Different Gifts

I had a rocky night with an unhappy stomach and discovered more of the same upon awakening. I have had a quiet day so far and have eaten only enough to keep my glucose levels from falling too low. The condition of my stomach is in stark contrast to the gorgeous day outside. I had hoped to do some transplanting today but am not sure I will have the energy.
My house plants have thrived in this house. There are lots of big, wide windows and the light is excellent for growing things. At present the pots are burgeoning and greenery is overflowing to the point of 'we have to do something about this'. I have two plants with the potential to be indoor trees and they are calling out for more space. I may go to the nursery on Thursday with Phil and not only purchase more plants but also some new pots. I will need some pretty big pots for the wanna be trees and it will be great to have Phil to carry them.
I watched an interesting Iron Chef yesterday. There were 2 pairs of chefs who met Mrs. Obama in the White House vegetable garden. Vegetables from the garden were the secret ingredient that the chefs were to use in the competition. The garden must be cared for by experts in addition to the school children who work on it as the vegetables were magnificent. It was suggested that those of us in the audience could also plant and harvest our own vegetables even in small spaces. My handicap in the yard that I have relative to growing vegetables is that I don't have a lot of sun. It is one of the few disappointments I have about this property. My southern boundary is bordered by trees and shrubs going from 25' to maybe as high as 50' and very little sun is let in until early afternoon. But whatever the obstacles, I am inspired once again to try some vegetables. I did have a vegetable garden at the Alta Hacienda house that some of you knew but it too suffered from not enough sunlight.
Growing one's own vegetable garden inevitably makes me think of my son Johnnie who was such a gifted enthusiast about gardening. My parents were great gardeners - flowers and edibles, and I always loved the link from them to me to him. It is a beautiful energy to share especially now that Johnnie and my parents have died. The joy of the garden remains and keeps us connected. Your image, Jen, of joy as a tree comes to mind - stunning image. I so appreciate your sharing it.
And I marvel at your many techie talents. Such fun to see your Vlog. I don't know how to do so many of the techie things but I so enjoy that other people can do them. I do have a talent for being audience.
A poem I wrote some time ago speaks to that talent:

Different Gifts

I have the soul of the poet,
but not the pen.
I tremble with the music
but cannot write the song.

It's simple then.
Just tremble.

Love you all.

Keeping At It

I love reading blogs and to please those of you like me, who also like reading them, I am making a contribution today. Actually I am choosing this activity over some things that don't have much appeal - like going through all my files and weeding out what is no longer relevant. Sometimes I love to do that but it is not speaking to me today. Or I could go out in the garage and clean all the inside glass in my car and Armoral all the leather. I got up extra early this morning because Phil comes at eight so I don't have that kind of energy at 4 p.m.
I have just come back from getting my mail, going over to Lincoln Plaza and getting gas and having my car serviced. Went in to AJ's to see if they had hearing aid batteries (they did not) and bought 3 fat free, sugar free bran/raisin muffins. Just finished a pleasant late afternoon snack of a muffin and a glass of skim milk.
Two things I will do before dinner are to meditate for a half hour and burn 100 calories on the bike.
Just took a minute out to call Lis. I have felt ever since she left Steinberg that she was out somewhere in the ether and I wanted to nail down some ways we could communicate. Got that straightened out.
I have made some plans for the weekend. Dorothy and I will see Broken Embraces at Camelview 5 tomorrow night and go for ice cream after and if the timetable works Sara and I will go see a musical review that Rusty Ferracane is in. On Sunday, having become a Cardinals fan these past 2 years, I will be watching them play the Green Bay Packers in the first round of the playoffs. The teams are evenly matched but the Packers are a hot team right now so will be a challenge to get past.
Outside my window I see a dozen pink roses in various stage of bloom. As you fellow desert dwellers know this is not the high season for gardens right now. Mine look pretty good but I look forward to Spring and being more active outside. Phil and I are always working on new projects and it is very satisfying.
I find I go back and forth in my mind over whether to become more involved in the world - join a group or two, do volunteer work, or maintain this call to 'monkhood'.
Phil and I were discussing it this morning. He grew up on a ranch surrounded by acres of open space and mingling with taciturn cowboys. Such conditioning turned him towards monkhood and he has to push himself to socialize. I enjoy socializing - love to be with and around people but I love the silence and serenity of the way I live. My property is like a cloister. Unless I put my eye up to a clear spot in the stained glass by my front door I don't see a person or a car from one day to the next. My views are sky, trees, the pool and waterfall and shrubs and flowers. At this very moment I hear absolutely nothing. As much as I love music I ask myself "Do you want to listen to something right now?" Nine times out of ten all I want to hear is silence.
It is not really surprising. Despite being brought up in a sea of people, in and out of 4 or 5 houses, playing daily with 15 or so other children I have a deeply contemplative side. It certainly did not get much air time raising a family of 10. So now it seems fitting that I have lots of space for the part of me that loves solitude. But I am aware that my more gregarous side wants to push the monk out the door.
I own all five of the books by Adyashanti and as part of my morning ritual I read from one of them. At present I am reading the poems of MY SECRET IS SILENCE. Here is one with which I will close today's post.

