First Days in San Miguel de Allende

1.

The flagellated Christ

is being carried

to San Miguel de Allende.

He must be very heavy

yet the carriers persist

upon the sun flashed road

and the people follow

in the same way that people would seek

a river heard of but never yet found.

they are that thirsty...

2.

I have come, for the first time, to Mexico.

And what has happened

to that intense ambition

with which I always wake?

Soaked up

in the colors, stolen

by the blood Christs.

I am feeling something, incredibly,

like peace...

3.

the tops of the northbound trains are dangerous.

Still, they are heaped with hopefuls.

I understand their necessity.

Understanding, however, it not sharing.

Oh, let there be a wedding of the

mind and the heart, if not today

then soon.

Meanwhile, let me change my own life

into something better.

Meanwhile, on the streets of San Miguel de Allende

it is easy to smile.

"Hola," I say to the children.

"Hi," they say, as I pass

with my passport, and money, in my pocket.

For many years I lived with the shame of being able to come and go from Mesoamerica, while I left my friends behind. They suffered violence, poverty, illness, brokenness, alcoholism, and dying children.  I could leave and they could not.  Now some of them are dead.

It is for that reason, in part, that we took into our homes two young men from Honduras who came up through Mexico on top of one of the trains that Mary speaks of - the Death Train.

Yes I know that all of life is journey towards death!  Yes I know that I can't save every child, bird, and tree!  Yes I know that there are pretty flowers to view along the dangerous path!

I know much and can learn more.

But for today, let there be a wedding of my heart and head.

May I vow with every breath, "I do!"

What is your vow today?

Evidence

I.

Where do I live? If I had no address, as many people
do not, I could nevertheless say that I lived in the
same town as the lilies of the field, and the still
waters.

Spring, and all through the neighborhood now there are
strong men tending flowers.

Beauty without purpose is beauty without virtue. But
all beautiful things, inherently, have this function -
to excite the viewers toward sublime thought. Glory
to the world, that good teacher.

Among the swans there is none called the least, or
the greatest.

I believe in kindness. Also in mischief. Also in
singing, especially when singing is not necessarily
prescribed.

As for the body, it is solid and strong and curious
and full of detail; it wants to polish itself; it
wants to love another body; it is the only vessel in
the world that can hold, in a mix of power and
sweetness: words, song, gesture, passion, ideas,
ingenuity, devotion, merriment, vanity, and virtue.

Keep some room in your heart for the unimaginable.

2.

There are many ways to perish, or to flourish.

How old pain, for example, can stall us at the threshold of function….

Still friends, consider stone, that is without the fret of gravity, and water that is without anxiety. 

And the pine trees that never forget their recipe for renewal. 

And the female wood duck who is looking this way and that way for her children. And the snapping turtle who is looking this way and that way also. This is the world. 

And consider, always, every day, the determination of the grass to grow despite the unending obstacles. 

3. 

I ask you again: if you have not been enchanted by this adventure--your life--what would do for you? 

And, where are you, with your ears bagged down as if with packets of sand? Listen. We all have much more listening to do. Tear the sand away. And listen. The river is singing. …

For myself, I have walked in these woods for

More than forty years, and I am the only

thing, it seems, that is about to be used up.

Or, to be less extravagant, will, in the

Foreseeable future, be used up.

First, though, I want to step out into some

fresh morning and look around and hear myself

crying out:  "The house of money is falling! The house of money is falling! The weeds are rising! The weeds are rising!"

In this day today, do you imagine there will be much evidence? Evidence for what?

Consider the lilies then and the birds as Mary does.  She's been reading the Christian Scriptures that one! (Matthew 6:25-34)

I read it much like she does.  There is so much contradiction in the passage, which points to the opposed tensions in life, we are left to turn to the infallible, but which can be hidden. So we go through our days as sleuths to discover. What you ask?  More importantly, how,  when we know that we are marching towards the point of being used up?  Or like the ducklings, hunted by pain for the good of the world?

I don't have the answer of how we listen for the evidence all around us.  

I only know that beauty is everywhere. It's my job to find it and praise the world accordingly, and to respond to the glory of every being with in the world, which are also within me.

