Naturally I whipped out my cell phone to take some photos. I like this one best (despite the shadow of my finger in the lower corner), because the reflective iridescence is beautiful. I see the kitchen windowpane at the top, and other indiscernible objects from the counter. It lasted several minutes; then a subtle shift in the air breached the bubble and *pop*, it was gone.
I would categorize this as a glimmer -- a moment of fascination and joy.
Dance With Me
There I stood, waiting for the express
While pondering ways to renew
my flagging spirit, which struggled to climb
life's mounting challenges, when I saw you, serene,
your hands moving in the air, a kind of dance --
the glorious joy on your face making you rich.Gazing around, I noticed the world's colors were rich.
In each person I sensed the soul's desire to express,
to enter into the dance.
I felt that I could summon the energy to renew
and make myself serene
like an arbor trellis with those roses that climb.
To reach far, to stretch toward goals that require I climb --
this makes life worthwhile, and I feel rich.
In these moments, my heart beats serene.
I vibrate with life and tremble to express,
to evolve, to embrace impermanence and thus renew
life's eternal dance.
So, which steps will we choose to dance?
Will it be the hustle, the two-step, the fandango climb?
Or maybe a slow waltz, to allow our breathing to renew
while rhythmically moving to the beat, slow and rich.
Perhaps we will lean in to share a kiss, to express
what tantalizes us as we attempt to appear serene.
We might do this under the silver light of the moon, serene
in the movement of the dance
and the people watching -- their murmurs will express
how desire steeps, distills, intensifies, like the climb
of mercury trapped in a glass tube, the red rich
as blood, like the lungs give oxygen to renew.
And after we untwine ourselves, we turn within to renew
the relationship with the One who never leaves, the serene
companion who understands money does not make one rich;
nor does having it guarantee an invitation to the dance
and that life is often one painful, slogging climb
to an illusory summit that cannot contain all we express.Form and emptiness express all that is, a sereneinvitation to renew your energy and dance with life.Free from need to delve or climb, rich beyond measure.-Kathryn Harper
Until this month, she has been in stellar health. We took her for a routine annual exam a couple weeks ago, and a mass on her left arm was discovered. The biopsy confirmed it is cancer. As prey animals, rabbits are rather fragile. Sometimes they even die under anesthesia. A domestic rabbit lifespan is about 8-12 years, and she is just shy of eight.
So our family decided it would not be kind to put Misty through a major surgery and chemotherapy. The x-rays show the mass embedded in the arm in such a way that surgery would not get the entire tumor. For the time being, Misty is as energetic as ever. She eats with gusto, her GI system works well, and she is her cuddly self. Her movement isn't hindered much at this point. We've opted for palliative care and all the rabbit treats she wants, and we'll watch her closely to know when her life quality has decreased.
I've loved this little bun. And I feel heavy, knowing what is coming.
"At the start of this quest, I had no way of imagining that long after it was over I would still be struggling to formulate a coherent response to the miseries the canyon inflicted on us, the satisfactions that would later overtake the memories of that misery, or the yearning and splendor that transcended them all. I had no way to fathom the force with which the canyon's austerity, its grandeur, and its radiance -- traits that stand implacably aloof to human hopes and ambitions -- can impart a perspective that will enable you to see yourself as nothing more, and nothing less, than a grain of sand amid the immensity of rock and time and the stars at night."
-Kevin Fedarko, A Walk in the Park: the True Story of a Spectacular Misadventure in the Grand Canyon
Resurrection
Healing began when her eyes beheld herself,
her heart quickening at the recognition
that she wanted to live again.
Restoring soul to body is a process of reconciliation.
The journey began with a decision to be touched.
There is a vital difference in the quality
of being touched and receiving touch.
Tender as a mother, sensuous as a lover,
transcending into power and wholeness.
When the hour is done, she knows she is a
beloved daughter, a beautiful woman,
having given her entire self,
body and soul, into the hands of Love.-Kathryn Harper
Our Life’s Prayer
Carnal syrup which flows within,
why not make it art?
It has been spilled
enough to fill
the gloomy pit of Tartarus.
Ferry to us the draught of life.
Preserve us from dissolution,
for our gene codes fight dauntlessly,
against this.
Be not used to segregate others,
for humanity is one tribe.
Thou are the mystery, the
sinew, and the richness
that makes our lives worth living. Yes.
-Kathryn Harper
This poem was written using a style called ekphrasis. The photograph is of a piece by René de Guzman and is titled Blood Color Theory. His artworks allude to current issues such as the HIV/AIDS crisis in the early 1990s. In this piece, de Guzman sandwiched his own blood, mixed with preservatives, between two Plexiglass sheets. The work's impact lies partly in the shock value to convey the message, and the work takes on the formal qualities of a minimalist painting. What I find intriguing are the images reflected. This poem, which echoes The Lord's Prayer, is the result.
A Glimpse of My Youth
Tangles of Virginia creeper drape over
the pool, a shimmering gasoline puddle
of Japanese beetles.
I am sodden in my second skin bathing suit
sprawled on the ground murmuring secrets
to cicadas,
watching my father wash lettuce
from the garden.
When I Go Into the Woods
When I go to the woods
I bring no books along
preferring instead to read
the primary sources:
the opinion columns of pines
persuasive essays by incense cedars
an array of novels from oak trees.
Quaking aspens are poetry of light
and movement.
There is philosophy in fallen logs.
I study the hieroglyphs of former
wildfires to glean memories
of the Before time.
Even dead trees have purpose
as nurseries for animals and plants;
the rhymes arising from them
are kissed by the wind,
then float away.-Kathryn Harper
