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Anon

September tugs at August

October overshadows September.

Leaves falling in August

a premature ejaculation of autumn

leaves one unfulfilled

and looking to September

for more.

More warmth, more comfort,

a lingering embrace

to hold on

to the moments of bliss.

As an adult, I love September

and August too.

It’s just too soon

to feel this cool

like the afterglow

dissipating before daylight,

or a lover

tacitly

closing the door.

September, where are you

in October’s shadow?

The tomatoes are as green

as my naiveté

the scarce flowers

say goodbye…

It’s too soon to feel this cool.

Sadness hangs in the air

like unripened fruit,

July leaves gyrating brown,

their youth lost

before prime.

 Not ready

to

let

go.

Summer is over

before full bloom —

the whirlwind pursuit

with lackluster end.

Dramatic photo of imposing clouds at sunset over lonely landscape

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Mother Nature’s Meditation

Unripened and ripened blueberries on a bush

Sun warming

Breeze cooling

Skin.

Eyes scanning

Unripened green to apple rose’

Locking in

The prized deep purply blue.

Wind chimes whisper

Somewhere nearby

Cars whoosh

Momentarily

Here and there.

Children laugh

And ring the bell.

Sun warming

Breeze cooling

Skin.

Eyes scanning

Each ripened berry

In view.

Totally in the moment

There’s no other place I’d rather be.

The past and the future

Do not exist

In the berry patch.

Raised in an anxiety-ridden home, it was stressful to live in the “now.” Far better to  prepare for “what’s next,” I thought, even with its own undercurrent of anxiety.

A friend recently invited me to a year-long meditation but the voluminous information and instant marketing hype quickly drove me away. Unsettling. Like when I attempted meditation years ago in the standard seated position. Arduous.  As soaking in a tub. Has this happened to you? Meditation offers many benefits but feeling stressed is not the goal.

Far more agreeable to me, are movement meditations such as hand drumming, walking, or being in the moment with Mother Nature. Fixed on berry picking, the smell of sun-ripening tomatoes and basil brushing my arm, or the infinite colors and textures of nature are far more relaxing and in-the-moment experiences for me.

One size doesn’t fit all. In many things, but meditation too. Giving myself permission to discover what works for me is key. Don’t know where to begin? Try leaving the cell phone behind and taking a walk outside. You may be pleasantly surprised by the calm in connecting with Mother Nature.

Summer Blog Post-4

 

Feature photo by Jens Böhm from Pixabay

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Multilingual without Words…

I communicate in many languages.  But my lexicon doesn’t contain words per se.  No, I’m not talking about texting but of a communication so beautiful no words are necessary.

In seasonal poetry gatherings each of us brings a random poem to read aloud.  The words we share are not our own but the understanding we glean from the words of others.  While some may be serious, others witty, or thought provoking — and on any topic of choosing, a common thread soon appears.  Ah, no doubt the Universe is at play here we chuckle each time we recognize the unintentional theme that connects us together.

The languages I convey do not use technology, social media, or heaven forbid a cell phone.  A verbal silence in hand drumming makes room for magic.  When words do not appear, the voice of the drums speaks profoundly through our creative energy.  Rhythms intertwine, calling, responding, supporting, expressing, wandering, somewhere…but together.

Standing in my kitchen, I cook.  My focus is lovingly preparing a tasty meal, and setting a table that honors the food and the ones it nourishes.  Sitting together then and savoring  this offering of utilitarian sensory art reveals the unseen ingredient.

Sharing the bounty of my garden, holding the door open for someone, offering a smile, anyone can understand.  I do not need to say one word to communicate with anyone anywhere.  All of us can speak the same language when we do not use words.

Multilingual

 

 

 

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Winding Roads

Someone read a poem today.
That made me think

The winding road
is
our lives.

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Many of us reach the same destination.
Albeit different ways,
Different paths, whys, hows,
with different words
for the same concept —
a nearly same experience.

Isn’t that the wonder of our uniqueness
yet sameness?

images (4)

We begin a path, a book, a plan,
then change course
for whatever reason.
A break-up.
Job loss.
Dying desire
to live
one’s passion.

Altering our course
we may step back
and the change brings greater challenges
we did not forsee
ahead
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yet we gain along the way
from what we did not know,
And then it is behind us.

 

 

Why focus on the end
when we never know
when
the end will truly be?

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Fluent by John O’Donohue

I would love to live
Like a river flows,
Carried by the surprise
Of its own unfolding.