Today’s prompts were massive and road. I was watching the clouds on the way to do one final clean-up task in my classroom at school, and this poem spilled out.
Thunder and Her Children by Beth Weaver-Kreider
When Thunder’s Children walked the cloud-road over the rim of the world, massive mountains arched their backs to touch the children’s feet.
When the children raced each other back up the ribbons of sky into the arms of their mother, the earth sighed into hollows and water pooled in the valleys.
WhenThunder sang her sleepy brood to sleep, trees sprang from the hillsides, raising their joyful branches, shaking their leafy crowns and humming with her song.
And while the children slept, Thunder curled herself around them, and dreamed meadows into being, and birds flying, and small animals burrowing into the earth, and all that is Became while Thunder rested.
I thought that I would give up on the Goldfinch Wild Yeast herd because the two times I tried to make something with it, it turned to weirdly textured, salty flatbread. I ignored it for two days, neither feeding nor stirring it, and finally looked at it last night. The texture was spongy and bubbly. So I fed it. This morning I decided just to use the whole lot of it, try to make something, and call myself finished, so I mixed up a dough this morning, and it was rubbery and hard. I decided that it was destined for compost, but decided to let it rise anyway.
Two and a half hours later, it was double its size, and light and fluffy. I punched it down, pulled off a one-cup portion to put back in my now-clean Yeast Corral jar, and shaped it into a loaf and some rolls.
I, too, am rather a late-bloomer. Perhaps you are, too? Maybe we will also rise with such grace and great will. Let us be leaven. (Hmm. Do we need to write some leaven/heaven poems?)
Gratitude List: 1. The Wild Herd of Goldfinch Yeast rose! Yay, little yeasts! 2. How a yoga session unknotted me this morning 3. That pretty green bush Jon planted on the bluff ten or fifteen years ago has come into its own in the past couple years, this year especially. It’s really an elegant little being. I’m so glad I failed to kill it those times when I accidentally mowed over it. 4. Digital/virtual communities–of course they can’t replace the real thing, but they do provide deep connections when the real thing is curtailed. 5. Hugging. Do trees hug back? I think they do. I think that hugging trees also encourages endorphins. (Why don’t you experiment on that for yourself?)
May we walk in Beauty!
“As truly as God is our father, so truly is God our mother.” —Julian of Norwich
“Had I not created my whole world, I would certainly have died in other people’s.” ―Anaïs Nin
“Come forth into the light of things, Let Nature be your teacher.” ―William Wordsworth
Forever Oneness, who sings to us in silence, who teaches us through each other. Guide my steps with strength and wisdom. May I see the lessons as I walk, honor the Purpose of all things. Help me touch with respect, always speak from behind my eyes. Let me observe, not judge. May I cause no harm, and leave music and beauty after my visit. When I return to forever may the circle be closed and the spiral be broader. ―Bee Lake (Aboriginal poet)
“We’re so engaged in doing things to achieve purposes of outer value that we forget the inner value, the rapture that is associated with being alive, is what it is all about.” ―Joseph Campbell
“I can’t tell you why your story is important, only that it is.” ―Mara Eve Robbins
Today’s prompts are Noodle, and Change. I couldn’t figure out how to add the noodle. Maybe the poem itself is something if a noodle. . . .
Change Surreal by Beth Weaver-Kreider
Step by step, prepare. Spare a stare, don’t glare but glance, this instance, an instrument of intent, bent on being, on seeing, seeming seamless, streaming, steeling steady, ready for reasons, for seasons. The horizon not so horrible, not the terrible terminal, only an internal intersection, new direction derelict. Any edict an educated editorial, tutorial surreal. Real deal delivered.
Gratitude List: 1. Crisp morning 2. Looking forward to family Zoom today 3. Ten deep breaths of outside air enliven me 4. Greeting the Beings of this place grounds me 5. Rain brings more greens
May we walk in Beauty!
