Plague Poems: No Guarantees

This morning, I pulled this SoulCollage® card:

This is one of two cards I have made that I have called Maya.  When I received the name Maya almost 50 years ago now, I was told the translation from the Sanskrit is: the creative principle of the universe.  Most people have heard it translated as illusion.  You can think of this world that way, but it has always made more and deeper sense to me to to see it as consciousness being made manifest.  In any case, it's been a large name to carry.

Based on pulling this card, today, this is the poem that came.

There never was a guarantee,

only a whirling into the life

of the body, a knowing

of the importance of

lifting up the arms to touch

the sacred, the instinct

to wear red as a sign

of commitment

to life.

There never were promises

of ease, of safety, of knowledge.

Only the mystery was ever given,

and a certain useless compulsion

to understand.

There is absolutely no knowing.

There is only the breath, the dance,

the earth and this constant spinning.

Life has always provided

what I have needed.

That is the foundation for trust,

for keeping the arms raised,

for continuing to turn.

I am wearing red today.

Plague Poems: Advice to Myself

Monotony sets in.

The daily routines,

so predictable,

can be seen as

either comforting

or boring.

Take hold of the monotony

and make it holy.

Invest love

in what recurs

day after day.

One day,

it will end – this monotony, 

boredom, predictability.

Let this day be

an appreciation

of the ordinary,

a blessing of

continued breath.

Birthday Poem

One more year passed

in a long life.

One more year beginning.

In these times,

no amount of time

can be taken for granted.

This is nothing new,

yet the immediacy

of the moment is

somehow more real now.

It is as though Death

had been looking at us

from a great distance, and now

 it is right before us.

Hello, Death.

I see you there.

You make this day more precious.

I tender my respect.

I apologize for taking so long

to make you an offering.

Plague Poems: Business as Usual

It’s business as usual

in the natural world.

Spring has brought

profusions of blossoms.

Deciduous trees have

leafed out beautifully,

and the birds sing

in the dawn light.

The very normalcy of it all

presents a stark contrast

to what is happening

in the human world

that sits atop this one.

We have reached

a tipping point, our

collective actions not only

crushing the planet’s resilience,

but our sheer numbers and

dumb unwillingness to own

our folly have made life

frightening and untenable.

A plague of biblical proportions

runs amok through our cities

and over the countrysides

of all nations.

We have no business as usual now,

but nature goes on in its

ordinary, relentless fashion –

tides rising and falling,

seasons turning,

days dawning and subsiding.

These are the times we knew

would come.

These are the times we hoped

we would never see.

These are our times.

What is our business now?

Two new plague poems.

My daily plague poems are mounting up, so I thought I'd share a few.  The first one was largely in response to waiting to hear from a doctor I'd been trying to contact for a week.  Stay healthy!  Not only from the coronavirus, but from more common ailments because it's challenging to deal with the overwhelmed medical establishment at all.  (Yes, I did hear from him finally, and it was very helpful.)

Waiting

  

Waiting for the doctor to call.

Waiting for the fear to subside.

Waiting for the pain to stop.

Waiting for the trees to speak.

Waiting for the flowers to rise up.

Waiting for tears to fall.

Waiting for the heart to open.

Waiting for consolation.

Waiting for restoration.

Waiting for grief to end.

Waiting for grief to begin.

Waiting for the exhalation.

Waiting for a new story.

Waiting for words from the ancestors.

Waiting.

And then I did hear from the trees.

Listening

In the dark

pre-dawn mornings,

I listen to the trees.

Sometimes I hear nothing,

but feel their reassuring presence.

Sometimes words sail

into my head,

like the goldfinches

landing on my bird feeder.

Today they told me:

Ground!  Ground deeply.

You will know people

who get ill.

You may know some who

will die.

You could even be

one of them.

Your task today

is to ground and be

a solid presence

on this patch of earth.

Watch us

and follow suit.