robin's evensong

and matins outburst..

last eve..the sun.. setting
jet pink across the island silhouettes..
strewn with northwest cloud familiarity
i heard the emphatic call of the robin..
she was invisible to eye yet to ear
she was presence incarnate..
slowly i snuck to the edge of the rock wall..
there she be..
claiming the evening as her own..
bowing and praising the glory day

the lyrics of her prayer-song
all agog
with love
and wonder
and giddy
hallelujahs..
intoxicated with the high holies of the hour,
the colour,
the grace glow that the very moment
now
was pulsing down upon us all..
she .. our witness..
i see this
i know this
i love this
i am this..

morning cold and still grey from the night trail..
she or her soulmate sister or brother..
wooing the good kind morning
to show a tender face..
again the call to prayer..
to quiver us up and at it..
she sings..
we are brimful of wonder for the brilliance of new day..
we are awake each in the magnitude of dawn
dawning us fresh and wholesome and free from heartache and loss..
though those are carved on us..etched..
they fray not the edges of our astonishment ~
not this day,
not this morning,
not this

an irish prayer

may those who love us, love us.
and those who don't love us,
may god turn their hearts.
and if he doesn't turn their hearts,
may he turn their ankles,
so we may know them by their limping.

and of course, may the wind be at ye back....

soul-searching

soul flies in empty space,
a single candle in the huge palace.

bird-shadows cross whatever they happen to cross,
lovers pay attention only to the ecstasy of their love.

i jumped off a cliff to find out the true nature of soul.
do not sit inside the sadness of powerful, self-absorbed people.
become the ground under your own feet.

the soul's joy enters a guest house
where shams tabriz is host.
no one is there.

spaciousness
~rumi

i have let go of everything that clings to me..
everything i cling to ~
what is left ..
if anything
could be, might be,
soul..
yet even that is empty of arms that grasp and sticky things..
if i try to pick something up..
a practice, a belief, a talisman to adore..
it weeps away from me..

leaving me generous..on the brim..
to jump again..
no one will catch me..

i am my own net

ides of march - idus martii

it comes around again..
the half of march..
celebrated in rome long ago
as a war festival..for mars..the god of war..
then a death day for caesar

and how do we play it today..?
it is laundry day..
ghee making day
windy day
half of march
scouring the horizon for daffodils..
urging the sun to peek bright
with dozens of sun salutes..

a day like any other day..
or is it?

to a robin in lent
you were the first one back,
the first one back.

you clung to a bare black branch,
your habit to choose sundays in march,
wind whirling around you,
sky grey as a shroud, and wet,
to sing to the flowers, not there yet.

you were not loud.
no, not at all.
but you knew what you were doing.
~elizabeth spires

inquiry

how may plate fulls of greens did i eat today?
kale, chard, spinach..?

what is happening in japan right now?
what can i do?

how many woman are in leading roles
such as lawyers, scientists, inventors and physicists?
are they wearing pink?

when will the dalai lama get to go back home?
how many more nuns and monks will set
themselves on fire before he does?

did i light a candle for someone other than myself today?

what are the things i am most greatful for today?
the gas attendant smiling, the snow on the hillsides,
the clothes dryer circumambulating, coconut white chocolate,
my fingers, tea from far away places, a call from my pal...
and on and on...

what is the secret of the pulse?

how many angels do dance on the head of a pin?

when will all the wars be over?
why do we train young men/women to kill?
what the farbang is going on in afghanistan?

why do my cross stitches come out so uneven?
will i ever finish this project?

does standing on my head make me taller?
make my hair thicker?
my intelligence spring forth?

a question by robert frost
a voice said,
look me in the stars
and tell me truly,
men of earth,
if all the soul-and-body scars
were not too much to pay for birth.

substitute

ORIGIN late Middle English (denoting a deputy or delegate):
from Latin substitutus ‘put in place of,’
past participle of substituere, based on statuere ‘set up.’

USAGE Traditionally, the verb substitute is followed by for
and means ‘put (someone or something) in place of another,’ as in :
she substituted the fake vase for the real one.
From the late 17th century substitute has also been used
with with or by to mean ‘replace (something) with something else,’ as in :
she substituted the real vase with the fake one.
This can be confusing,
since the two sentences shown above mean the same thing,
yet the object of the verb and the object of the preposition
have swapped positions.
Despite the potential confusion,
the second, newer use is well established and,
although still disapproved of by traditionalists,
is now generally regarded as part of normal standard English.

subbing..as in teacher..as in replacing..
as in to set up..hummmmmmmm?
it is not an easy task to go into a classroom
where one is expected to be who one is not..
ie:
not the teacher one was planning on stretching with..
ie:
in a yoga class ..
i find i become all wibbly-wobblity
losing every ounce of know-it-all-ness..
this is a good thing..
i embody shoshin
beginner's mind..even as i ask..
whether verbally or non-verbally..
the students to let go of any expectation..
pre-stored know-how..
let's begin again...
set ourselves up for surprize..
to be awed or hoodwinked..
to replace what we know with what we don't know....

in a beginner's mind there are many possiblilities,
in an expert's mind there are few.
shunryu suzuki

does anybody really know..

what time it is...?

we met at nine.
we met at eight.
i was on time.
no, you were late.
ah yes! I remember it well..
~alan lerner


i wasted time; now doth time waste me.
~ shakespere

always bit of a ruff transition
this springing into spring....