peace.
Labyrinth Blackberries
I picked six blackberries
under the blue dome of heaven
and the curious gaze of a dragonfly.
Each one tasted different.
One was sour almost beyond bearing
but it made me aware
that sour ripens to sweet
with sunshine, space, and patience.
I held those purple gems
loosely
in my left palm
and experienced them
one by one.
This, I consumed
as a honeybee
frantically gathered pollen.
That, as a song sparrow
alighted on the swaying brambles
and unleashed joyful tidings
to no one in particular.
Another as the warming breeze
carried the scent of milkweed.
The last, the darkest, was swallowed
as I exited the entrance
newly schooled in the knowledge
that there are no separate moments
only one
forever unfolding.
The Guest House
This being human is a guest house.
Every morning a new arrival.
A joy, a depression, a meanness,
some momentary awareness comes
as an unexpected visitor.
Welcome and entertain them all!
Even if they are a crowd of sorrows,
who violently sweep your house
empty of its furniture,
still, treat each guest honorably.
He may be clearing you out
for some new delight.
The dark thought, the shame, the malice.
meet them at the door laughing and invite them in.
Be grateful for whatever comes.
because each has been sent
as a guide from beyond.
— Jellaludin Rumi,
translation by Coleman Barks
It astonishes me how terrified Western culture is of strong emotions. Even little children are aware of this and use it to their advantage. Note, the next time you see a child throwing a temper tantrum near the impulse buys of any major store and the panicked, pissed off, or apologetic reaction of their adult in charge.
As an educator I’ve noticed that most bullying is directed toward students who have intense feelings and are unable to hide their reactions. And, it bothers me that the general rule of thumb in advising these victims, is to blame them for their vulnerability. As if authenticity were a weakness. As if this were a lesson they should have learned and embodied when they were in preschool. Because the sad truth is that most of us have learned and embodied the lesson that we need to conceal or tamp down our feelings in preschool. Not channel them. Not hold them. But bury or swallow or mask them into something the general public can tolerate.
Fierce vulnerability is alluring. To be emotionally open and available is also to be in a permanent state of rebellion. Well, anger is acceptable. But only if you are white and male. The only place where strong emotions are tolerated in our society is in the field of sports. And then, only if you or your team wins.
Mind you, I am not only referring to the challenging emotions. Show a bit too much bliss and you open yourself to ridicule as well. Normalcy, particularly in the USA, is a state of neutrality to the point of indifference.
A dear friend with an impassioned nature was told over and over again as a child to “Tone it down!” Her immense joy was as intolerable to her family and community as her profound sadness, righteous rage, or deep empathy. Phrases like, “Suck it up, buttercup,” or “I’ll give you something to cry about,” were frequently hurled at her. She became, in her adult youth, a fathomless well of projection to all who entered her orbit, glorified and vilified in turn for her emotional truth.
It so happens that she was also a spiritual seeker. She left her Catholic upbringing and studied Eastern religion with the misguided notion that meditation would fix her intensity issues. Meditation and constant striving would provide her with the illusive off switch that would make her more palatable. Worthy. This, of course, backfired. Spectacularly. And thank goodness!
This woman, and all the strong women in my life that I so admire, are grounded in their boundless openness. They trust in their thrashing about. They are able to let the storms roll and let them pass. They do not bow to the tyranny of positive thinking. They are enlightened but also endarkened. Balanced. Brave. Holding gently. Releasing with gratitude.
“There is a vitality, a life force, an energy, a quickening that is translated through you into action, and because there is only one of you in all of time, this expression is unique. And if you block it, it will never exist through any other medium and it will be lost. The world will not have it. It is not your business to determine how good it is nor how valuable nor how it compares with other expressions. It is your business to keep it yours clearly and directly, to keep the channel open.” ~ Martha Graham
Please enjoy these images and quotes about the beauty of human diversity.
In the end, just three things matter:
How well we lived
How well we loved
How well we learned to let go
~Jack Kornfield
Most of what truly matters in life surpasses both my understanding and ability to put into words. Nevertheless, I will try.
Let me start simply by clarifying that when I write of matters I mean the verb; to be of importance or significance. I am also going to try to step away from politics, although they certainly are of significance. And, I acknowledge it is the circumstances of my privileged birth that even allows me to look at other things that matter. This would be a very different post if I were born poor and black and living in say, Flint, Michigan.
So, of course, there are crucial matters for our body’s survival: clear air, clean water, pure lands to grow nourishing food and provide warmth and shelter.
There are matters vital for the mind to endure. Sure, there are! Everyone needs a sense of safety, a feeling of belonging, the ability to perceive and learn, a moral code, an absence of pain, love.
Human rights, the rights of the planet and all its incredible, diverse, interconnected beings matter. Beyond reckoning.
But once our basic needs are met, what matters then?
I confess, I have never been a traditional matterer. By that I mean, appearances aren’t a big deal with me. My own or anyone else’s. I care there be evidence of grooming effort. Beyond that, express yourself, or not, by your own funky fresh style. It matters, not.
Money never really mattered all that much either. Although I am wise enough to know that this is because I have always had enough, even in the skimpy days. And that is a blessing.
It doesn’t matter if your house is clean or messy but how you walk the Earth. The impact you leave. Not measured by others. But by that still, small voice inside.
Quieting every other noise and listening for that voice, that awareness, that has always been with you throughout your many selves and all the things that mattered to them, that is what matters. That voice will gently coax away your vanity. That silent witness will point you toward grace and simplicity and balance. That true self will endlessly instruct you in gratitude for what is given. That soundless messenger knows your particular and perhaps “peculiar travel instructions.” Breathe. Practice. Listen with all your senses. Whenever you can. This, I believe, is what matters.
For some folks it’s Passover. Others Easter. For us, it’s porch sittin’ time.
Spring is here! Along with hopeful buds. Healing blossoms. Green, green grass and dandelions. No wonder the collective fervor.
And yet there is so much sorrow as well. Terror. Atrocities. Big men. Big egos. Bigger evil. Conflicts so ancient and twisted and complex I don’t know what to think anymore. How to help? And then there are the soul crushing issues in my own row to hoe. Prayer isn’t enough. I must DO something. But what?
My heart is so small
It’s almost invisible.
How can you place such big sorrows in it?
Look, He answered.
Your eyes are even smaller.
Yet they behold the world.
~Rumi
Look. The goodness of this Earth is everywhere evident. Daffodils emerge from the thaw and offer their sunny vision.
Everything is everything. This winter was bleak. Days of gray on gray on gray. Ironically, it was not a good winter for snowflakes. Those of us left of a bleeding heart must hold our anxieties. Trust that the goodness of humankind will win out over the worst in our nature. Remind ourselves that while we are the same species responsible for creating the circumstances that put us within a psychopath’s whim of world annihilation, we also invented macaroni and cheese. It is difficult to fathom that people are capable of composing symphonies, devoting their lives or laying them down for others, and also crimes of war, crimes of privilege, rape. We produced Hitler and every despot compared to him. But Mother Teresa also walked amongst our ranks. Both wolves live inside us. Actually, an entire pack. Our choices of which hungers to feed will determine what results from this interesting time.
And the outcome is beyond my control. Or yours.
What is in my control is the decision to feed my own wolves gratitude for the first Oberon of the season. To behold what is given. To smell the sweet Spring air. And be glad for the happy heart of my dog stretched on the driveway. Watch the neighbor kid play with his shadow in the rosy hue of sunset against the garage door backdrop. Listen to birds. Glide. Taste: The warming wind. The glowing green. The promise of lilacs.
Lucky Pilgrim 