“Sell your cleverness and buy bewilderment.” —Rumi
“Absolutely unmixed attention is prayer.” —Simone Weil
“You can never leave footprints that last if you are always walking on tiptoe.” —Leymah Gbowee
“God speaks to each of us as [she] makes us, then walks with us silently out of the night. These are the words we dimly hear: You, sent out beyond your recall, go to the limits of your longing. Embody me.” —Rainer Maria Rilke
“I do not see a delegation of the four-footed. I see no seat for the eagles.” —Chief Oren Lyons, Onondaga
“Be soft. Do not let the world make you hard. Do not let pain make you hate. Do not let the bitterness steal your sweetness. Take pride that even though the rest of the world may disagree, you still believe it to be a beautiful place.” —Kurt Vonnegut
“I told them we’re tired of the culture wars, tired of Christianity getting entangled with party politics and power. Millennials want to be known by what we’re for, I said, not just what we’re against. We don’t want to choose between science and religion or between our intellectual integrity and our faith. Instead, we long for our churches to be safe places to doubt, to ask questions, and to tell the truth, even when it’s uncomfortable. We want to talk about the tough stuff—biblical interpretation, religious pluralism, sexuality, racial reconciliation, and social justice—but without predetermined conclusions or simplistic answers. We want to bring our whole selves through the church doors, without leaving our hearts and minds behind, without wearing a mask.” ―Rachel Held Evans
Go deeper. Past thoughts into silence. Past silence into stillness. Past stillness into the heart. Let love consume all that is left of you. —Kabir
Today’s prompts were to write a poem that includes cloud words, and to do a re-mix of a poem from the month. I realized I have sort of been writing one long poem all month. Oy. I did a bit of a mash-up, and it holds together rather startlingly.
Re-Mix, With Clouds by Beth Weaver-Kreider
It seems that there is nothing now that is not this: the spiral unravels the lions of jazz are dying the World Snake sheds her skin the tides turn In the burning rooms of time, we wait for the new world to appear.
Our feet take the rocky trail away from the village to follow where blossoms may lead. All we have seen before is somehow new now, more verdant. Fronds unfurl where dragonflies hover above, large as dragons. But I know of two who nearly lost the trail, wandering far into the shadows.
Coyote is a fixture in the myth of this lonely landscape. A howl echoes within the embrace of wildness and winsome, where we bump against our own internal resolve
Plague Doctor! Plague Doctor! Whither shall we wander? Only to the garden gate—no further. The egg and the seed are the medicine. Grief is the egg of the moment, just before you hear your name.
We’re trapped in the strata, the cumulus, the haloed nimbus, hallowed cumulostratus, beneath the blue robes of the Beloved, draped over us like a veil, beneath Fortune’s shifting skirts: like winter, she will come again, trailing a net behind her to rescue the words she has lost. Could she have stayed within the boundaries? She has folded her heart into an origami bird, ready for flying.
We must relinquish our control. This now is a narrowing funnel, thinning the potent possibilities to this stretched limbo of waiting. I listen for your trilling whistle, clear and bright.
In the ending was Spider: What has once been will be again. Close the door on your way out.
Room 206 before I took down the things from the walls and bulletin board.
This week I have been the worship leader for my church’s Sunday service, my first time to prepare the videos to open the service, to pray, to bless us at the end, and to ask others to do children’s time and scripture. It felt daunting, and it highlighted how much I miss being part of that weekly gathering. And so last night’s dream:
In the dream, I am planning worship, asking people to make videos for the Sunday morning service. The pastor suggests that we really need a saxophone solo, so I go searching for people I know who could record a saxophone solo, but suddenly it’s no longer quarantine, and we’re holding church in a parking lot in a city (on folding chairs) and it’s about to begin and I have not yet found someone to do the saxophone solo when an old friend comes walking by and I ask him, and he starts to play “Oh When the Saints Go Marching In” and everyone gets up and follows him in a dancing march around and around the parking lot, and everyone is laughing and dancing and celebrating, and no one is afraid to bump into anyone else or to touch.
And now I am crying.
The other day, Jon and I were talking about what it will mean when parts of Pennsylvania go from red to yellow, and I realized that for me, it won’t necessarily be any different. Really, in life Before, I mostly went to four places: church, school, and to visit our parents. When we go to yellow, we still won’t go to church, we definitely won’t go to school, and I don’t think we’ll be able to visit retirement communities yet. It feels pretty bleak.
I wrote that thing the other day about the After, how the time when this is over won’t be a “getting back to normal.” I like that awareness that people are putting into the world–this is a time for change and transformation, to envision what the new way will be when we are again out in the world. Still, for me, I long to get back to a normal where we can brush past each other in public, link arms, hug, dance, celebrate together without fear, when we can go marching in, joyfully, to the public places we share together.
Gratitude List: 1. Sometimes something that appears and creates stress is also really exciting. I have a week to get my whole classroom cleared (that means my thousand and one books packed, too) because it looks like construction on our air conditioning will begin in June! 2. Anticipating Oriole 3. Quiet mornings with my boy before anyone else is up 4. Good stretching 5. Dreaming well
May we walk in Beauty!