A TENDENCY TO SHINE

If you prefer smoke over fire
then get up now and leave.
For I do not intend to perfume
your mind's clothing
with more sooty knowledge.
No,I have someting else in mind.

Today I hold a flame in my left hand
and a sword in my right.
There will be no damage control today.

For God is in a mood
to plunder your riches and
fling you nakedly
into such breathtaking poverty
that all that will be left of you
will be a tendency to shine.

So don't just sit around this flame
choking on your mind.
For this is no campfire song
to mindlessly mantra yourself to sleep with.

Jump now into the space between thoughts
and exit this dream
before I burn the damn place down.

Thank you so much for reading.

Pushing Through

I am inspired this morning by your 'pushing through' Jen. I have the exercise thing pretty much in place. Could be doing better with the weights but I do the bike regularly. I have also trained my stomach with months of under eating to just not want very much food at any one time. For the past several weeks I have not recorded my calories (1300 a day) and have eaten pretty much what I wanted. Doing this I lost a little bit of weight. I was put on thyroxine by my doctor a few months ago and I think it is kicking in. Yesterday I started back on recording the calories as I want to see what the effect of the thyroxine will be when I am under eating.
Where I need to push through is in the area of writing. From the time I was a child and particularly in a college writing class I have been encouraged to write. I self published a sort of memoir and then went on to publish another book based on my own individuation journey (Jungian terminolgy). I have been working on a novel for a number of years (mostly not working on it). I did not see myself as having the ability to write a novel (I marvel at those who do) and nothing so far has changed my mind. The arena in which I do seem to have some gift is poetry. The very best novels come close to or attain the level of poetry for me. It appears to be the genre through which the heart speaks the most clearly. As I have mentioned in a previous post it takes courage for me to write poetry. It is the genre that most undoes me and challenges the control I seem to need to be comfortable in my skin.
So, thanks Jen for helping me push through today and at least write something!(if only to bemoan how I don't write).
I have written many poems and have them sorted into categories. A few are COMPLETE. Many NEED MORE WORK. Others I descrbe as NOT WORTH A REWRITE. Bitterness is a COMPLETE poem and Into the Woods is a NEEDS MORE WORK poem.

Bitterness

I'd like to put my bitterness
out on the line
to blow and flap like sheets
in the cleansing, windy sun.
Instead of storing it
forgotten,
rancid food,
hidden in the coldness of
my refrigerator heart.

I'd like to open up the
frozen space
fire it with a savage love
and burn the bitterness away.
And as a flower in the sun
turns light-ward to bloom,
so turn my heart to love
and live in JOY again.


Into the Woods

We never mourn the
ugly things:
The cutting sarcasm,
the deadly neglect of your
child's birthday,
vindictive anger on the freeway,
and endless little bits
of blame
cluttering up your life like so
many toast crumbs on
the tablecloth.

