"... I want to go to the sea today ... because it's that time in December"

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Still studying Spanish on a daily basis.  It's been a little more than three years since I learned about Duolingo and committed to fulfilling a nearly lifelong dream of learning a second language.  At this point, I have the fluency and joy of a three-year-old child learning a language, which is immense progress.  This came to my attention recently and has been encouraging.  My reading comprehension is far beyond my listening comprehension, although if a person speaks slowly I can understand much that I never dreamed I would be able to understand.  Although my accent is good (except for those rolled r's -- and even those are coming along -- something I never thought possible), my confidence in being able to speak is still a work in progress.  It's not difficult for me to come up with a large number of nouns and the "to be" form of verbs, but my ability to speak the way I would like to speak is limited.  I know that as long as I don't engage in daily conversation, my knowledge of Spanish will remain focused on reading and listening.  It has occurred to me that I am more of a reader and listener and writer than a conversationalist in English.  It's okay.  The joy of language is still there.

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Not sure where I learned about this website.  On a daily basis, thoughtful essays are suggested to me, some of which I read and many of which I have meant to share for some time now.  That day has come. When I read something on a specific topic, the website sends me more essays on that topic.  

Here's another essay. 

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It's that time of year when the cloud cover can be so heavy that it looks and feels like dawn or dusk all day long.  This morning there are openings where blinding light comes through the dark clouds.  Interesting to see that on 4.0x Zoom on my cell phone, the image is textured.

"... You may say I'm a dreamer ..." / Turning to music for sustenance as the sorrow of war unfolds

 

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".... Imagine all the people ..."

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“Once I traveled far above the earth. This beloved planet we call home was covered with an elastic web of light. I watched in awe as it shimmered, stretched, dimmed, and shined, shaped by the collective effort of all life within it. Dissonance attracted more dissonance. Harmony attracted harmony. I saw revolutions, droughts, famines, and the births of new nations. The most humble kindnesses made the brightest lights. Nothing was wasted.” ~ Joy Harjo

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“The child in each of us / Knows paradise. / Paradise is home. / Home as it was / Or home as it should have been. // Paradise is one’s own place, / One’s own people, / One’s own world, / Knowing and known, / Perhaps even / Loving and loved. // Yet every child / Is cast from paradise— / Into growth and destruction, / Into solitude and new community, / Into vast, ongoing / Change.” *— Parable of the Talents (Octavia E. Butler)*

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Sending love near and far to all suffering from the effects of wars past and present.

"... I have heard trees talking, long after the sun has gone down ..."

 Speaking Tree

Some things on this earth are unspeakable: Genealogy of the broken— A shy wind threading leaves after a massacre, Or the smell of coffee and no one there— Some humans say trees are not sentient beings, But they do not understand poetry— Nor can they hear the singing of trees when they are fed by Wind, or water music— Or hear their cries of anguish when they are broken and bereft— Now I am a woman longing to be a tree, planted in a moist, dark earth Between sunrise and sunset— I cannot walk through all realms— I carry a yearning I cannot bear alone in the dark— What shall I do with all this heartache? The deepest-rooted dream of a tree is to walk Even just a little ways, from the place next to the doorway— To the edge of the river of life, and drink— I have heard trees talking, long after the sun has gone down: Imagine what would it be like to dance close together In this land of water and knowledge. . . To drink deep what is undrinkable. Joy Harjo

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Thank you to Beth for bringing this poem to my attention this morning after I took a walk in the woods and found myself thinking about the lives of trees.

January 10, 2023: Full Days: Running to catch up while looking around and listening / Reruns from January 10, 9, 8, 7, 6, 2007: Gardener with Ideas (1984), Woman Dancing By Herself (1984), Imaginary Relationship (1984), People With Their Eyes Closed/Baby Girl (1984) and Woman Listening (1984)

A family of river otters have made an appearance in the past week.  A neighbor saw this one from her porch and called another neighbor who has a telephoto lens and took this photo.  A few days ago, early in the morning, I saw this same otter scampering around on the flattened cattails.  Nearby were two other otters who looked as if they were tumbling in play together, partially hidden by the standing cattails. What a joy!

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While doing my daily yoga practice, I've been listening to the On Being archives under the topic of "Creative Life."  The Joy Harjo and then Hanif Abdurraqib interviews are the ones I listened to in the last few days.  I listened to the short versions of all the "Creative Life" interviews and now am listening to them again in the unedited versions which last up to 90 minutes.  Every single interview has been memorable and an inspiration to my creative work, giving me access to a vast community of creative people.

“Though we have instructions and a map buried in our hearts when we enter this world, nothing quite prepares us for the abrupt shift to the breathing realm.”

"The saxophone made it across the big waters and was introduced in brass bands in the South. The music followed rivers into new towns, cities, all the way to our new lands. Not long after, in the early 1900s, my grandmother Naomi Harjo learned to play saxophone. I can feel her now when I play the instrument we both loved and love. The saxophone is so human. Its tendency is to be rowdy, edgy, talk too loud, bump into people, say the wrong words at the wrong time, but then, you take a breath all the way from the center of the earth and blow. All that heartache is forgiven. All that love we humans carry makes a sweet, deep sound and we fly a little.”

(Joy Harjo)

"To love oneself is hard work. But I think it becomes harder when you realize that you’re actually — at least, in my case — required to love multiple versions of yourself that show up without warning throughout a day, throughout a week, throughout a month, throughout a life."

