and it begins, again

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and it begins

and it begins, by beth mercer

as i find myself in a new phase of life, i have begun a new blog as well. for more quotes, poetry, ponderings & photography, flip over to everyday-poetry.

making real, among sorrows & songs

i love the dark hours of my being.
my mind deepens into them.
there i can find, as in old letters,
the days of my life, already lived,
and held like a legend, and understood.

then the knowing comes: i can open
to another life that's wide and timeless.

so i am sometimes like a tree
rustling over a gravesite
and making real the dream
of the one its living roots
embrace:

a dream once lost
among sorrows and songs.

{i,5 from rilke's 'book of hours'}

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jónsi sang go

jónsi sang go

i thought i was ready to throw off
winter’s weight as soon as spring
peeked from the ground, softened
the stark dark trees, that i too
could again be green and colour
and soft earth, but the cold
deadness clung with suffocating
hands to its post, dug in deep
and obstinate. so i took jónsi on a walk.
out through the sunlit streets, filled
my eyes with petalspetalspetals
all orangeredyellowwhitepink.
the magnolias bursting – branches
once heavy burdened with snow
and ice – now in flight against blue sky
waving their arms adorned (aburst!)
with pinkwhite blossoms, sharing
their glory with the grass below – a sprinkling
of pinkwhite salt seasoning the green.
my feet sang along – starting and stopping,
turning, slowing, lifting (sometimes imagining
in their minds – twirling) and then i found a tree
and sat beneath it when what i really wanted
was to lay on the grass, gazing up

it took a moment, but my feet
talked me into it – “go do”
they sang with jónsi – so i lay back
and the streets were no more –
just me, the tree, the blue and
masses of white cloud creating
a moving landscape beyond
the dark stark branches
sprinkled with leaf buds.
occasionally birds flew past.
and once a dry brown leaf skittered
from the ground up over me
its dead dryness somehow
a part of this simple playful
scene of bluewhitebrown
while i lay, one with the green

“no one knows you, till it’s over”
maybe that means even me.
maybe i’ll be surprised by
who i can be when it’s over.

*inspired by jónsi's album, go.

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some rilke to break your teeth and spark your soul

if we imagine our being as a room of any size,
it seems that most of us know only
a single corner of that room,
a spot by the window, a narrow strip
on which we keep walking back and forth.
that gives a kind of security.
but isn't insecurity with all its dangers
so much more human?

we are not prisoners of that room.

i have great faith in all things not yet spoken.
i want to free what waits within me
so that what no one yet has dared to wish for
may for once spring clear
without my contriving.

if this is arrogant, God, may i be forgiven,
but what i need to say is this:
may what i do flow from me like a river,
without anger, without timidness,
no forcing and no holding back.

then in these swelling and ebbing currents,
these deepening tides moving out, returning,
i will sing You as no one ever has,
streaming through widening channels
into the open sea.

{rainer maria rilke} 

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hanging on

driving in the bitter cold the other day,
i saw a few trees with brown leaves
still clinging to their branches - huddled
and brittle. and i wasn't sure whether
it was terrible or beautiful.

are they simply unwilling to let go,
clinging bitterly because this is
all they know, doubtful of anything
else being better? or,
like anna & simeon,
are they waiting for a glimpse
of the life that is to come,
holding on with hope until it does?

you will know it by its seriousness.

for several years i've had an intense and yet far-off appreciation of rainer maria rilke. i read his "letters to a young poet" and practically underlined everything - wowed by the simple language that somehow housed a myriad of thoughts and feelings i thought were beyond words. for some reason i didn't follow my normal extreme of hunting down everything he'd ever written and reading all of those, too. until recently. a few weeks ago i bought his "book of hours" and another book of his religious poetry. hours is killing me.

on rilke, wikipedia states: "his haunting images focus on the difficulty of communion with the ineffable". i laughed when i read that. yes! that is exactly what he does. ineffable - incapable of being expressed or described in words. and yet - he does. whew.

several years ago a friend sent me a rilke quote after seeing one of my photographs. i finally found where the quote came from when i started flipping through hours.



i am circling around God, around the ancient tower,
and i have been circling for a thousand years,
and i still don't know if i am a falcon,
or a storm, or a great song.

but below is my favourite rilke thus far. i still can't fully believe that it's real. it's that good.

God speaks to each of us as He makes us,
then walks with us silently out of the night.

these are the words we dimly hear:

you, sent out beyond your recall,
go to the limits of your longing.
embody Me.

flare up like flame
and make big shadows I can move in.

let everything happen to you: beauty and terror.
just keep going. no feeling is final.
don't let yourself lose Me.

nearby is the country they call life.
you will know it by its seriousness.

give Me your hand.

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wake up

i was particularly struck by the words of this arcade fire song today:

Wake Up

Somethin’ filled up
my heart with nothin’,
someone told me not to cry.