We know instead the loss
of fresh towels laid out
for three
on Mondays,
the comforting, noisy bleat
of Saturdays'
lawnmower,
his trim-jeaned bottom
bending
over daisies,
the grin that says, Hi!
I'm home!"

We even mourn the myths that
never happen:
Like going into the woods together,
and staying in the woods together,
and living happily
ever, ever after.

I have made mention in a previous post of two poems suggested in a conversation that I had with Marth. I did a first draft of I Have Picasso Hanging in my Bathroom and was somewhat pleased with what came up. But it is in the NEEDS MORE WORK file at the moment. Today I am going to brainstorm the second suggested poem which is about how Marth relates spirituality to nature. She mentions that while walking the Preserve she must keep moving to connect to Spirit. There is not a poem yet so I will share what goes into the "stew pot" today.
By the way this poem has not yet found it's title.

Always moving - always moving -
like? walking, walking the Preserve:
ravaged by pain,
savaged by loneliness,
raging at God.
She says in fury "God, I gave myself to you! Today I take myself back!"
Wind - so much wind.
Pale - early moon like a pain dimmed soul.
Spirit moving - out ahead - follow me -
don't stop for the purple stain of lupine,
the breathless amber/gold/mauve sunset
can't stop to feel the wind,
the Spirit out ahead - follow, follow
- wink of the first star -
can't stop - can't stop.
being with the pain,
being the pain,
driven by the pain,
running from the pain,
raging,
sobbing,
dying,dying
-moving, moving,moving.

Perhaps more will go into the stew pot - I don't know - but like Marth's brain the pot will ferment and a poem will begin to emerge. For now, just waiting.
I always love it when I get into this process. It is a mystery to me that I don't do it more often. Will take a lunch break and then address some of the NEEDS MORE WORK poems.

Where Oh Where Did Blogging go?

It would appear that Jen is the only true blogger among us. I so enjoy reading what she has to say and am delighted when I log on and see that she has written something.
Blogging can't hold a candle to the number of people playing Farmville and other games. I know that gaming is very popular with Marth and that Mary is very focused on her new career and making some bucks.
I was very excited about having a blog and was very active for a few weeks. But then I discovered that if anyone was reading anything I was writing I would never know it because only Marth commented. I was really just blogging for an audience of one i.e. me.
Granted I want to be doing something with writing so it at least is some form of practice every time I post.
To continue to honor poetry I saw an Emily Dickinson line the other day that I thought quite nice - it had some of Emily's pith and economy. I think it went like this: "We turn not older with years, but newer every day."

I Have Picasso Hanging in my Bathroom

I introduced the idea of writing such a poem in this blog the other day. Not being ready to actually put any of the poem on paper, I decided to put bits and pieces of ideas and thoughts in what I think of as a sort of stewpot of creativity. And there they sit roiling around until they begin to form some relationship to one another. When that happens the poem will begin to emerge and show itself to me. Maybe a line or two will come up in finished form - if I am lucky. I take what has come up and work with it a bit, attempting to keep trying and the ego out of it - never easy to dol And then back in the stew pot goes everything and the process continues until there is a sense that the work has completed itself.
When I said the title sentence to Martha, she laughed and said "That is the title of a poem!" And I laughed. Recalling this has given me the feeling that this is not to be a serious poem. Since I tend (it is my Leo nature) to be very grand scheme, over-the-top and serious, writing something light and funny will be new for me.
It fits in however, with how I am looking at my life right now. I have always loved change and challenge, the future rather than the past.I am thrilled by possibilities. Monday is my favorite day of the week because it presents a blank canvass and I am excited by what might appear on that canvass. All unknown - all a mystery.
As an elder I am consciously asking my brain to take on the new, move away from the safe and familiar, to dare, stretch and grow.
The stew pot is bubbling - something is coming up. I will share it with you.

First draft: I Have Picasso Hanging in my Bathroom

I took an art course when I was in college.
We learned about artists, their methods, schools
and techniques.
We also drew and painted.