“An artist’s duty, as far as I’m concerned, is to reflect the times. I think that is true of painters, sculptors, poets, musicians. As far as I’m concerned, it’s their choice, but I CHOOSE to reflect the times and situations in which I find myself. That, to me, is my duty. And at this crucial time in our lives, when everything is so desperate, when every day is a matter of survival, I don’t think you can help but be involved. Young people, black and white, know this. That’s why they’re so involved in politics. We will shape and mold this country or it will not be molded and shaped at all anymore. So I don’t think you have a choice. How can you be an artist and NOT reflect the times? That to me is the definition of an artist.” —Nina Simone
“A loving silence often has far more power to heal and to connect than the most well-intentioned words.” —Rachel Naomi Remen
“The secret to waking up is unscrambling the word earth.” —anonymous
“I have come to regard with some suspicion those who claim that the Bible never troubles them. I can only assume this means they haven’t actually read it.” ―Rachel Held Evans
“What a comfort to know that God is a poet.” ―Rachel Held Evans
“Geometry is the archetype of the beauty of the world.” —Johannes Kepler
“We don’t read and write poetry because it’s cute. We read and write poetry because we are members of the human race. And the human race is filled with passion. And medicine, law, business, engineering, these are noble pursuits and necessary to sustain life. But poetry, beauty, romance, love, these are what we stay alive for.” —John Keating (Robin Williams in Dead Poet Society)
“You are the Ground of all being the Well-Spring of time Womb of the earth the Seed-Force of stars. And so at the opening of this day we wait not for blessings from afar but for You the very Soil of our soul the early Freshness of morning the first Breath of day.” —John Philip Newell
“Of course it is happening inside your head, Harry, but why on earth should that mean that it is not real?” ―J.K. Rowling
The white egret has been visiting the creek across the road since the neighbors took the bamboo down. I took a photo with my phone through the binoculars, then did some filter-work to add some mood and deal with the odd blur.
I put my mantra on a sticky note on my big computer screen yesterday: Limber, Heathy, & Strong. Then I added another: Straighten your spine. And then: BREATHE
These were good reminders throughout the day. It was hard to keep my intention of getting up every hour–back-to-back meetings, getting caught up in the thing I was doing, forgetting to check the time. . . Today, I will try again.
Gratitude List: 1. Visiting egrets 2. I found my Spirit Voyage Sampler CD–just perfect for quiet stretching and meditating. 3. How April throws up poems from previous years in my face. Some I thought were pretty good are kind of meh, and some I was uncomfortable with are grabbing me now. Maybe in May, I’ll finally find the energy to start another collection. We’ll see. 4. Catching new rhythms. 5. So much green!
May we walk in Beauty!
“Imagine the tiny percentage of your body that is directly involved in reading this sentence. Now, consider the oversized percentage this conscious part of you occupies in your concept of yourself. So? What does this discrepancy mean? Is our “who” different from our “what”?” —Jarod K. Anderson, The Cryptonaturalist
“Where you ache to be recognized, allow yourself to be seen.” —Toko-pa Turner
“People have said to me, ‘You’re so courageous. Aren’t you ever afraid?’ I laugh because it’s not possible to be courageous if you’re not afraid. Courage doesn’t happen without fear; it happens in spite of fear. The word courage derives from ‘coeur’, the French for ‘heart.’ True courage happens only when we face our fear and choose to act anyway, out of love.” —Julia Butterfly Hill
“Where is our comfort but in the free, uninvolved, finally mysterious beauty and grace of this world that we did not make, that has no price? Where is our sanity but there? Where is our pleasure but in working and resting kindly in the presence of this world?” —Wendell Berry
“Every country should have a Ministry of Peace” —Nobel Laureate Mairead Maguire
“Disbelief in magic can force a poor soul into believing in government and business.” —Tom Robbins
“I never want to lose the story-loving child in me. A story that meant one thing to me when I was forty may mean something quite different to me today.” —Madeleine L’Engle
Tendrils of thought whisper through ether, through thin air, through wires which fire like synapses, brain waves. The medium notices, raises awareness, opens her notebook, types in a rhythm, a patter of notes, of letters on keyboards. She knows the byways of platforms and scaffolds in digital apps and media, and touches the stories of others through digital narratives, traces the pain she reads back to its sources. She wanders through doorways of future possibilities, opens new pathways for potential. She sees you through the mirror of your screen and knows the appropriate application to help you find your direction.