But now that I’m older,
my heart’s colder,
and I can see that it’s a lie.

Children wake up,
hold your mistake up,
before they turn the summer into dust.

If the children don’t grow up,
our bodies get bigger but our hearts get torn up.
We’re just a million little god’s causin rain storms
Turnin’ every good thing to rust.

I guess we’ll just have to adjust.

With my lighnin’ bolts a glowin’
I can see where I am goin’ to be
when the reaper he reaches and touches my hand.

With my lighnin’ bolts a glowin’
I can see where I am goin’
With my lighnin’ bolts a glowin’
I can see where I am go-goin’

You better look out below!

like all good poems - it can't truly be explained line by line. but overall there is this simple honesty that fills me with hope. the recognition that whatever you thought before that brought you to this place of coldness can be shed. 'wake up'. 'hold your mistake up'.

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county down

i set off for downpatrick this morning armed with some vague instructions and the forecast of a lovely day. the good thing about driving in ireland is that really you just need to know the town you're heading to and the ones inbetween - then follow any sign pointing in that direction. one of the fun parts of driving in northern ireland is that they use mph and my car only has kph - so i have no idea what i'm supposed to be driving. ah well. :) i had pulled over early on to take some photographs and as i was about to head on, a lady honked at me. i thought i'd done something wrong but she was wanting my help to get to kilkeel. i checked my map and gave her directions. and she was irish. :)

i think i'm going to have to give up the computer soon, so i'll be brief...i got to see the saint patrick visitor centre and the downpatrick cathedral & cemetery where saint patrick is buried. the centre was surprisingly well done. after that i visited the ruins of inch abbey and then tried to find a dolmen west of ballynahinch, but the road i needed was closed and i couldn't figure out another way, so i headed back east to newcastle. on my way i stopped a few times for sheep. there are loads of lambs and they're so adorable. if it was easier to stop along the road more, i would. newcastle is along the coast, so i walked the promenade for a bit and then treated myself to some ice cream -- blackcurrant & cream. seriously?? so good.

this evening i walked through the park again. there are some marvelous trees. i didn't take my camera w/ me b/c sometimes i like to be free. just me walking. but now i might have to wake up early and go for a short walk again so i can take pictures of some of the trees i saw. then, i sat on a hill overlooking the loch. and watching the mountains and water in the gloaming. *sigh*

so now tomorrow i'll be heading up to cushendall and after that rathlin island.

arrived.

so things had originally been set for me to arrive in dublin yesterday. but due to strange weather in atlanta, delta cancelled my flight on monday and booked me on one for tuesday. certainly not my happiest moment, but now that i'm here, i can only look forward. so tuesday morning i flew instead to jfk airport where i got to hang out for six hours awaiting my flight to dublin. an elderly welsh man saw my hiking bag and noticed my welsh flag patch and came over to chat with me for a moment. on the flight, i was seated by a lovely couple around my age. the husband is irish and the wife is american - californian to be exact. we talked a fair amount and had some things in common. they ended up giving me their phone #s as he works with the police so could help me out if i need anything. they even shared a bit of their easter candy with me. all in all the flight was good (except for not getting to sleep).

driving to rostrevor from the airport wasn't too bad. though i did have a false start off the lot when the car kept beeping at me and i couldn't figure out why, so i turned back only to have the guy note that i hadn't let up the emergency brake fully. nice.

the weather today has been overcast and rainy, but i was able to go on a brief walk mid-morning and after tea this evening without getting too wet. for those of you who helped with my camera bag rain cover -- it's holding up grand! the people here at the christian renewal centre are lovely, really going out of their way to make me feel at home. and i have a room facing the loch.



tomorrow i think it's to be nice out. and i plan to drive up to downpatrick and check out some saint patrick sites. and so the adventure begins! i hope i sleep well tonight. my mind's been a bit dodgy all day. please keep me and my little car in your prayers!! :)

not much

i was sitting on my back porch tonight, well after the sun went down. the sky was deep purple. the dark greyish sort that is still definitely purple. the night sky is a strange, illusive thing. normally blackish-blue or navy. but sometimes there is another hue, like purple or a strange teal. but it's just a hint. you have to be sitting there looking at it to see.

whenever i sit outside by myself - especially at night - it's like i'm in a moment connected to a succession of previous moments like that one, where i'm sitting on a back porch or front porch, not looking at anything particularly beautiful and yet there's that bit of sky there and the way the neighbour's light is glinting off the silver wind chimes in my yard. and i'm not one for talking on the phone, but there are a few friends with whom i can chat and it's those whom i call at times like this and even when i can't reach them, it's like they're sitting there with me and the conversations we've had before are hanging from the branches of the trees.

it's not much. but it's nice.

