Every day, for over five and a half years
I have shown up for my meditation practice.
I have become predictable.
I will rise from my comfy bed
sit upright on a cushion filled with buckwheat hulls,
set a timer, close my eyes and breathe.
Every time I have felt grateful for my practice,
for the stillness and the peace
and the perspective it brings.
For the gift of discipline
and the sense of stability
in a chaotic world…
For the proof of my existence
beyond my body and the outer world
and the realization
that I always have exactly what I need…
I needed to cultivate discipline
to maintain my practice,
and now that it is there,
I realize that this discipline can help
in other domains of my life.
I began writing daily
because of my daily meditation.
I saw that I can all at once
trust the unfolding
of this miraculous life AND
simultaneously reach out
for that which is dear to my heart.
Who every knew that something so simple
could be so valuable,
When the NaPoWriMo prompt suggested writing a poem about something that happens over and over again, my mind immediately went to my meditation, because that happens every day.
There are as many visions of paradise
as there are stars in the sky…
but this is my vision:
a peaceful forest,
I see sunlight filtering through trees
and soft moss blanketing the ground.
Ferns are everywhere, lush as they are
by the soft rain that has fallen slowly
and quenched their thirst
that they have no choice
but to reflect the beauty
of the sky, the space,
the air that breathes magic,
life, comfort, wholeness, health,
glowing with communion,
the shared experience
of harmony through conscious
the very definition of generosity
innocent and complete.
All at once this is a dream
and the reality of our mother’s
gifts to us.
Honoring what we have been given
is not only polite,
but it allows us to sleep at night;
as we take care of her
we take care of us,
that the flowers continue
producing nectar and the wind
whispers, gently caressing the lichen
that has grown so exuberantly
on the sunbathed rock,
that we may hold what is precious
and give life back to life,
that we may know the purity
of the same rivers and lakes
as they flow in our veins,
that we may eventually find rest
in our mother’s sweet embrace again.
The NaPoWriMo prompt was a call to action…to find a favorite poem and choose a specific word, then take that word and write words related to that word using free association…then construct a poem from those words. I chose the word “paradise” from Mary Oliver’s poem “The Chance to Love Everything.”
An infusion of rose buds
cooled to the perfect temperature
for brewing green tea,
then straining and waiting
for the tea to cool to room temperature.
Now mix with a cup of honey,
a cup of starter tea,
and pour into a gallon jar.
Add a robust scoby,
now wait and wait,
and watch the miracles
the miracle of symbiosis.
A week or two or three weeks later,
pour your tea into smaller bottles
and add a little juice or fruit.
Wait a little more.
Wait a few days, a week or more.
Wait for the fizz,
the refreshing vivifying bubbles.
Cool in the fridge,
pour into a glass,
and prepare for a taste sensation.
Jun tea, an elixir of health!
*S.C.O.B.Y.=Symbotic Culture Of Bacteria and Yeast
Today’s NaPoWriMo prompt asked us to write a poem centered around the sense of taste.
Today I found
stacks and stacks
of a type of object
with three flat sides,
two of which opened
away from one another.
The third flat side was
more narrow than the other two,
and appeared to hold in place
many thin rectangular
pieces of a white, dry,
with markings on most pieces;
a few of them were blank.
I wonder what the markings signify–
could it be some kind of language?
It seems that in this primitive world
the inhabitants hadn’t yet mastered
intuitive, instantaneous communication
and thus needed to record in tangible form
the thoughts and ideas
that flow so easily between members
of our race.
In some of the dwellings
I would find just a few
of the object I mentioned;
in others there were whole rooms
full of them.
Sometimes there were images
although what I saw looked so foreign
I couldn’t discern meaning from them.
I wonder what these objects are called?
Could they hold the answer
to our understanding
the people who once lived
on this planet now devoid of life?
Today’s NaPoWriMo prompt is here.
It was a space
A sacred space
My sacred space.
It was small,
the size of a closet
with a low ceiling
and a window.
A friend painted the walls
plum tinged with gold
And being in there
never grew old.
an essential oil diffuser
some Tibetan prayer flags
my little Dharma Desk
and I was set for hours.
You can’t take space with you,
so I left my room behind
when we moved to our new house.
I don’t have my own space now,
all of it is shared.
Sometimes I miss that sacred space,
my sacred space.
But not having my own space
has taught me something too;
it isn’t the space itself that is sacred,
it’s the intention I bring to it.
So if I am in a sacred space within myself,
all spaces outside of myself are sacred.
In the end, it is all sacred space.
Let us join hands and dance now,
though it be late and the light is fading;
music will be our guide.
When we listen with our hearts
we don’t need our eyes to see;
our differences melt away
when we join in camaraderie.
Let us away now to the enchanted wood
where the ancient oaks shelter us from the wind
and there we will dance and sing together
and when we are done
we will begin again.
It was an interesting idea for today’s NaPoWriMo prompt, write a poem inspired by art–known as ekphrasis– and the art form suggested was Medieval marginalia. I never knew those bored monks could be so bawdy. I chose a more PG image because that is more my speed.
wherever you are
outside, inside, without, within,
consciously placing attention
wandering mind repeatedly returns
After experiencing multiple interruptions in my sleep last night I woke up feeling tired and directionless. I decided to write my poem instead of complaining about my exhaustion and I’m glad I did; I remembered what is important to me, what is available to me, and what I’m capable of. Here is the NaPoWriMo prompt for today.