WAKING

To count one’s blessings: sometimes not easy. When pressures build, and the bright boxes and screens in our lives scream discord, it becomes a radical action, a survival strategy to look about and say yes to life, not to withhold appreciation for the simple things that become invisible when dark matters press in from without and within. The summer has brought more loss, more harsh realities economic and social. Maybe it’s not such a bad thing to succumb sometimes to a time out. Meltdown at least means that when things cool off, they may have taken a different shape. Earlier this week I crawled onto the sofa and slept for a full day and a half. When I did get up, the first thing I noticed was the primary colors in my Tiffany glass style candle holder, illuminated by the candle I had lit earlier in the day. The sight made me realize that I had stopped seeing in colors at all; that the world had faded into shades of gray. The mind can play weird tricks. Today I revisit some other beautiful things and get to really notice them. A cat and a dog that delight in playing together. Some late autumn blooms in a vase. The sun streaming down through the trees. Here are some more images of the sweetness in my life, only a few feet away from me every day.

Season of loss

Last month we lost a young member of our family of close friends. He was only thirty years old. Pneumonia took him suddenly. Sage, we will miss you.

DARKNESS FALLS EARLY

How do we remember joy
When hurt is deep?

So deep it lives with the leviathans.
With the scattered remains of ships.

The keening of whales
In the snores of our houseguest
Keeps me awake. I cannot dream.

Waiting in the line
At the supermarket,
It goes through my mind
This is the price we pay for loving.

Would we still give our hearts
If we had to pay in advance?
The first hour of pain
Would change our minds.
But we love by instinct
We can’t seem to help it.
There is no answer.

I believe in the Creator of rainbows, of waterfalls
I believe in the Creator of small birds and starlight.
In the Creator of springs and streams
Of quick-moving rivers
Of wind in the treetops
Of mud
Of green hillsides
Of slow black cows,
Their sides swaying, minding the path.

I hold fast to these things,
This fragile gospel
As the road bends sharp before me.

copyright Cathy Larson Sky 12/12/2009