Monday, May 31, 2021
Memorial Day 2021 / Soto Zen Tradition / Yoshio Takehara / Love and compassion
Sunday, May 30, 2021
Saturday, May 29, 2021
Friday, May 28, 2021
Thursday, May 27, 2021
Finished Mandala #61 on a stormy morning / Ann Humphreys (Lummi Elder) / "Come in," he said, "I'll give you shelter from the storm."
Mandala #61: Honoring Ann Humphrey's Life)
*
When blackness was a virtue the road was full of mud
I came in from the wilderness, a creature void of form
Come in, she said
I'll give ya shelter from the storm
I'll always do my best for her, on that I give my word
In a world of steel-eyed death, and men who are fighting to be warm
Come in, she said
I'll give ya shelter from the storm
Everything up to that point had been left unresolved
Try imagining a place where it's always safe and warm
Come in, she said
I'll give ya shelter from the storm
Poisoned in the bushes an' blown out on the trail
Hunted like a crocodile, ravaged in the corn
Come in, she said
I'll give ya shelter from the storm
With silver bracelets on her wrists and flowers in her hair
She walked up to me so gracefully and took my crown of thorns
Come in, she said
I'll give ya shelter from the storm
I took too much for granted, I got my signals crossed
Just to think that it all began on an uneventful morn
Come in, she said
I'll give ya shelter from the storm
But nothing really matters much, it's doom alone that counts
And the one-eyed undertaker, he blows a futile horn
Come in, she said
I'll give ya shelter from the storm
And old men with broken teeth stranded without love
Do I understand your question, man, is it hopeless and forlorn
Come in, she said
I'll give ya shelter from the storm
I bargained for salvation and she gave me a lethal dose
I offered up my innocence I got repaid with scorn
Come in, she said
I'll give ya shelter from the storm
Beauty walks a razor's edge, someday I'll make it mine
If I could only turn back the clock to when God and her were born
Come in, she said
I'll give ya shelter from the storm
Wednesday, May 26, 2021
" ... A safe place for children ..."
Tuesday, May 25, 2021
Too many murders most foul
Honoring the life of George Floyd in the early morning of May 25, 2021.
"... In the time it took to upload a video, Chicago Avenue and East 38th Street one year ago today became the most recognizable, and infamous, street corner on the planet.
Now, closed to traffic for two blocks in all four directions and named George Floyd Square, the spot has become a place of consolation and prayer — if also a backdrop for selfies. For many, both those from the area and others traveling distances to get here, it’s a place for hope.
... For now, George Floyd Square is a place for solace amidst those ruins, if only in the calm between anguish and continued outrages."
*
For some reason, this poem I wrote in 2006 came to mind.
Good Friday
For earthworms, spring and robins bring death.
For cautious robins, death does not exist.
For young human children, death is astonishing news
Years later, spring and robins arrive.
We are not surprised when the earthworms die,
not surprised when the robins run from us.
But death, now, is the absence of news,
abrupt and extraordinary in its silence.
*
So much is not yet clear.
Monday, May 24, 2021
May your songs always be sung / Bob Dylan's 80th Birthday
With immense gratitude to Bob Dylan on his 80th birthday.
*
Addendum: (more "My Back Pages" -- mostly for the visuals)
Sunday, May 23, 2021
Saturday, May 22, 2021
"... people themselves, in the face of utter hopelessness, have kept hope alive ..."
Thursday, May 20, 2021
Right Now and it's always now
Monday, May 17, 2021
Mujer de corazon y mente
Saturday, May 15, 2021
"A Generous Reading of Time"
"A school district declares "Treaty Day" and in so doing, recognizes one of the most important events of Pacific Northwest chronology, the Point Elliott Treaty of 1855. The people of Te'ti'sen (Ferndale) have taken an historical step toward acknowledging the rich history of many of its students and alumni. A Children of the Setting Sun documentary."
Don't have much to say. Using the time to listen.
"... What's the matter with me? I don't have much to say. Daylight sneakin' through the window ..."
(Bob Dylan)
This river flows near where my ancestors on my mother's father's side lived for centuries:
Thursday, May 13, 2021
Wednesday, May 12, 2021
As Bob Dylan's 80th Birthday Approaches / Deep in love
Friday, May 7, 2021
"Hold on world, world hold on ..." / Letting go / Solitary Canada Goose in the morning / Rainbow at the end of the day
In Blackwater Woods
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Sunday, May 2, 2021
Lekhavidasana pose (Drawing Pose or A Question For The Teacher pose)
Occasionally, I look at my Blogger "Stats." Always, when looking at the "Stats," I wonder who has recently visited my posts that go as far back as 2006. Sometimes, I click on the post to see what it was that I posted, having little or no recollection when I look at the title of the post and the thumbnail image. Often, when I do this, I am rewarded with something didn't realize I needed to revisit. Today it was this post that led me to think again about drawing regularly and led to finding the following images that were drawn using the trackpad on my computer. There used to be something called Appleworks6 on my first laptop, an ibookG4 that had a "drawing" and "painting" function. Until I wore out my fingers and hands while drawing on the trackpad, I enjoyed that process. I had forgotten how many images I had made using Appleworks6. Here is a sampling:
Because of the pain involved when I drew on the trackpad on a regular basis, I'm not likely to do that much again except everyone once in a while because I really like what I was able to create in that way.
This photo is a beautiful reflection of my mood this May. No longer blinded by what begins to feel like too much light or terrified of the shadows that haunted me for so many years.
Saturday, May 1, 2021
A gift to be shared
DAFFODILS
After Wordsworth
The Indigenous poet
writes life-affirming poems
about daffodils.
Her audience says,
“But you’re oppressed.”
The Indigenous poet
writes poems of outrage
about oppression.
Nobody cares.
She gets depressed.
The Indigenous poet
gets requests for poems
about being Indigenous.
“But, all my poems are
about being Indigenous.”
The Indigenous poet
isn’t considered
an Indigenous poet,
because, “Shouldn’t you
write about genocide?”
The Indigenous poet
tries to write poems
about genocide.
Her poet spirit dies.
(Genocide gets the job done.)
The Indigenous poet says,
“Stang tse temxwila!”*
and writes about daffodils,
and the untouchable beauty
of living a poet’s life
* “What the hail.” This is the closest we get to a swear word in
Xwlemi Chosen (Lummi Language).