Waiting for Perfect Light

In contemplation this morning a scene of natural setting came to me. Not a lot of detail, but vivid in its beauty and light. I chose to paint it in haiku.

blue boat by gray dock
matching the distant hills
she waits with pastels

In selecting that last line, I thought of a friend--an artist and writer. So I visited her website and found a similar scene in her Waterways gallery. I can see her there on the bank in yellow hat.

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Relationship—The Lessons We Learn

This isn't poetry, but rather a short piece of humor from which you may detect a bit of wisdom gleaned along the lines (front lines, that is) of the battle of the sexes. That war, by-the-way, is one I do not support—though as a reporter of the human condition, I have been known to get caught up in the battle a time or two too many. And if you are a believer in reincarnation (like over 50% of the world population) you may appreciate the suggested answer to the two original questions that came to the thinking being, indeed our race. And we are still running.

Who am I? Why am I here?

If our mission were to unfold in divine blessings singularly under one God, I'm quite sure my incarnations would have been limited to a handful. But, alas, I detected another soul in my world and I uttered, or I gestured, or I reached out and touched that one. At first it was quite exciting. New and fresh. Every word, every effort was a way to improve my condition. I knew it was good by my feelings, physical—and . . . some other, undefined way. Every echo of my call. Every response to my action, were all reflections of my desire. All day long.

And the next day she said, "What about me?"

I said, "Me? I am me." And she contradicted, saying, "No. I am me."

And these words and similar went on for some time—about ten-thousand lifetimes. And finally one of us started to realize—perhaps it was the day at the still lake when she saw herself as I saw her. And she saw me, but backwards and behind her. And I've been behind her ever since in the words department.

She said, "It's all about perspective. I see you and you see me. And we are different. And we are the same. I am me, and you are you. And we are we. You see? The birds and the flowers and the bees and the trees. and my mother's great aunt…."

And I said, "Oh."

But I did see, though sometimes I had to plug my ears to do so. I saw what she saw when I realized my reflection is a good way to see what I've become.

So for some time, about a hundred-thousand lifetimes, we've been learning about the differences and likenesses of each of us. You and you, and you, and me. And you and you and you. Actually there are quite a lot of us now, and only one me.

You see, one thing we always agreed upon is how good it felt to couple. Even if only for the pleasure to me. And you, of course, as your own me. And so there continues to be a multiplying of a lot more us.

Us! That's it. We all have wants and needs and desires. And some of us started to realize that what gives you happiness also gives me happiness as well. And your happiness gives me happiness. And that mine does not take away from yours.

So with her wisdom I am starting to learn that relationship is a give and take situation. Or is it give and give? After all, it was take and take for so long. Balance is good.

Balance in relationship. That's why we're here—for the lessons learned therein. And what we really gain when we put what we have learned into practice.

Take me ahead about a million more lifetimes. I'm looking forward to when I won't have to come back anymore. I'll just stay there with you. And you and you and you. We all have hope.

in the river

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there is
the sea that draws me
from ground spring
and forest rain
to carry its life on leaf
and rippled song -- a notion
thought of going home
becomes an urge
compelling
ocean of heart
current in this river
there it is
the sea
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New Straw

The other day, at my desk at work, for some reason I picked up a scent like none other so rich and comforting. It took me back to my boyhood on the farm. And this morning a golden glow out my morning window . . . In my journal I brought it together in verse:

New Straw

Late summer scent
New straw sweet
Cut and drying
Save morning due
The cooler nights
And now at first light
Reaching low over hills of gold
This glow and the harvest
Of my heart opening
Each new day
To love
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