I’m not moving my body enough. I can feel almost the gears and cogs gumming up, getting crochety. It’s easy to put off yoga or walking because I have one more task at the computer that MUST be done. Everything is on the screens now.
So I set the intention of getting up and moving every hour. At school, I’m at least pacing around my classroom, walking to the office (and then speed-walking back to my classroom and back to the office again because I forgot something), even walking to and from the car. Here, I can ignore the pauses “between,” miss the chances to stand up and walk around.
I’m including ten deep outside breaths every morning (as my sister-in-law prescribed), and greeting the Beings in the hollow. I need to find patience for yoga and other exercise. Walking is good, because by the time I start to thinking, “Ugh. I have so much to do on the computer,” I am half a mile away from the house, and I still have another half mile to walk back.
So. Here’s the intention: Get up and walk around the house at least once and hour–maybe us and down the steps. I’ll keep up the walking every day or two. And once or twice a day, 15 minutes of yoga.
Truth be told, the yoga has been demoralizing. For years, I have had a balance series that I did, and over the past six months, I have noticed that one of the more challenging pieces has been getting harder and harder, and I can no longer actually do it–my left hand can no longer reach behind me and grab my left foot. I love that stretch, so sometimes, I sidle up to a wall so I can push my foot into my hand. But it’s no longer the easy flow that it used to be.
I just need to redevelop a new routine, one that still challenges me, that includes some of my beloved balance poses, but one that also stretches my back and legs, one that strengthens my core, one that allows me to shift away from some of my expectations and lets me be in the moment.
Also, when I am creating intentions to move more and exercise more, I have a tendency to fall onto the tracks of the weight-loss train. This is a danger zone for me. I need to want this for my health and my strength and my mobility and not for my weight. Somehow that sneaky little trick always happens and I find myself starting to pull out the scales, starting to plan another dietary tactic. So the spiritual/emotional discipline in this will be to keep my focus on keeping limber, healthy, and strong. There’s my mantra.
Gratitude List: 1. My yeast came! Thanks to my friend Joan, who sent me yeast in the mail. This morning I set another dough to rise with my wild yeast (the last attempt, on Tuesday, resulted in a chewy flatbread), and this afternoon, I am thinking of making a dough with Joan’s yeast for a calzone or something for supper. The wild yeast needs me to let it be experimental for now and not have too high an expectation 2. Cats in the classroom. Cats are good people to have around. 3. Poetry. This month has been another period of poetic breakthrough for me, and I am grateful. I think my writing deepens when I’m fighting my way through the woods of anxiety and grief. Also, an accountable writing community helps. 4. Intentions. 5. Watching the green appear, and anticipating oriole.
May we walk in Beauty!
“Good morning. There is a small, but meaningful thing you could do today in the service of your long term goal. Do that thing and then celebrate your progress with wild abandon. This is how we cultivate our dreams with a gardener’s gentle diligence.” —Jarod K. Anderson, The Cryptonaturalist
“Most lives are not distinguished by great achievements. They are measured by an infinite number of small ones. Each time you do a kindness for someone or bring a smile to his face, it gives your life meaning. Never doubt your value, little friend. The world would be a dismal place without you in it.” —Lisa Kleypas
“Decide to rise. Lean in. Listen up. Closely. It’s your soul speaking and she says, Get UP! I need you. I want you. I am you. Choose me. Lean in. Listen up. Closely. Decide to rise.” —Danielle LaPorte
“What you are comes to you.” —Ralph Waldo Emerson
“Poetry, indeed, has always been one of humanity’s sharpest tools for puncturing the shrink-wrap of silence and oppression, and although it may appear to be galaxies apart from science, these two channels of truth have something essential in common: nature, the raw material for both. To impoverish the world of the birds and the bees is to impoverish it of the bards and the biologists.” —Jane Hirschfield
“Walking with a friend in the dark is better than walking alone in the light.” —Helen Keller
“Out beyond ideas of wrongdoing and rightdoing there is a field. I’ll meet you there.
When the soul lies down in that grass the world is too full to talk about.” ―Jalaluddin Rumi
“We Are… our grandmothers’ prayers, we are our grandfathers’ dreamings, we are the breath of the ancestors, we are the spirit of God.” ―Ysaye M. Barnwell
Mockingbird Chronicles 