….somebody up there cares….
I had just been writing about not seeing the sun for days and days on end when the clouds allowed it to bleed through, finally, if only for a moment. It wasn’t even long enough to get a decent shot, but that is alright. It peeked through. I felt it’s rays. I took a deep, sun filled breath. And it was all alright. And that is all for today. A simple moment filled with light and pure joy.
I thought happiness was
that ball of deep burning orange in
the mauve sky;
Or surely this blinding white
pouring over the fence
with it’s cool fragrant bursts;
The path leading across fields,
I knew it was that particular winning shade
of periwinkle.
But now I am convinced it is yellow.
How beautiful the earth is today. How gentle. It’s a gift, a mother’s love. The blooming honeysuckle, the gentlest of breeze and soft soft sunlight. There is a peaceful, pervading stillness, a self contained quiet that is persuasive, leading me into absolute silence and being. No thoughts, no wishes, no dreams. Just pure being and unfolding under this warmth. It makes me want to come back to myself, to gather all those frayed, tattered bits and pieces that constitute my person and, just once, hold them tight to my chest with all the strength in my body, and then, to let them go into this light, so they can fall, softly, gently into place, making me whole once again.
It has been a long couple of weeks since I looked out the window, since I lifted my face to the sun. It has been cloudy and I have been too intent on this little screen that brings the world onto my lap.
Too intent.
But the sun could not be ignored today, nor the cardinal that visits everyday,
and my favourite tree that, in the heart of spring, leans, ripe with berries,
over the deck and offers it’s fruit to my lips, my mouth, my hands stained purple.
That tree, that cardinal, this sunlight, my eyes gazing at them with silent recognition of how much they mean to me, how much I have missed them in just two weeks.
The world is still out there with all it’s messy, gritty, complicated beauty.
But for now, this sunlight, me, this simple respite of an hour or two, and my foolish desire for a beautiful, albeit, a simpler world.
Hope you are taking a respite, too, to rest your souls.
Take care of yourselves out there. Look after yourselves and each other.
This is how I wish to live;
within the light.
When the East pours
such fire
onto mountains, still cold,
and vast, and violet
from having lain under
the stars,
one stops all errant
thoughts
and clambers higher and higher
until one is as drenched as the tiniest of flowers
and still one looks on
in exquisite wonder.
And though I know very well my own
insignificance,
and though I know the wild irreverence
of the thought,
I cannot help but think,
whatever made that sky, and that sun,
and that mad dash of snowdrops across the field,
made me, too.
And I think, isn’t there a wild hope in that thought?
Isn’t there a kind of – re-birth?
for a brief moment
the sun tore through the clouds
and the earth swelled
and grew brilliant
through fractured raindrops
and I thought
here comes spring
tearing through the earth
like a wild beast
hungry for sustenance
here comes all that is new and turned
to drink from that golden cup
that chalice of glorious life
Sun..glorious sun…in the middle of winter. What a gift!
The saw-toothed ropes
of winter
that bind, and cut,
and pull against my skin
and heart
until I am cold and worn out
from the near constant
chaffing,
until I am
swollen
with the need for
some love from the sun
fall away…
and I run, delirious,
from room to room,
like a lovesick fool.
Oh for the love of words!
Does the rhyme come first
or this sun, in azure skies
after long,
huddled days of
bone creaking cold.
Hope is a line written
in the sky
and that fierce golden orb.
Rama Ink. 