For the Women

FOR THE WOMEN

 

Looking up, I see a canopy

of tropical trees, merged seamlessly

under a lazy late afternoon sun,

swaying loosely in the breeze

or hushed to a still silence,

being all of what they are.

I also see a quilt, woven tenderly

by hundreds of hard-working hands

over maybe thousands of years.

I see women in sweaty backrooms

or on rickety bamboo porches

under a relentless midday sun,

creating colour, texture and pattern

one infinitesimal layer at a time,

building inconceivable beauty

out of madness spun by oppression,

and it is beauty on the smallest scale,

but of the grandest design.

These towering achievements

will never scrape the sky,

but they will transport you

through all the skies and worlds.

I see the art slavery can create,

and wonder what would happen

under the conditions of freedom.

I see the future I hope for,

and the women are emancipated,

and the power is tremendous,

and the earth trembles again

in the most delicious anticipation,

and we rule without ruling,

in the space where sun and moon meet.

And the rich tapestries are portals

taking us back to the ancient source

so that we may thrive forward.

And we all become weavers of the free,

and we all the layers of the magisterial tree.

 

– Tammy Takahashi

The Art We Are

There is nothing at all

in the brilliance of an artwork

that captivates you the moment

you rest your tired eyes on it,

not a single hue or design,

or configuration so harmonic

that you are sure you can hear

its song vibrating under your skin,

there is no wonder

contained in the sacred moment

when self meets art

and no awe

in the human capacity

to imagine a better world

and better selves in it,

there is none of this magic

that we move through,

stumble upon, are ready to meet

that we do not already

possess inside of us.

We are not only the art we make,

but the art we knew to find,

the art we let in when weary,

the art that want to lift us higher,

the art we draw to us,

the art we co-create

by letting it live through us.

There is no manner in which

we can say we are not creative,

our very bodies an intricate tapestry

of blood, stardust and bone,

our emotions an expressive dance

of all the world’s forces pivoting

around the sun, moon and earth

that always know to protect and hold

the art of our evolution.

 

– Tammy Takahashi

A Poem for Notre Dame

In every great plumed tree

lies the coming, naked winter,

each beam of starlight

tells of a past no more.

The stately art of an era

bears out our name, rounds out

the body of our experience,

the effigies stand time still

while leaving us desperate

to climb into the world

where memories come to life.

When a great building dies

it pours madly into the world,

scattered in all the directions,

remnants of a collective dream,

of a the sacred space where

the history of emotion lived,

with all the hushed whispers

and reverential quietude,

the rapture of encountering,

face-to-face, the ripened fruit

of our grandest human hopes

and greatest earned potential.

Every single thing that exists

contains the code of its demise

and we do not know know when,

or how, or by what means

this destruction born of creation

comes to journey’s end,

only that we can bear witness

to all this life in its passing.

 

– Tammy Takahashi

Fear in a Moon Cycle – Day 19

Fear in a Moon Cycle – Day 4

Your Smiling Gaze

Take your gaze far,

There is always so much to see.

And maybe you don’t take your mind

on a journey to the past,

where epics and legends gone by

want to sweep you off your feet

until you fall, like Alice did, down

to where nothing will fit the same.

Maybe you don’t surrender your mind

to the distant future, which,

like all the galaxies in the cosmos,

form the most entrancing worlds,

maybe the scariest ones too,

that, no matter how much you want to,

you cannot bring your fingers to touch.

Maybe, as you cast your gaze to glory,

bringing that contented smile to your face,

you are finding yourself in the position of things,

feeling your heart beat the tune of your life,

the thrum echoing the earth’s great pulse,

and maybe you come into this great force,

with a moment of recognition: I am here,

I am fully awake to this moment. I am. I am.

 

– tt

The Glimmer is You

We know that the dark helps us
to see light, and we know this is
a scientific fact and this is also
a figurative way of thinking.
What’s evil casts a light on the good,
What scares us teaches us about
what gives us comfort, hope, joy.
Have you ever noticed that
objects in silhouette, as dark
as dark can be (because of the light),
never look quite as dark as the blackness
of a tunnel, or of a deep, starless night
(or a day lost to despair)?
A thing at its darkest, surrounded
and inflected by the great and powerful sun,
retains the brightness that
has given it life, does not invite
the void, never-ending, never-sweet.
We fall into darkness (the way
we fall in love); a silhouette is
sculpted in relief, its contours
made of light; there is no falling,
only emergence. The silhouettes
of autumn, the most moving of all:
not hesitant, but lingering,
The glimmer is the dying of a day
still living,
The glimmer is soft and yearning,
The glimmer is you.

-TT