I’m
eternally falling lately (up, down, you name it), but overjoyed to escape,
despite the three children, Husky, two cats, and husband, on small kidless
field trips with a friend. This week we made it as far as Encinitas to the
Self-Realization Fellowship Retreat and Hermitage Meditation Garden perched on
the ocean bluffs, site of the former Golden Lotus Temple designed by Paramahansa
Yogananda (author of one of my favorite books, Autobiography of a Yogi). While
the temple no longer exists, the garden and koi do.
We
tried out a new practice: not talking about the kids in order to give ourselves
a BK-like reprieve (Before Kids). So easy to just “be” the moment we stepped
into the meditation garden, the one-hundred year old koi—the koi! over two feet
long, corn gold, pumpkin orange, sleepy smoke-white and grey, swilling through slim
stone-lined ponds, “the silence itself…incense” to quote from "Julian of Norwich, A Contemplative Biography" (by Amy Frykholm).
Much
needed, after the ongoing ruckus of misspelling koi in an earlier version of this blog post, house keys skipping into dense shrubbery (Hackey-Sacked
“accidentally” by one of the soccer sons), and cats upending full-length mirrors (three
foot shards I had to secret into the trash during the school day—can you blame
my daughter for thinking like an artist, stashing jagged panels for future mosaics).
Or
how about that mix-up on “Crazy Hair Day”—my eighth-grade daughter sprucing my
youngest son’s hair into a stiff Mohawk to match hers, spraying it a bright
Smurf blue. I’m sipping my coffee, thrilled we got out of the house on time,
glancing smugly in rear view mirror, enjoying the way they are enjoying one
another.
Until
we pull up at school and notice that while my daughter’s friends sport Pippi
Longstocking braids and zombie knots, not a single third-grader has a hair out
of place. Tears, a quick sink-rinse, and a fierce blow-dry later, we deposit my
son at the curb barely in time to catch his fieldtrip bus, rims of his ears still
a smoky blue.
On
the upside, we took a beautiful trip to Grand Canyon to retrieve a family
heirloom—a roll top desk I’m honored the family trusted to my care. A snow
flurry at the South Rim cleared just long enough for the sun to break through
and for us to descend the three quarter mile or so down to “Ooh Ah Point,” just
far enough down for us to gain a healthy respect for the altitude. Back home, the
desk’s glass cabinet upper half arrived somehow unscathed despite the tarp
tattering itself to threads on the drive through the desert. I’ve pulled out
the desk shelf and started to write my morning words on the maroon leather insert,
recording the trip’s haiku.
Condors
soar doubling our
Canyon
vertigo.
Anchor of
shale trail
We
fall--mind's eye--a night's sleep
And hike out
changed, good.
Poetry News
On
the writing front, I would say by far the only front over which I maintain any
degree of potential dignity or control (ok, so maybe the same is true of the
teaching front), three of November Butterfly’s poems went up earlier this month
thanks to the editors at Extract(s), Daily dose of Lit: Veil, Veil II, and Transport.
Tarot for Two
Mary
writes:
My card
this month was the four of cups. The four of cups in the Thoth deck
depicts four cups with water pouring out of a lotus fixture at the top, and is,
according to Angeles Arrien, supposed to represent emotional luxury and
fulfillment -- both internal and external fulfillment.
At first I
couldn’t figure out what in my month had anything to say about me having both
internal and external emotional fulfillment. Maybe the card was just
wrong this time?
Tania
Writes:
I
initially disliked this month’s card, the Thoth Eight of Cups, balking
at the one word caption, Indolence,
with its hues of purposeful laziness, petulance and excessive wealth, fearing
it meant I was doomed to squander my month stewing in unhealthy emotion.
In the
Thoth image we see even rows of storm clouds bordered by moody mossy Neptunian
hems of green that gradually subside to a lighter blue, with one brief lemon
ray to indicate sky before the plunge into a green you could mistake for the
sea or a desert out of which sprout peach cups.
Read the rest of our joint post here: Four of Cups and Eight of Cups.
 |
| Photo by Robyn Beattie |
Poetry Play: A Tour of
the Forms
Last
spring I taught a two hour workshop touring a handful of poetry forms; I enjoyed
it so much I am teaching a full six week course for San Diego Writers, Ink in
person this summer. We will try our hand at haiku, haibun, aubades, sestinas,
villanelles, and sonnets. For a full course description and to register with
San Diego Writers, Ink, visit Poetry Play: A Tour of the Forms. Starts June 25, 2015.
Barbara Rockman and
Jayne Benjulian Guest Post at Mother Writer Mentor
We’ve
been busy celebrating Mother’s Day all month over at Mother Writer Mentor; if
you have post Mother’s Day reflections you’d like to share with us, send us
your reverie too. In the meantime, enjoy Mother Thoughts by poet Barbara
Rockman and
a lovely adoption poem, Winter by poet Jayne Benjulian.
