toutes les choses nouvelles

nous avons fait bon accueil à l'été
avec grands eclat de rire
et j'ai été calmé avec joie.
mon coeur était plein.
brises chaudes ont caressé
les réserves
et les oiseaux chanteurs
ont chanté la crainte loin.

je n'ai pas regret
et je suis sûr.

wonder woman

"What is there to be discouraged about? Gandhi said the victory is in the struggle itself. The struggle itself is the most important thing."

Aung San Suu Kyi


Her life and bravery give me the chills. Her sixth year under house arrest under way and she says the only prison is fear and the only freedom is freedom from fear. I know of some other prisons, but, yeah, fear is a powerful one. May you know freedom, may you be set free.

Rossi colored glasses

Совершенная улица
Ulitsa Zodchego Rossi

St. Petersburg, Russia has the perfect street, the street of ideal proportions, perfectly measured, just perfect. In fact, one travel guide suggested that it was an incomparable opportunity to experience harmony. It has identical buildings on either side, same width, same height. The street is even perfectly symmetrical to the height and width of the buildings. When something is perfect, it is flawless, ideal, complete, whole, finished, polished, model, free of defects, blameless, without blemish.

HOAs exist to enforce and manage neighborhoods and yards, ensure everyone uses the same hose, cuts their grass at 3 inches, only plants crepe myrtles and mountain laurels, never puts pink flamingos or garden gnomes in the cultivated landscaping. And to the family that puts a pear tree in the front yard, watch out. You'll probably be asked to cut it down. Everyone else put in the standard silver maple creating the ideal housing development.

All is not perfect in our yard. Gotta say I prefer imperfections. I like funky flamingos.

frustration with general shwe

set her free, myanmar, set her free.
her waters poisoned by decay.
her people swollen with hunger,
dying from disease and starvation.
her freedom sealed in junta pride.
her roof broken and leaking.
her home swept away.
her rice gone to wind and rain.
her pride in your hands,
her life under your thumb,
her strength in your power,
her posture in your control.
and you do nothing. you hold her back with guns and threats.
you let her stand naked in demolished fields.
you let her orphans run through barren streets.
you keep nourishment in holding cells
like her daughter of freedom,
the lady of peace,
you hold it under house arrest.
this is your people
and you have broken her like a weakened un-weened lamb.
you are the cyclone. you are the disease. you are the rot. you are the decay.

and all you have to do is let go.
set her free, myanmar. set burma free. and release the captive.

tsunami

Deep calls to deep
in the roar of your waterfalls;
all your waves and breakers
have swept over me.

flood me.
consume me.
devour my pride.
dig your claw in my dragon skin
and release me of this
putrid hide.
shatter the glass
of pretense
of shallowness;
break it into a thousand pieces.
my bones they cry out for resplendence.
my flesh it cries out for goodness.
my heart it cries out for wholeness.
walls still remain. demolish them.
reek havoc on their foundations.
take the mortar and make it pliable.
take the stones and make them like dust
between your index finger and thumb.
vaporize my blindness.

but do not leave me unprotected, naked, trembling.
cover me. blanket me. lead me. hold me.
hide me in your iron grip.
when you do these things, i will be raw, exposed.
please, make a nest for me in grace. in peace. in mercy.

in unfailing love.

as the deer pants for streams of water

so my soul longs, thirsts for living. for reality. for truth. for an astonishing wave of mercy that i can do nothing but weep oceans of living water.

may supplications

today
i want the snow to melt
and spring to come;
today
i want all things new,
a fresh move,
a joyful beginning;
today i want to know
tidal waves and tsunamis
of heavenly water,
to sit on the starry shore
basking in the radiance of kingly love;
today i long for rain,
for red to be sated,
hannah's promise fulfilled;
today i want to walk washed bright by light
and not out of it,
to follow a path etched in time,
a hope and future;
today
i long for an end of darkness and shadows,
for an end to hidden attacks and cowardly enemies;
today
i long to boldly walk up the mountain
holding your hand.

gently down the stream

it's one of those days when there is so much to say and write but none of it fits together. hem's gently down the stream captures how i felt for the first two days of this week with it's surreal, dreamy, solemn goodness as i reflected and somberly celebrated the joy of a perfect sunday evening. for two days i floated gently down the stream, not with a great smile or a stupid grin. there were no expressions and there are no words to write, no tone or voice that can capture the goodness i felt deep within.

thursday was filled with thoughts of bravery in the heat of weakness as i went to chemo with a friend. we were there all day and i saw many souls in and out of the infusion room, ones who have fought with more tenacity and bravery than i can ever truly imagine. there is so much to learn from those who have to walk this path, fight this battle. one lady we met will be forever etched on my memory; she walks this life with her head held high and the knowledge that her cancer will never go away. she was on her fourth type of chemo treatment for one of the rarest kinds of cancer. she is a true amazon. six foot tall. in her late fifties, early sixties. broad, strong shoulders. bright dress. adorned in jewels and high heels. feminine and unmoved. courageous. her comfort during chemo? her husband's picture by her chair. i was indifferent to the picture; but to her his face was love, acceptance, comfort, joy, a blanket of peace.

i am still processing it all-- there is so much to think on when in the chemo infusion room, so much to think about on perfect evenings. another loved one has to face cancer every day. am i helping her, learning from her? i also considered the brevity of life; our turn on this earthly playground is not that long. will it make a difference when i go? have i made a difference? will i ever have what my amazon friend has? i've been waking up every morning at 5:30 this week (not by choice!) turning those thoughts into prayers.

new song, same verse

this morning i woke up at 5:30 with an original song, lyrics and melody, and i failed to write it down. silly me. it was a bluesy tune that stirred my heart reaallly early; i wasn't quite ready to get up yet. it was a bit of the cry of my heart in the vain of ruth. ruth's words to naomi are ones that have been written on my heart. ruth's servant heart, the way she loves, the way she puts aside pride to walk in obedience, impresses me, makes me want to reflect and emanate her character.

marketa irglova, a 19 year old independent Czech musician, and glen hansard are the two musicians who wrote thebeautiful music for the movie ONCE and acted/performed in the movie. the movie, about love and love lost, was one of the best modern musicals i have seen because of the original music. these two artists from different cultures infused their talents and influences bringing a new and fresh voice to a universal subject. each song captures in its melody a lifetime of emtion concerning love. the lyrics to the song i've posted aren't the best; but the musicality and the cinematography speak louder than words in a haunting illustration of what a heart cries.

ode to a bounty of parmesan

Chesterton said it hadn't been done. It's time to pay tribute to cheese.

a solemn joy grew contentment-
it was a mid-spring's eve;
laughter echoed beyond the stolid oak,
oaks that rejoiced with us
and quivered in the wake,
in the solidarity of rapturous reverberation;
the nightingale sang his praise,
his tale interspersed with woe and anguish and
delight-filled bliss;
we too have known the darkness
and have banqueted in its shadow,
feasted on its shores;
but light, ripened berries and
the triune resonance of Il Cannone
sent it flying.

the Decameron's mountain,
parmesan mounds in plenty;
its salty, savory flavor preserves a memory
not soon forgotten,
embraced.

and i am full.