yes!

i thank you god for most this amazing
day: for the leaping greenly spirits of trees
and a blue true dream of sky; and for everything
which is natural which is infinite which is yes

(i who have died am alive again today,
and this is the sun’s birthday; this is the birth
day of life and love and wings; and of the gay
great happening illimitably earth)

how should tasting touching hearing seeing
breathing any-lifted from the no
of all nothing-human merely being
doubt unimaginable You?

(now the ears of my ears awake and
now the eyes of my eyes are opened)

~ e.e. cummings

dangerous mountain

the climber reaches the peak in a day ~
but what are you doing here? it’s dangerous!
you pray to heaven for protection,
and the rock wall before you opens like a cave.

being a solo flyer..a solitaire..
brings one..brings me..
face to face with aloneness..
a hole in the wall..
of course, why wouldn’t it?

as thomas merton wrote of his solitary life..
“now as i really confront it..
it is awesome, wonderful,
and i see i have no strength
of my own for it..”

this always happens to me
when i travel to the farthest most~
i see that i have no strength for it..
and yet, over and again..
i take the risk, the challenge..
reaching the peak in a day..
what am i doing here?

to live intentionally, to live deliberately~

for me, to strip away the masks and disguises
that come with the known life..
the friends and family..the street corners..
livelihoods and hoods,
shoppes, shopkeepers and habits of my life..
i want to see what shines through
when the veil is down..

at first, it is always fear and great doubt..
it’s dangerous!
partially due to jet lag..true..
then ~
the total nowness and newness
of a place and my place in it..
for i have no place..
i have not stacked up a pile
of faces, roles and co-spiriters
to settle in with..

there is an emptiness to me..
a minimum of inauthenticity..
innocence and ignorance..yet again..
discovering, uncovering, recovering..
the wellspring of trust ..
you pray to heaven for protection..

i know there is no place to go..
and i know that there is nothing like the unknown..
being thrown into it like chips in cookie dough
to bring out the heat, the sweet
of making things whole.

it’s been said..
we may think that we need to be more/have more
in order to be whole
yet really, we need to let go, throw away
everything that isn’t true, isn’t our essence..

i confess to a great un done ness..
a great hole in my wholeness..
these do come about more than once in our lives..
the great sea-changes of birth, old age, illness and death.
our own and others..
i see that there is always a hole in wholeness..
after all, it is spelled that way..
the practice, the key, the gift
is the ability to accept it..
the what is..hole..
our strength is in that inward measure of space..

kadhosh, kadhosh, kadhosh!
enough holiness...

taking oneself away, apart
where everything is stripped clean, cleared out
where habit, identity, grief are stuffed..
healing might thread together a fresh heart
and the rock wall will open like a cave..

tavli

backgammon as we in the west know it..
shesh-besh..
tavli..tavla
the game of gamers
the only game..

a board game in which two players
move their pieces
around twenty-four triangular points
according to the throw of dice,
the winner being
the first to remove all their pieces
from the board.

tables filled with men..
mostly men..
olde men, young men..
smoking men, drinking men

the click, chip, dash of dice
the pieces whipping away
brash, growly voices hammering one another
forward back..out in
smoke and more smoke..

i learned to play o so many years ago..
in greece..then turkey..then israel..
i was invited to play with the men...
mainly because i could hand roll a smoke with three fingers ~
(see hat trick in older posts..)
there in the purple haze of hookahs and chai..
i was taught the layout.. the count..the catch..the win.

as i cash in on the internet connection
at the chris cafe..
smoke, clash and dash
early morning gammon gamers
it all comes back to me..

milarepa tells us:
there is no end to worldly pursuits..
the game ends when we do..
~
keep a good heart -
practice diligently!

charmed, i’m sure

unlike randolph who claimed i was charming him
a month ago in the southwest..
costas is bothered by my very existence..

it’s just that i haven’t a clue about anything here..
the ignorance..
or shall we say innocence..
is vast..

there’s the language..
which i am working on..
the bus schedule..
the holidays that happen twice a day, it seems ~
then there’s the euro..
converting dollars to euros and back again..
of course, the food..
what are these things everyone is buying..?
octopus to be sure..

costas has a kiosk near the bus stop..
he seemed the perfect fella to answer each and every
question i have about the nature of everything greek..
he flew up his hands at the sight of me today..
barking and growling .. snarling, i'd say..
backing away with a smile,
i decide to give it and him a rest..

so.... i’ll never know the name of backgammon in greek..
so?

i trust he’ll feel better tomorrow..
there is the question of telefonos..

international woman’s day march 8th

if i were in athens right now,
i would be riding public transport for free!
this morning, the bus was nowhere in sight..
walking down the footpath..to the sea...
the bus - heading up the hill as i reach the village!

today..
my mama’s death day..
one year ago ..

a few notes from her eulogy..
some poems ..some songs..

sallie’s fruitcake poem
(this poem was written after my father died..
and sallie began in earnest to sell her fruitcakes)

you may think this fruit cake
is just fruit and nuts,
spice, flour, sugar, shortening,
mixed, sifted and cut:

but tied in this package
is friendship and love
and warmth of a kind
as our father’s above.

