Thursday, May 28, 2015

Sweet Boredom

Image result for public domain image of muse

I have learned how a sweet kind of boredom
Wears the robes of my muse;
That too much attending to the minutiae of life
Inner or outer
Hobbles me.
My body imposed a full stop today;
And in that potent mix of sunshine and birdsong,
Of a puppy chewing at the edge of my foot
And the barest burble of my goldfish lipping
The border between water and sky,
Words breathed again over the skin of my fingers,
Easing their ache,
Easing a different kind of silence.


Thursday, May 21, 2015

This Old Cabin, Part 4

Yesterday, we tore out the bathroom floor getting ready to replace a few boards that time and moisture had softened. Jig, our new goldendoodle pup watched with great interest as we attacked the wood and exposed the supporting structures beneath.  I must say I shared her curiosity.  We found a window behind the tub surround, and three layers of paneling and dryway covering the original cedar paneling. (I've included a picture here of the mess before the paneling came off.) It's a kind of practical archaeological play, dating the efforts of past owners by the look of the wall treatments.  If I still lived in the pacific northwest I think I would have tried to "save"that original paneled look!  But we desperately need insulation here, where the temps can go twenty or thirty below zero some winters. The panels sit flush with the outer wall...and so we have to create enough space to spray foam at least four inches deep.

The tub surround was a trick to get out...but since we will install a pocket door to save room, cutting a big enough exit door worked out just fine.  Here it is in the kitchen, on its way to the ReStore. We have spent almost nothing on this project, making use of used building materials, and giving back to the same store the appliances and fixtures that don't fit our plan for the house.

Small seedlings are coming up already in the wildflower garden along the road, even as I eye about four more piles of leaves waiting patiently for me to scoop them into the compost heap. It's a matter of trust and a dash of mystical waiting when those seeds go into the ground.  I can almost see this swath in  the late summer, some 40 varieties of flowers nodding in the August heat.  Maybe that's the great gift of a project like this: the steady dripping of activity mixed with patience will bloom. Maybe not in the way I currently envision but almost certainly in a way that will be enough. It's a doing and then a surrender.  As I age I become more comfortable with such things.

It has been such a delight to slough off the load of "stuff" in my life. The riches of relational love we must cultivate in our short time on Earth will only give fruit when we dig into the rich soil of living beings, not stuff.  The truth is, such things own us and not the other way around. The small space will keep me mindful of this in the future, when I am tempted to fill holes in my heart or mind with dead and numbing things.  Every material object I give away or time takes from me is truly a blessing, a making of space in the shape of time and creative energy.  And as a country western song reminds us, "never seen a Hearst with a trailer hitch."

Indeed and Amen.

Free Audio Codes for Introduction to Openness with Sue Sutherland-Hanson and Kim Beyer-Nelson

I am so pleased to let folks know that the poetry book by Sue Sutherland-Hanson and myself is currently available as a beautifully narrated audio book.  

If you would like a copy of this work, please friend me on facebook and send me a message and I can get you your free codes--Only a few left now, so hurry!

Remember, all the proceeds from the first year of this book go to support ocean ecological initiatives.  As a form of contemplative social action, this book has been a delight to both write and promote.

Blessings to you all.

Sweet Tears

Image result for public domain image of log cabin

When did the stacked logs of a neighbor 
threaten such melancholy?
Yet, even now, I can trace the orange slash of an Oriole
against the ice blue lake
and feel the breeze shiver its breath through
The holes in the screen.
Each line softens with moss,
with the red cup of the tulip footing brown shadows.
Sway, my soul, like the narrow wedge of birch leaves,
Like the hummingbird feeder,
Rocking in its solitude
While it holds sweet tears.


Monday, May 18, 2015

It is Rare

Image result for public domain image of birch trees

It’s rare when the music of the moment eludes me-
rare when I cannot find the words to pirouette
through the spaces between emotional major and minor keys.

The birch trees are painted on more somber backdrops,
black and white 
and still 
the leaves flutter,
half-homeless melodies conducted in palest spring green.

If I stumble over such a lyric song note by note
instead of dancing with it,
forgive me.
The wind has made me remember to hang onto nothing,
not even


Monday, May 11, 2015

My Gazebo Floats

Image result for public domain image of white gazebo birdfeeder

My gazebo floats
as if some dreamer blundered
into my reality,
not waking yet,
and shared his vision with me.

Never mind it is filled with birdseed.

Wings and song,
birch trees and dense fog on Long Lake,
foam piling up around the rushes like 
small snowdrifts,
Kingfisher dives into light and ripples,
and I
throw another pass on my loom,
green and blue yarn of spring.

My dreamer will come home with a friend tonight,
hoping he can catch the Spring Peeper melody
and rest in Red Wing Blackbird cries
for business as usual
trudges in melt-off memories 
and May?
She is more whimsical than that.