Spirit World


Come out for a walk in the spirit world.  Sit and feel the gentle rustling of the leaves, the cool whisper of the bird on wing, the cushion of soft ground, hear the buzz of the dragonfly, the melody of the bird's call, quiet eyes watching through veils of foliage.  Rest the spirit and drink the dew, rise up and gaze afar with newborn eyes.

BREATHLESS

In the still of the evening
As the sun is waning
Not a leaf moves,
Not a wisp of air.
Still.  As the notes of jazz
Float out the window
The air moves with melody
Soothing the soul
Relaxing the body.
Nothing else matters.

Change

Leaves trembling in the wind, dancing in the sunlight against the dark grey sky.
Repeating  the Dance of Death, floating to the ground
Defying the seasonal change thrust upon them.

The Art of Pure Love

Seated in the church during Christmas time, I chanced to turn my head to the left and my eyes rested on a most beautiful sight.  A work of art of the highest order, pure and siimple.  In the glow of the soft light near the church window sat a mother holding her child.  The little girl sat astride her mother's lap and was engaged in the art of loving her mother.  She was gazing into her mother's eyes, a few inches away, and in long slow, but purposeful motions she ran her fingers through her mother's hair, occasionally stopping to smooth it down with the palm of her hands.  The mother's face radiated as the child's adoration engulfed the moment.

For less than a minute my world was small and perfect.  A sliver of time to be treasured and never forgotten.

2000

The Art of Remembering

Supper is almost ready and the salad awaits the finishing touches.  Boston lettuce with green pepper, cilantro, mushrooms, and avocado present a palate of colour and is by its own existence the invitation to partake.  But wait a minute...something is missing.  Without words, my friend begins his culinary creation.  The small steel bowl with handle is retrieved and pure olive oil is carefully measured into its space.  Red wine vinegar is splashed into the oil.  As my friend works effortlessly the sequence of ingredients becomes blurred, the outcome obviously hinging on the surety of experience.  Quickly the process is at an end and the dressing is ready to adorn the salad.  And without further adieu, it is gently poured over the greens and is lightly tossed.  The meal is finally ready.  Quiet is the order of the day.

"And where did you learn about salad dressings?"

"My wife made all the dressings.  I would be around and would observe how she put them together and no two were exactly alike.  Occasionally she would let me help her, so I guess I just learned over time, never realizing I could do this until she was gone.  Part of the preparation is a realization that she is present for a time."

2000

The Art of the Extraordinary

The day was monotone - an ordinary day - the cloudless grey sky met the landscape of endless stretches of grey snow - an ordinary Canadian winter scene.  Far back in the field sat a grey farmhouse and grey barn and nearby one or two naked grey trees.  Scattered clumps of grey dead grass poked through the snow.

As I was driving down the highway something caught the corner of my eye - something moving - and in an instant my head turned to the right, my vehicle in slow motion.  Before me was a most extraordinary sight.  There not far from the road dark blotches were moving about with jerky frenetic motions.  Looking closer I could see bobbing heads probing the ground.  The constant motion of these dark blotches was an interesting contrast to the uninteresting surroundings they were part of.

I was immediately curious to know what these creatures were.  From childhood memory of the chickens we used to raise I knew I was observing  fowl.  But dark blotches?  I then began to reason more soundly and came to the conclusion that, indeed, I had not observed a Strange Encounter, but had chance come upon our local, commonplace to bird hunters, Wild Turkey.

2000

Cocoon

Alone, quiet, in cocoon
Flames dancing in the stove
Wine dancing in the glass
Supper dancing on the plate.
Drapes drawn, warm
Wild wind rattling at the windows.
Light low, TV low
Nourished by solitude.