for family emergency
changed in a day,
this cake as a hobby
to cake made for pay!

as neighbors and kind folk
from church, school and town
began to cut fruit, weigh the nuts
rally ‘round!

they’ve helped make and package
and even sell too,
this cake from our kitchen,
that now comes to you.



sallie’s quilt poem
written november 2, 1932

i can lay aside my studies without a
sense of guilt
if i have a thousand pieces to be sewn
into a quilt.
to be sewing them together from morn
until its night
i must confess its pleasure and forms my
chief delight.
to arrange the many colors so they’ll
make a perfect blend
is like visiting and conversing with an
old and honest friend.
when the thing is all together and the work
is fully done
i can dote upon a friendship quilt with
bushels full of fun.





bits of my eulogy for sallie..march 8, 2010

as it so happens,
my mama was the love of my life..
the 14th dalai lama speaks about
his first teacher..his mother..
who taught him lovingkindness and compassion.
indeed it is so with me as well..

my sister, sara and i are adopted..
that speaks volumes ..
we hit the jack-pot with our mother..
i was always so greatful she never turned us
(me, particularly)..back in!
heaven only knows
she had plenty of cause plenty of times..

sallie had a quality of equanimity
that was inspirational.
she opened her loving arms,
her kitchen, her home, her sewing basket
to o so many.

there is a saying in the middle east
that guest is god..
sallie honored that tradition
with the nantucket inn..
we had to keep the bathrooms soooo clean..
we could not leave our toothbrushes, hairbrushes anywhere..
for teen-age girls ~ that was a stretch..
yet it taught us to place others before ourselves..

sallie had an unfettered joy
deep in the landscape of her being..
she drew from that wellspring daily.
whenever hardship hit our family..
(often caused by one of her daughters!)
sallie would take up her needle and thread
and sew the world aright..
i witnessed this over and over and over again.

a tradition of sallie’s..
never leave home without a hankie..
carrying two was a good idea
so you would have one to give another in need..

it is sweet to me that sallie
left this earth on the 8th..
international women’s day..
also her thimble size..
she was an 8 and
she often had one on her finger..

my mama was always opening up..
like a tulip in the sun..
you have seen them yawn toward the light..
sallie’s spirit was such..
wide open to learn, to stretch..
even when she was unaware
of the expanse she was headed for..


those of you who have loved sallie
have stitched yourselves into a patchwork quilt
of lovingkindness and compassion,
of equanimity and unfettered joy
that wraps its cozy colours around her
and sends her on her way.....

row, row, row your boat
gently down the stream
merrily, merrily, merrily, merrily ~
life is but a dream!


great praise to all the mothers...
all the women of the world..
shine, shine, shine!
happy international women’s day!


(the day sallie died the sky was cloudless and clear)

a room with a view

“i love a broad margin to my life.
sometimes on a summer morning...
i sat in my sunny doorway from sunrise to noon,
rapt in reverie, amidst the pines and hickories and sumacs
in undisturbed solitude and stillness..
i grew in those seasons like corn in the night,
and they were far better than any work of hands
would have been.”

~ henry david thoreau walden 1854


soon you will be sitting on top of the world
another fortune cookie on my way out of seattle....

always keep the view

benny and joonya

we began our conversation in the elevater..
going down..
to the metro tunnel..
both of us were heading to sea-tac..
benny heading to the florida keys..me to patmos, greece..
he called me joonya..
i said we could make a movie!
(watch benny and joon for me, eh?)

he said we were on the lamb..
what exactly does that mean?
benny ‘s definition was that we were escaping something..
heading toward something..
i would have to look that up to be sure..
however, i agreed with him..
we were on our way to an adventure..
escaping life as we had known it..

benny is 74, 22 years of sobriety..
tall, grey-bearded, silver earrings
rings on every finger..no socks..brrr!
heading back to a place he will call home..
he had a very large suitcase with FOLSOM
painted on it in oils..he was an artist..
numerous rectangle bags schlepped over his shoulders..
one was a billiard stick..
the others....?

we had both been models for art classes..
benny in the buff, me in costume~
we had both boiled down
our possessions to what we carried..
(never mind that i had a corner full
for the next rendering..watch for the garage sale!)
benny had carefully chosen what he would take
away with him..on the lamb..then he closed up his apartment
and walked away!

he told me he left it a bit of a mess..
i can imagine..though he also said
he left treasures for those who’ll clean it up!



as we were leaving the train ..
he mentioned he was getting a blister..
damn!
new clogs..no socks..

..do you have any in the bundle your carrying..?
nope!

hummmm..let me see..
i have a pair ..what size be ye?
12..eek!
wonder if we can win-angle these to your feet..
we figured...yep!
so he made off with my smart woolies..

then as i said my bless you good-byes,
he rummaged thru the mystery bags
and pulled out a flute? recorder? clarinet?
here you go , girl..look, it comes apart..easy for travel..
benny, benny, benny..
you know i am not gathering..
i am on the dispersing trail..
keep it..please..
offer to one who will play it brilliantly..
thanks anyway..
bon voyage!

heading off..
as i looked back, benny was seated on a ledge..
win-angling his toes into those wee woolies..
my heart popped wide open!

giving really is receiving ~