"Yeah, but I will say that I think I’ve learned to mourn in a way that just isn’t rooted around sadness and/or longing for a return. And that feels better, because I think I’ve learned to mourn in a way that is celebratory, that is expressing gratitude for the real gift of carrying the memory of someone who is not here anymore — and not only carrying that memory, but carrying everything that person gave and carrying everything I learned from that person while they were still here."

(Hanif Abdurraqib)

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Bev, living in Nova Scotia for years now, is blogging again.  She was one of my earliest blog friends.  Take a look at her archives to see why I enjoyed her blog so much.  Her blog had several lifetimes prior to the 2008 beginning of the lifetime of her current blog.

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Now for the reruns:

January 10, 2007

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January 9, 2007

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January 8, 2007

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January 7, 2007

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January 6, 2007

"Sunrise"

 

"Sunrise," by Joy Harjo, read by Chris La Tray

JOY HARJO

Sunrise

Sunrise, as you enter the houses of everyone here, find us.

We've been crashing for days, or has it been years.

Find us, beneath the shadow of this yearning mountain, crying here.

We have been sick with sour longing, and the jangling of fears.

Our spirits rise up in the dark, because they hear,

Doves in cottonwoods calling forth the sun.

We struggled with a monster and lost.

Our bodies were tossed in the pile of kill. We rotted there.

We were ashamed and we told ourselves for a thousand years,

We didn't deserve anything but this—

And one day, in relentless eternity, our spirits discerned movement of prayers

Carried toward the sun.

And this morning we are able to stand with all the rest

And welcome you here.

We move with the lightness of being, and we will go

Where there's a place for us.

Yet another recommendation / Patriarchy Blues, by Rena Priest

"... to trade the sweetness of

transient pleasures for the steady sweetness

of your own voice.  To be destroyed,

and rebuilt by songs.

(from the poem titled "Toward a Beautiful Flare of Ruin," by Rena Priest

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Next on my list of books to read:

When the Light of the World Was Subdued, Our Songs Came Through, by Joy Harjo

"... She had horses Who danced in their Mother's arms ..."

She had some horses.

She had some horses she loved.
She had some horses she hated.

These were the same horses.

(Joy Harjo, lyrics from "She Had Some Horses")

https://youtu.be/Z-7FOfItj48

When The Light Of The World Was Subdued, Our Songs Came Through / Gratitude

 

With gratitude to Joy Harjo

Joy Harjo / "She Had Some Horses" / "Fear Poem" / Mandala #45: Starry

This extraordinary 1:42:53 event begins at 6:30, with only anticipatory audience sounds previous to that.  If there isn't time for listening to something of that length, I hope there is time to listen to this:



and this:



(both of which are performed during the inaugural reading)

Stepping away from my Spanish language studies, I listened to Joy Harjo's inaugural reading as the current U.S. poet laureate and at the same time was able to complete Mandala #45, my third mandala for 2019.  Nine more to go.  That would be at least one a week until the end of the year. 

Hmmmm.  It's been a complicated year on so many levels.

We'll see.

I'm grateful that I first learned of Joy Harjo's poetry in 1997 and that her poetry will be heard by more and more people in these days when her voice is needed more than ever.

Although my social time and energy is currently limited, I continue to read your blogs and send love to all from the land of cloudy skies of great beauty:

Never Give Up: "... to dance close together / In this land of water and knowledge ..."

Speaking Tree

Some things on this earth are unspeakable:
Genealogy of the broken—
A shy wind threading leaves after a massacre,
Or the smell of coffee and no one there—

Some humans say trees are not sentient beings,
But they do not understand poetry—

Nor can they hear the singing of trees when they are fed by
Wind, or water music—
Or hear their cries of anguish when they are broken and bereft—

Now I am a woman longing to be a tree, planted in a moist, dark earth
Between sunrise and sunset—

I cannot walk through all realms—
I carry a yearning I cannot bear alone in the dark—

What shall I do with all this heartache?

The deepest-rooted dream of a tree is to walk
Even just a little ways, from the place next to the doorway—
To the edge of the river of life, and drink—

I have heard trees talking, long after the sun has gone down:

Imagine what would it be like to dance close together
In this land of water and knowledge. . .

To drink deep what is undrinkable.

Joy Harjo

(thanks to beth for bringing Joy Harjo's poem to my attention)

(thanks to S Alexander for posting her videos on YouTube)

A Horse and Chariot Meditation / Morning Light with Birds Singing

(drawing you may have seen before, from childhood, by am)

April 28 (from Eknath Easwaren's Words To Live By)

Know the Self as Lord of the chariot, the body as the chariot itself, the discriminating intellect as the charioteer, and the mind as the reins. The senses, say the wise, are the horses, selfish desires are the roads they travel. 
  – Katha Upanishad

The Upanishads say that your body is like a chariot drawn by five powerful horses, the five senses. These horses travel not so much through space as through time. They gallop from birth towards death, pursuing the objects of their desire. The discriminating intellect is the charioteer, whose job it is not to drive you over a cliff. The reins he holds are the mind – your thoughts, emotions, and desires.

This image is packed with implications. For one, the job of the intellect is to see clearly. The job of the mind is to act as reins. When everything is working in harmony, our highest Self makes all the decisions. The intellect conveys these decisions to the mind, and the senses obey the mind. But when the senses are uncontrolled, they immediately take the road they like best: personal satisfactions, mostly pleasure. Then we are not making the decisions; the horses are.

(Johnny Cash appears, too)