A short night
wakes me from a dream
that seemed so long ~Yayo
My personal musings escort me along paths of existence that often are, for others, unknown dimensions of imaginative conclusions
I prefer winter and fall, when you feel the bone structure of the landscape–the loneliness of it, the dead feeling of winter. Something waits beneath it, the whole story doesn’t show. ~Andrew Wyeth*
Snow yet remaining
The evening slopes are misty –
An evening in spring. ~Iio Sogi**
*John Connolly, The Wrath of Angels
**Faubion Bowers, The Classic Tradition of Haiku
Seeing our finger,
hearing a frog jump into the water,
experiencing the sunrise,
washing one’s face in the early morning –
anything will serve as a medium of realization if the mind is serene ~ Robert Aitken, A Zen Wave
If you stay at a place where a feeling of loneliness
[or sadness, detachment, voidness] comes,
the contemplative absorption arises in us ~Paltrul Rimpoche
as the winter winds travel across Wyoming’s landscape
the swirling snow releases its memories of you, lost upon Casper Mountain
its frigid touch awakens me to imagine your
aloneness in that wilderness of blinding snow
cries, deafened by the river of winds,
calling out in hope for
a human form to emerge out of the whiteness
the warmth of a human hand
the sound of a voice, comforting you
to accompany you home.
as I become lost within this winter’s swirling thoughts
the river winds tear into my soul
releasing tears arising from
the darkness of grief’s aloneness, seeking
a knowing to emerge out of ignorance’s darkness
you found peace
within a loving presence
that embraced you
and accompanied you home –
until then may refuge be found within the nature of things.
In a world
of lies–why not blossoms
that don’t fall ~ Sogi*
cited in Steven D Carter, Haiku before Haiku
Roget’s International Thesaurus: applying color, explanation, learning, lighting, ornamentation, painting, picture, radiation, teaching
how colorless, now–
fields where I took bush clover
for my garden ~Satomura Genjo
winter’s slumber before January’s snow
should I hold them in my hand,
they will disappear In the warmth of my tears,
icy strings of frost ~Basho*
where I planted seeds
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Standing at the Threshold
With uncertainty, I question:
What is it that I seek?
Protection? Compassion? Acceptance? Forgiveness? Completion?
Who is it that I beckon?
A father? A mother? A sister? A brother? A companion? A child? A god?
To be? To endure? To offer? To embrace? To validate?
An intentional presence that is drawn upon
A place and time of shadows, myths, and dreams?
Birthed within a family?
Matured within a relationship?
Nourished within a community?
Where the Stillness within Silence,
Affirms the exchange of life’s giving and taking,
Embraces the connection of life’s emotional threads, and
Observes the interdependence of life with non-judgmental awareness,
Yet, knows of a united oneness with another that can not be?
Since it can not be, do I yearn
To know integration through the formation of thought;
To see clarity through the flowing of ink; and
To feel completion through the act of creating?
And then, finally, within the stillness of silence,
An internal companion with whom
There is an honoring of the who and what of which I am;
A woman, a daughter, a sister, a niece, a wife, a mother, an aunt, a grandmother.
With reverence the presence of all that was, is, and will be.
The seeking, the beckoning, the yearning to the Winds of Change.
I with uncertainty, Step over the Threshold
Foreseeing the return.