The heart is a camera of sorts, freezing images in its lens to look at again and again; a reminder of why we keep on going, why we are moved, why we turn again to what is.
In the Sufi tradition, the dervishes spin a meditation.
Rumi writes:
A secret turning in us
makes the universe turn.
Head unaware of feet,
and feet head. Neither cares.
They keep turning.
The Essential Rumi, translated by Coleman Barks
I love rust. There was a time when I hated it and polished it away with intensity. Now I see rust as the forerunner of nostalgia. It reminds me of big dreams on their way out. I helps me remember that we, all of us, are just visiting, momentary, relentlessly trying to leave a mark, that will end up as a red stain. Nothing wrong with that, rust is a lovely color, indicative of the iron we all carry around with us, rushing through the corridors of our bodies.
It's good to remember that the top of the heap you thought you might arrive at, is going to make some lovely pigment someday.
When I Am Among The Trees
by Mary Oliver
When I am among the trees,
especially the willows and the honey locust,
equally the beech, the oaks and the pines,
they give off such hints of gladness.
I would almost say that they save me, and daily.
I am so distant from the hope of myself,
in which I have goodness, and discernment,
and never hurry through the world
but walk slowly, and bow often.
Around me the trees stir in their leaves
and call out, “Stay awhile.”
The light flows from their branches.
And they call again, “It’s simple,” they say,
“and you too have come
into the world to do this, to go easy, to be filled
with light, and to shine.”
Wishing you all a peaceful end to 2020.
The Science Fiction and Fantasy Writers of America has named Nalo Hopkinson as the 37th Damon Knight Grand Master. The award is one of the genre’s highest honors, and Hopkinson joins the ranks of such authors as Robert Heinlein, Joe Haldeman, Connie Willis, Samuel R. Delaney, C.J. Cherryh, Ursula K. Le Guin, William Gibson, and Lois […]
SFWA Names Nalo Hopkinson as the 37th Damon Knight Grand Master
It’s coming through a hole in the air
From those nights in Tiananmen Square
It’s coming from the feel
That this ain’t exactly real
Or it’s real, but it ain’t exactly there
From the wars against disorder
From the sirens night and day
From the fires of the homeless
From the ashes of the gay
Democracy is coming to the USA
It’s coming through a crack in the wall
On a visionary flood of alcohol
From the staggering account
Of the Sermon on the Mount
Which I don’t pretend to understand at all
It’s coming from the silence
On the dock of the bay,
From the brave, the bold, the battered
Heart of Chevrolet
Democracy is coming to the USA
It’s coming from the sorrow in the street
The holy places where the races meet
From the homicidal bitchin’
That goes down in every kitchen
To determine who will serve and who will eat
From the wells of disappointment
Where the women kneel to pray
For the grace of God in the desert here
And the desert far away:
Democracy is coming to the USASail on, sail on
O mighty Ship of State
To the Shores of Need
Past the Reefs of Greed
Through the Squalls of Hate
Sail on, sail on, sail on, sail onIt’s coming to America first
The cradle of the best and of the worst
It’s here they got the range
And the machinery for change
And it’s here they got the spiritual thirst
It’s here the family’s broken
And it’s here the lonely say
That the heart has got to open
In a fundamental way
Democracy is coming to the USA
It’s coming from the women and the men
O baby, we’ll be making love again
We’ll be going down so deep
The river’s going to weep,
And the mountain’s going to shout Amen
It’s coming like the tidal flood
Beneath the lunar sway
Imperial, mysterious
In amorous array
Democracy is coming to the USA
Sail on, sail on I’m sentimental, if you know what I mean
I love the country but I can’t stand the scene
And I’m neither left or right
I’m just staying home tonight
Getting lost in that hopeless little screen
But I’m stubborn as those garbage bags
That Time cannot decay
I’m junk but I’m still holding up
This little wild bouquet
Democracy is coming to the USA
Dream on that. Happy Halloween!
This month, the full moon danced with mars. As I watched, she appeared and disappeared repeatedly, flinging her scarves of cloud about her and letting Mars have moments of unobscured brilliance.
The beauty of our natural world; always available to heal the spirit.
Let’s go dance!
Ficus, of course.