yet

it's funny because patience isn't necessarily easy for me, but i am intrigued by "not yet". it's one of my favourite things about traveling -- saving something for next time. four years ago when i was last in ireland, i finally made it to the connemara region north of galway. i'd written a story in college set there, but hadn't yet seen it for myself. the day i went was overcast and as the region is all hills, i missed out on part of its glory, yet...that meant there was more for another time. this time, i'll have a few days to check out the area, so hopefully i'll catch a clearer glimpse.



the other day i had a thought, which seemed like a perfect quote. so i figured it already was one and i was just remembering it. i googled it and found nothing. which at least means it's not a very famous quote if it is already a quote. i know the concept has been noted before, but perhaps not this phrasing...

the story isn't over until the end.

yes - it can be taken rather trite, but isn't that because it's true?

some recent old favourites

so i've been scanning and uploading pictures from my last trip to ireland & the uk (feb/mar 2005) and coming across some photographs that i'd forgotten about. here are a few of my new old favourites.


a lovely missing (york)

i remembered this one, just hadn't seen it in a long while as i'd lent my album to a friend so she could use the pictures as inspiration for her painting. but the more i look at it the more i love it. it was part of a temporary exhibit in the yorkshire museum gardens. i'm now trying to hunt down more information on it (artist, title, etc). it intrigues me. there's something so simple and so lovely about it. and i'm glad for the b&w which accentuates the simplicity of line.


a place to remember (edinburgh)

this one, i don't really recall. i definitely remember the greyfriars kirkyard where i took it. and the strange cold rainy/snowy afternoon i spent there. i remember not taking many pictures, though there were many interesting gravestones and the green grass was glowing in the strange light of the overcast day. but this picture pleases me. perhaps one of my favourite cemetery pictures (and cemeteries are a common subject of mine). there's something in this composition, this almost looking over the 'shoulder' of the gravestone that gives a sense of closeness. a surprising embrace of sorts. oh, and it was fun to realise that it was exactly four years ago today that i took this picture.

an upcoming third

 

my third venture to ireland is six weeks away. i started writing "trip" but that didn't seem apt enough, so i thought 'venture' but then wasn't sure if i meant 'adventure' or if 'venture' is correct. so i checked good old webster.

ven⋅ture: an undertaking involving uncertainty as to the outcome, esp. a risky or dangerous one; speculation in which something is risked in the hope of profit

that may sound a bit dramatic for vacation. but there is a risk in seeking rest and rejuvenation. i often don't dare to claim it because i fear it may not be as good as i hope. i may not be refreshed, rejuvenated, restored. what if i just feel the same when it's over?

my first venture to ireland was from sep-dec 2001. besides beginning just days before 'september 11', there was plenty of uncertainty, plenty of change. but all the time, money, and comfort i risked definitely paid off in richer dividends than can be shown on a bank statement or resume. probably the most educational four months of my life. i got my 3rd tattoo to commemorate this time--to "remember" what the LORD did, who He showed Himself to be.  

four years later, my second venture lasted two months [feb-mar 2005]. this time i risked a bit more in regards to what could be considered folly -- taking a break from my job to spend money travelling in the midst of trying to save for my upcoming move to los angeles. but again the daring paid off. among other things, my first photography show. and now, again four years have passed and i'm heading back. this time i will only be there for three weeks. but this time i will also only be in ireland (the other two times i spent part of the time in the uk). and i won't be staying with any friends, just me wandering around ireland. and i'm renting a car so i can go wherever, whenever and stop at any lovely sight i see. i can't wait.

to know the dark

i was introduced to a lovely poem today by wendell berry. has some of gerard manley's magic to it. (that lovely moment when he says "with ah! bright wings" in God's grandeur)

i have always felt that i was supposed to love light and hate darkness. and that any inclination in me towards darkness was wrong. but there's something about evening that is lovely to me in a way that morning is not. something magical about an ending that is not yet the end. and this poem words a bit of that loveliness that lies even in darkness.

to know the dark
by wendell berry

to go in the dark with a light is to know the light.
to know the dark, go dark. go without sight,
and find that the dark, too, blooms and sings,
and is traveled by dark feet and dark wings.

imagination

driving home the other night, thinking about words, i realized that people often use the word 'imagination' to degrade, cheapen or void what someone has said, thought or dreamed.

