Remembering and Forgetting

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The art of remembering, and forgetting … like all binaries, it has to be all about balance. We don’t want to remember so much that our entire world becomes a recreation of a past that doesn’t exist anymore, so that we become incapable of living in the present moment. But we don’t want to forget so much that we lose the context for our being, the heart and bones of our ancestry that fills our vessel with so much of what makes us who we are. We don’t want to cling to what has caused us pain and give this too much potency, nor to an overwhelming nostalgia for a time we will never have back and that never quite existed. But we don’t have or want to condemn ourselves to being completely unmoored, either. We can allow ourselves to be rooted in the nurturing ground that gave rise to us without being indebted to every detail of our history. We can work toward finding freedom within the form or shell that is the life we came in to. We can work toward honouring the past and finding it it the many valuable and necessary lessons for a more hopeful future while working our hearts out to cultivate, forge, pioneer, and create the unimaginable gift of an open life for ourselves.

Finding Heart

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Maybe I’ve been looking
at the wrong things,
and for too long,
and in places not meant
for our communion.
Maybe there’s not
so far to go, to do things
like watch every flower grow,
the seasons come and go.
Maybe this is where
we find the time we fear
is running away from us,
while we’ve been fleeing, madly,
in every direction from here.
I want to watch every creature
take their first breath this world,
see the fledgling growth,
the wide-eyed wonder,
the absorption of everything
we will choose to give it.
I want to sit outside
and watch wind become rain,
and sun become life.
I want to feel with my fingers
how trees age with grace
and how the earth
harbors seed and root,
which provide so much.
I want to witness
the life cycle of a cicada,
and contemplate eternity
flowing in the breath of their
short-lived song,
and marvel at perspective.
I want to be so still
that I can hear
every heartbeat at once,
loving and doubting,
in honour and in strife,
from beginningless
to never-ending time,
giving everything,
needing only this.

Spring, Our Beautiful Perfection

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On a diffuse grey morning,
late winter surveys the barren landscapes
of hardened essence and wisdom in retreat,
holding on, but loosening its arthritic grip,
allowing soft rain to gather, fall, in snow’s stead.
The buds have not sprouted,
but the plum blossoms, which thrive
in the dance between cold and warm,
herald the wonderland of life to come,
like a promise, like a dream,
like nothing other than the beauty of what it is.
What will the spring bring?
Will we emulate nature and come forth,
with no hesitation at all,
on the side of creation?
Will we be soft on our struggles,
tender with our pain,
and grow into our full and vibrant potential?
Will we reclaim the intuitions
buried golden and deep for millennia,
long submerged by our own wintry confusions,
and play with what nourishes us?
Will we laugh, touch the earth,
look each other deep in the eye?
Will we celebrate the new season
and the new beginnings it offers,
in the way of the quiet lands around us,
that call for silence, which is reverence,
and a stilling of our heart’s great stirrings,
as the perfection of life once again emerges?
Will we heed of the extraordinary peace
and cooperation it takes to rebuild the world?
 
– tt

The Life of Clouds

 

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The birds started first,
singing into the darkness.
Then the sun opened
the day up to the size
of our possible worlds. It
was expansive, the way
I imagine a desert would
be, at the break of day,
before thirst sets in,
when the body is still
thick with dreams, the
kind that beckon, invite.

The same world, a different
time. The clouds roll in,
form a dense layer between
us and the endless sky.
It always seems you
can reach up and touch
them, like they are our
shelter, our protection, as
though they are not
heavy with the responsibility
of nourishing the Earth, or
lacking in tangibility.

And I think, I don’t just
want my story playing
over and over; I want
them all. I want to be
everyone and everything
and all of history at once.
Not only to understand better,
but because there is just
so much to this life, too much
for our one psychology, and
I am and want to be
every colour, sound and
emotion at once, to finally
be the One in the All.

– TT

Image may contain: cloud, sky, outdoor and nature

We, the Flower

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A flower,
with no effort at all,
all day, and nothing else,
doing the work of
growing and rising,
coming into being,
listening to the very heart
of what moves us
to know when to open
her petals
and receive
golden sun,
when to curl inward
to take rest,
to enter a period
of receptivity and
healing.
This is the contemplation
of a flower,
her mechanism of hope,
her bearing witness
in rhythm and cycles,
her lesson,
each day,
in motion and stasis,
in sun and moon,
in the small deaths we make
in order to rise and
to live.
 
– TT

A Vow to Live

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The tear that hides behind a smile,
The stem, that upward momentum of growth
That hides behind the heavy but pretty face
Lining the pathway in the magical garden__
What else can we not see right away,
What else thrives in the event of our
Distraction as well as our attentiveness?
The lotus gathering her food in the murky depths
So that it can shoot to the heavens, for us all;
The universe of ants and insects building homes,
Feeding each other and filling the very ground
Beneath our feet with the vibrant joy
Of that which, so brightly, lives;
The silent feeding time of butterflies,
The birds nourishing their young;
The hushed conversations on the other side
Of the door, or those thin wooden walls,
Who knows what worries, sadnesses and fears
Haunt the hearts and minds of our neighbours,
What joys and triumphs give them the strength
That seeps into the air we all breathe
As fiery, life-giving electricity?
And what I have done for the world today?
What have I been too scared to show,
Too weak to contain within this fragile structure
I sometimes forget has immeasurable strength,
So that I may observe it, realize its impermanence,
And allow to dissipate into our infinitely
Forgiving universe?
What if I vow not to hide anymore,
But to know what and how I want to be,
And to be nothing but and exactly this,
And to allow all the beauty I can feel
So intently with all of my senses,
To infuse every part of me until
I am THIS and harmony and all the grace?
 
– TS