What evidence do you long for today?

Percy Speaks While I am Doing Taxes

First of all, I do not want to be doing this.

Second of all, Percy does not want me

  to be doing this.

hanging over my desk like a besieged person

  with a dull pencil and innumerable lists

    of numbers.

Outside the water is blue, the sky is clear,

  the tide rising.

Percy, I say, this has to be done. This is

  essential. I'll be finished eventually.

Keep me in your thoughts, he replies. Just because

  I can't count to ten doesn't mean

I don't remember yesterday, or anticipate today.

  I give you one more hour, then we step out

into the beautiful, money-deaf gift of the world

and run.

Just this last month I read about language research with a dog who knew 1000 words.  They do understand a lot.

Currently I am reading the book, "Parrot Behavior" and just yesterday read about parrots that know not just hundreds of words, but can combine words into meaningful sentences.  They do understand a lot.

All of this reminds me of the movie, "Forest Gump" where Forest says, "I may not be smart, but I know what love is."

No matter how we see the intelligence of another being, whether it is comparable to humans or to other species or not, I do believe that we share with the other social vertebrates a common neural structure of emotional responses that evolved out of this beautiful earth.

Baby, we were born to run, to love, and feel deep gratitude for the gifts around us.

What were you born to do?

Summer Story

When the hummingbird

sinks its face

into the trumpet vine

and the funnels

of the blossoms,

and the tongue

leaps out

and throbs,

I am scorched

to realize once again

how many small, available things

are in the world

that aren’t

pieces of gold

or power–

that nobody owns

or could buy even

for a hillside of money–

that just

float about the world,

or drift over the fields,

or into the gardens,

and into the tents of the vines

and how here I am

spending my time,

as the saying goes,

watching until the watching turns into feeling

so that I feel I am myself

a small bird

with a terrible hunger

with a thin beak probing and dipping

and a heart that races so fast

it is only a heartbeat ahead of breaking

and I am the hunger and the assuagement

and also I am the leaves and the blossoms,

and, like them, I am full of delight and shaking

These are Los Dias de los Muertos – the days of the dead, and all Souls and Saints days. I cannot arise this morning without death before me, and recalling the Aztec cultures that brings us these traditions in part. Stories and myths about hummingbirds abound in the Aztec culture, a bird who brings bounty as well as mediates death and rebirth. Without consciously putting all this together, this morning I donned hummingbird earrings. Then I sat down to read my poem of the day, and here is Mary speaking of hummers.

Her poem mediates my deep hunger and vulnerability. I long for a world where beauty and care abound. Given our lack of justice I am but a small bird amongst mountains and storms. What can I do when death and oppression threatens? I am thinking that I can dip my tiny self into my inner being and see the earth’s heart breaking. This is so scary for it means I am nothing, but a feather falling to the earth, or floating up to the sky. May we this day give up everything, so that we may receive everything.

What does this time of Samhain, Halloween, and these Days of the Dead mean to you? Where do you feel small or feel death?

The Black Walnut Tree - February 21, 2010

My mother and I debate:

we could sell

the black walnut tree

to the lumberman,

and pay off the mortgage...

...That night I dream

of my father's out of Bohemia

filling the blue fields

of tress and generous Ohio...

What my mother and I both know

is that we'd crawl with shame

in the emptiness we'd made

in our own and our father's backyard.

So the black walnut tree

swings through another year...

...and, month after month, the whip-

crack of the mortgage.

The America Black Walnut is a native tree and is being hunted out of its range. Looking through the internet I see that a 200 year old tree could be worth tens of thousands of dollars. Those people out of Europe in many ways did empty out Ohio of its native species, bringing with them their cultivated plants and trees. The Walnut is both native, and a tree of cultivation. So when Mary speaks of shame about taking the tree down, is it the shame that her lineage, her species took from Ohio? Or is it shame from not honoring the toils of her forebears? Both? Oh how our species delights in work and cultivating products. We yearn for abundance while killing it.

When you look in your backyard, what do you see? What trees, plants, and wildlife come from other lands, supplanting the native species? (In Florida, about 25% of plant and animal wildlife is non native).