"you only imagined that."
"it was just your imagination."
"and how do you imagine that's ever going to happen?"

imagination is infused with hope and faith, none of which can be fully seen, explained or understood. it is not easy to hold this mysterious gift loosely; it can be confusing and lonely. but without it, i wonder if we kill off one of the central parts of our identities as God's children -- that of creators.



as a lovely British man i met once said, "dreams? God loves dreams. He's so good with them." He's certainly much better than i am. He breathes life into dreams, lets them grow into bigger things than i would ever trust, doesn't hedge them in mercilessly, or make them dependent on a list of ten steps.

from phantastes by george macdonald:

"do you not know me? but you hurt me, and that, i suppose makes it easy for a man to forget. you broke my globe. yet i thank you. perhaps i owe you many thanks for breaking it. i took the pieces, all black, and wet with crying over them, to the fairy queen. there was no music and no light in them now. but she took them from me, and laid them aside, and made me go to sleep... when i woke in the morning, i went to her, hoping to have my globe again, whole and sound, but she sent me away without it, and i have not seen it since. nor do i care for it now. i have something so much better i do not need the globe to play to me, for i can sing. i could not sing at all before. now i go about everywhere through fairy land, singing till my heart is like to break, just like my globe, for very joy at my own songs. and wherever i go, my songs do good, and deliver people..."

she went like a radiance through the dark wood, which was henceforth bright to me, from simply knowing that such a creature was in it. she was bearing the sun to the unsunned spots. the light and the music of her broken globe were now in her heart and her brain.

words

words are important to me. each one has its own meaning. this can be altered by context or nuance; by tone or additional body language, if spoken. but people seem to have forgotten that words have meaning. they toss them about, misuse them, overuse them, until they become meaningless. or trite.

the other day i was about to remark that something was wonderful when i simply meant it was good. to be wonderful, a person or thing should be full of wonder. or full of something that incites wonder. if we only used 'wonderful' to describe such people or things, i kind of feel the world would be a better place. this is a tiny example, an almost ridiculous one. yet to me there is something sad about words not really meaning anything any more.

if people actually did what they said they would do, they wouldn't have to swear or promise or prove. they'd just do it.

i choose my words & try to mean what i say but sometimes it seems pointless because if people discard or cheapen meanings are they hearing any of what i intended? nevertheless, i am going to try and reclaim 'wonderful'.

sigur rós

i've known of sigur rós for several years now, possibly five or six. but i've never owned an album or even listened (knowingly) to an entire one. there've just been a few songs that friends have shared with me that i've listened to over and over.

when i heard that they were playing in kc this summer something in me knew i couldn't miss this. even though it was nearly $30, i had to go.

ethereal. childlike. imaginative. playful. inspiring. delightful.

these are just a few words to describe the experience. i don't know what the land of iceland does to create its musicians, but bjork and emiliana, also embody these - have this amazing full-range of voice.

there were moments when the music would fill every corner of the theatre with its loudness. and there were moments when the single sound of the bells or one voice could fill everything with its quietness. sometimes all eyes were drawn to the stage where magical onion-like globes hung suspended in coloured lights, glowing yellow from within. and there were times when the lights fanned out green across the ceiling and into the crowd. once i even noticed how the bank of lights cast a shadow on the ceiling - a normally mundane tangle of wires and cylinders suddenly mysterious and part of the beauty filling up the room.

watching the band, it was the music that played them; they themselves were the instruments. the way they would sometimes all quiet themselves so that one could play or sing; the rest still. eyes down. waiting, listening for where the music wants to go next.

during the encore song, i watched as jónsi sang. for the first time during the evening, he held nothing in his hands. and they couldn't be still. couldn't stay down at his sides, where he tried to keep them. they found their way up, first one, then the other.

my only complaint: i'd love to hear them w/o a yelling crowd. i sense the band understands how to use silence and i'd love to experience that.

*inspired by sigur rós's Med Sud I Eyrum Vid Spilum Endalaust album.

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going to africa

so i'm leaving for africa this afternoon. rwanda & kenya to be precise. it's going to be a long trek there and i already feel a little weird. not sure if i'm "feeling" the malaria medication or just think i am. :)

i feel like a trip like this makes one look different. maybe just to yourself, but i'm intrigued to look in the mirror two weeks from today to see.

i wanted to share really great remarks pre-trip, but time has flown by (or as donna said the other night, "time is freaking up my mind") and so this is all i have time for.

a moment with the flowers

flowers have been my prayers of late. so i thought i'd share a few of my favourites from this spring...

the flowers of late winter and early spring occupy places in our hearts well out of proportion to their size.
~ gertrude s wister

the simple delicacy of crocus be they white or yellow or purple, striped or solid - takes my breath away every year: to see a crocus rise from ground that has been cold and dead for so many months, no rose in its summer glory can match it.



flowers have an expression of countenance as much as men or animals. some seem to smile; some have a sad expression; some are pensive and diffident; others again are plain, honest and upright... ~ henry ward beecher

can't you see that pansy raising its eyebrow at you? and this little bright-eyed blue guy - he's just about to burst with some sort of question or exclamation.



earth laughs in flowers.
~ ralph waldo emerson




people from a planet without flowers
would think we must be mad with joy the whole time
to have such things about us.
~ iris murdoch