a little faith to quell those fears...

at the risk of being repetitive, i give you another kinsolving poem today...inspired, once again, by the multitude of birds in this virtual aviary [also apiary!] around me--


Trust

BY SUSAN KINSOLVING

Trust that there is a tiger, muscular
Tasmanian, and sly, which has never been
seen and never will be seen by any human
eye. Trust that thirty thousand sword-
fish will never near a ship, that far
from cameras or cars elephant herds live
long elephant lives. Believe that bees
by the billions find unidentified flowers
on unmapped marshes and mountains. Safe
in caves of contentment, bears sleep.
Through vast canyons, horses run while slowly
snakes stretch beyond their skins in the sun.
I must trust all this to be true, though
the few birds at my feeder watch the window
with small flutters of fear, so like my own.


such a great reminder here...take a deep breath...know that you are not alone..and know that the world will be just as it should be...let go of the fear.

[birdhouse in our magnolia tree-- with little chirping babies inside!]

zooming in...

if you haven't yet been exposed to this phenomenal poet, whose own GIFT is to sing into profundity the smallest[yet galacticENORMOUS] observations-- i am SO GLAD that I get to be the one to bring her into your world!

SUSAN KINSOLVING's THE GIFT [below] is just one of manymanymany poems she's written that simultaneously challenge/waken/comfort/enthrall me...



THE GIFT

by Susan Kinsoloving

In red foil paper was my present, just
as I had asked: a magnifying glass. I
was five, but my dismay was huge
intensified by feigned gratitude. What
to say? where was the word of my mistake?
In silence, I enlarged snowflakes,
pine needles, carpet threads, six
crumbs of cake, and the dark pupils
of my dog's eyes. But the word hid
elsewhere, almost disguised, as glass
might be the illusion of clarity. And so
it's been in all my words and hopes:
poems, the elusive gift, the microscope.


this one spoke to me today...its recreation, not simply "recollection" of childhood in the way she uses her words to capture and communicate the sincere confusion of a five-year-old self as it has spilled and crystallized into an adult passion, a life's purpose...

i love the way in which she so beautifully threads together her multisensory images for meaning... from the play with the "magnifying glass" and its "intensif[y]"ication of the "dismay" of a little girl to the twisting of her thoughts around the whole idea of finding VOICE in the piece, and in the speaker's [poet's] existence...moving from "silence" in search of the precisely perfect WORD...i read it optimistically, hopefully, happily...(though perhaps i'm missing the point and this is a frustrated, futile search for this eternally-five year old girl that will never be fulfilled-- your decision here)...

the true WORDS are in the fabric...maybe we just have to look more closely at the fibers...


well, now that you've read MY thoughts on kinsolving, here's a review of a collection "dailies and rushes" that ran in the new york times in 1999...

http://www.nytimes.com/books/99/05/09/reviews/990509.09musket.html

growing one's joy[full] song...

[fernwood]

woke this morning in pale dawn light to the jungle-symphony of birdsong that sings in each day here in this tiny eden in the wooded heart of over-populated, over-industrialized new jersey...

lying in bed-- and even now as i sit in my outdoor office three hours later-- i am captivated by the JOYOUS ABANDONMENT [my new favorite greek word-- KEFI] with which they sing...the certainty of each unique song-- twittering, cooing, whistling-- these birds are each, inarguably, articulating a specific TRUTH...[and the truths blend together into music...]

here's a recording of one of my favorites; these little lovelies are flooding the garden now!


http://www.birdjam.com/birdsong.php?id=23&osCsid=m6ieloprrc9ql6h0l540l25v44


wishing for just an ounce, a breath, of that beautiful conviction...


[field and marshlands]

rumi wrote on this-- so here's a new perspective for each of us searching for her song...

you're song.
a wished-for song.

so through the ear to the center,
where sky is, where wind, where
silent knowing.

put seeds and cover them.
blades with sprout
where you do your work.

the song is not BY us; it IS us...we ARE, not OUR, song...it lives as us, rather than as a possession after which we need to seek, which we should covet...

we just need to give ourselves the room and nourishment and faith to grow...


[garden gate in morning]

love, & KEFI to you all today!

resurfacing...to new life, with strength and clarity and wonder and joy!

with this long pause, a hiatus of chaotic transition, reevaluation, painful growth...i am now returning to this space more myself...renewed and refreshed and energized with new passion, and heightened curiosity!

i start this new chapter with a poem by naomi shihab nye... "famous." it is a prayer and hope for my heart and what it truly desires in this moment...



FAMOUS

The river is famous to the fish.

The loud voice is famous to silence,
which knew it would inherit the earth
before anyone said so.

The cat sleeping on the fence is famous to the birds
watching him from the birdhouse.

The tear is famous, briefly, to the cheek.




The idea you carry close to your bosom
is famous to your bosom.

The boot is famous to the earth,
more famous than the dress shoe,
which is famous only to floors.

The bent photograph is famous to the one who carries it
and not at all famous to the one pictured

I want to be famous to shuffling men
who smile while crossing streets,
sticky children in grocery lines,
famous as the one who smiled back.

I want to be famous in the way a pulley is famous,
or a buttonhole, not because it did anything spectacular,
but because it never forgot what it could do.

~Naomi Shihab Nye



the poet says of her piece that it "is simply reexamining the word 'famous'...you trust a buttonhole, don't you? don't you trust a pulley to know what it is intended for? a pulley is a discreet, subtle, but very useful and important implement...whatever we pay attention to becomes famous to us. i have many heroes in my world of poetry, and their poems are famous in my mind. they resonate and return to me when i need them. they're given back to me. that makes them famous for me."

think about this: we have the CHOICE, then, what becomes famous to us! WE, not the OBJECT or IDEA or OTHER PERSON, have the power to decide to what to devote our energies and bind our hearts; we CHOOSE the source of our security, our faith, our inspiration...what an empowering thought! my hope for myself, my commitment to myself, is that i can make these choices of what becomes famous to me to be those things and ideas and people who uplift and strengthen me....



& then...what an amazing dream to strive to become FAMOUS [not INfamous ;)]to someone else for those BRIGHT and BEAUTIFUL reasons...