I remember being embarrassed when
my effort with oils was shown to
the whole class
to show them "how not to do it".
But I did get an A+ on
a silhouette.
So there, you snickerers,

I discovered then that I liked my
art to tell me a story or bring up
some feelings.
I haven't changed.

Today I find modern art to be
obscure.
Sort of into itself.
Like the artist is teasing us
by giving us a riddle with no key.

It makes me cross - like he or she
is smugly putting something over
on me
so they can feel superior
and make me look dumb.

But I have the last laugh.
I have Picasso hanging in my bathroom.
A lowly place rightly suited
in my mind
for modern art.

And then again perhaps the joke's
on me.
I have Kandinsky hanging over
my fireplace.
But maybe that's
another poem.

Doing My Part

I have been letting the two ideas for new poems bubble in the stew pot of creativity and today it is time to do my part. This involves looking into the stew pot to see what is there. I will only find bits and pieces and I will then experiment with how to put them together so that they begin to look like a poem. So then, let's see what is in there this afternoon. (they are going to have to go back in the pot in an hour because I am going to watch the Cards play the Giants at 5:20).

I will begin with looking at the poem about Martha hiking in the Preserve. Let's give it a working title of "Spirit Moves Me".

The Bits:

John Muir - nature as church
Martha identifies
how is nature church for her?
she walks
she does not brouse or stop and take things in
she must keep moving
Spirit is in the moving
Jordan speaks of change - everything changes
everything is in a state of flux
Spirit is in everything
No attachments -just constant flow
The desert is a flowing of Spirit
Like the dust is ever moving
The cacti are moving
The clouds are moving
One blossom is everything moving everywhere



I Have Picasso Hanging in my Bathroom

The Bits

Modern art is obscure
I don't get it - most of it
Some of it has an energy that stirs me
My Picasso has recognizable figures in motion
Moving again
Maybe these two poems are just one poem?
In the bathroom? Very basic
We clean up and clean out in the bathroom
He is there because he matches the decor
I like the subject - it is about peace
There are doves
There is whirling
Modern art makes me dizzy
I sense some comedy here
Not a serious poem perhaps
The bathroom has a mirror - as a mirror
What is funny? What is being cleaned up?

Back in the stew pot - all the above - get to know one another better - I will call in on you again soon.

Brain Ferment

Last Saturday I had a very lively conversation with my daughter Marth. We were seated at her dining room table having a very leisurely breakfast following my havng spent the night. Out of our conversation emerged ideas for two poems. It never fails to amaze me how the Muse materializes from unexpected places.
In my view Marth has a brain in ferment - she is quick, clever, imaginative,literate and so witty. Talking with her is like taking my brain to the gym and trying out all of the equipment. Muscles develop and I feel myself on the way to a Jack LaLanne brain.
We were talking about John Muir and how he experienced nature as his church. Both of us had watched some of The National Parks series on public television and Muir was profiled in one of the segments. Martha said that she could identify with his realization of nature as church. She hikes in a Preserve near her home and she said something intriguing about her hiking experiences as related to nature as church for her. She said she could not just saunter, stopping here and there but that she had to keep moving for the spiritual energy to be sustained. The uniqueness of what she was feeling caught my attention. "There is a poem here" I said. I want to talk with her more about this moving before I begin.
Then we talked about modern poetry and modern art. I have a friend who is a gifted artist. He began painting again after he retired. For quite some time his work was representationl and I enjoyed it. But the last show he mounted was almost one hundred percent modern art. It was so abstract I could not relate to it. I missed story and emotion. I belong to the Academy of American Poets and they seem to bestow most of their honors on abstract poetry. There is no question that the world of abstract art and poetry is a valid one. But I seem to lack whatever is required to be a fan. As a sort of apology to the modernists I said to Marth - "But I have Picasso hanging in my bathroom.' She laughed and remarked, "That is the title of a poem!"
So I have my work cut out for me. "What is it about moving that evokes and sustains Spirit for Marth?" And "What about Picasso hanging in my bathroom?" My brain is in ferment.