still pond calls to me
standing in reeds tall above
a blue heron waits
~
moon and lotus speak
love story long forgotten
in whispered shadows
~
white tea cup tumbles
drowning in a deep ocean
pearls drop one by one
~
rising on the wind
star light dances with the waves
before morning’s first blush
~
night sky breathes silver
quiet laughter fills the air
fish sing to lotus
I’m concerned about justice. I’m concerned about brotherhood. I’m concerned about truth. And when one is concerned about these, he can never advocate violence. For through violence you may murder a murderer but you can’t murder murder. Through violence you may murder a liar but you can’t establish truth. Through violence you may murder a hater, but you can’t murder hate. Darkness cannot put out darkness. Only light can do that.
~ Martin Luther King, Jr.
I decided this morning, that (when time permits me to) I would search out a random quote, hold it, sit with it, as though it were a pebble that I had found on the beach, and see what rose up from the words (if anything) and write about it. Quite often in the past, I have been struck by a quote – left speechless by the words or another. In some cases, moved to tears, and in other cases barely cared at all. I have been part of and heard many discussions about the usefulness of quotes and quoting – there are many arguments for both, none of which involves what I am doing here. Much like the way I book surf – the selection of a random quote for this thread is just that – completely random. If there is such a thing.
I wonder sometimes, if it is possible to capture everything that a single quote might evoke for someone – in this case me. It is a big challenge for me – to articulate everything that might be triggered by a certain collection of words – and everything else that it connects together for me. I don’t intend to use a quote to prove a point – I have nothing to prove and no point to make. I am interested in my reactions to it (and in the reactions of others to the quote as well). I decided to call this thread ‘notes from the little red box’ because I actually keep my favorite ones in a little red box in my studio. Quite awhile ago – I started writing a similar thread somewhere else – it fell off as my writing tends to do, like a dropped piece of wool while knitting. Now, I find myself going back and returning to that small hole to make the weave complete.
The random quote that came up today is one that is startlingly powerful for me. I admire what Martin Luther King Jr. was working towards, what he stood for and what he ultimately had to sacrifice in order to be heard. Truth, justice and light. These are very powerful allies to have in a world that is becoming more and more consumed by darkness. The timing of this quote is not lost on me either. The theme of using light to put out darkness, rather than darkness to put out darkness is one that is very ‘current’ for me. It came up unexpectedly last night in a conversation with an old friend. I have been thinking about how our reaction to the unknown, to what we fear, to change itself is to use fear to put it out. It seems so often we are in survival mode – fight or flee, that we meet fear with fear, rather than taking any other approach. We accept it as normal. Maybe it is. Maybe it is only because we have allowed it to be. The psychology behind it is interesting – and I believe that to some degree everyone, most of all me, is stuck in survival mode. We are operating out of a place of fear. What makes it worse, for me anyway, is that we KNOW that we are working from this dark place. What keeps us from changing? For me – it is rooted in what is comfortable. The fearful reaction is what has become comfortable – and breaking that pattern is where my work lies. That is where my attention must be, to become more aware of how I react. I used to think that I needed to understand why there is fear in the first place… It is important to know in some ways, but useless knowledge if it doesn’t help me to change. To know hasn’t proved to be enough for me to make the changes, instead, I am finding the changes come from being aware of the fear itself. I may kill what makes me afraid by know it, identifying it, facing it, but it doesn’t kill fear itself – that comes from action. It is in the DOING of things, the act of facing the fear, again and again, until it no longer has a hold, the act of correcting and letting go of negativity, until I am able to relax into myself – that is when the violence of existing ends.
The following poems I wrote two years ago – a different time, slightly different intent, however they come to mind now, as I write:
fate and the violence of existing
cracked
along the ridge
fingers trace
cling
scrape
pull against
the brittle fringe
open open open
and then
nothing
breathe
waves
crash
crash
crash
reverie
a gull screams
to be heard
over the riot
of sand and empty shells
cold and frozen
beneath my feet
closing eyes
notes still play
on the breezes
and thundering wing
cuts past my ear
wait –
take my ears
my heart
my soul
touch me no more
this violence of existing
waves
crash
crash
crash
touch me
no more
the fragile skin
and tear-stained hands
the naked yes
eyes that watch
simply
this world and
the next one
through the window
now turn to see
truth
only stares back
~
II
where are you
hand pressed against
the glass
pushing outward
Where
Are
You
stepped over the broken glass
of yesterday
feet bleeding
because I refused
the comfort
of shoes
the shadows are hiding
and I am caught
between them
shouting into the mirror
for you
for you
screaming your name
into the wind
where
and then nothing
get out
pressing or leaving
my palm print here
nothing but the shattering
and crashing
of nothing
stillness
still screams louder
waiting inside myself
to be free
this violence
provoked
by breathing
sitting here
in this
existence
~
22.03.06.
Leigh Tyson
III
you ask
why
and I only
stare
in return
~
postmortem
fate
unfolds only
in paper
my own creases
folded corners
created
out of a blank page
flowers and cranes
folded
refolded
fingers littered
with cuts
little slice
inflection
reflection
refraction
lay them
in rows to float
on the river
of myself
as the violence of existing
fades in the ripples
of the water’s
quiet embrace
~
22.03.06
Now, I quietly embrace the night, and everyone here. I will continue rooting through and finding whatelse might lie in this little red box of mine… May tomorrow bring the truth, the death of fear and much light and love to you all. May we all be filled with the courage required to meet our fears and relax into ourselves. May we all be free.
🙂
Leigh-Anne
15.01.08
Great Spirit, Divine One, Creator
who is heaven earth rock wind insect tree fox
human of every size shape color
Holy are your infinite names chanted sung whispered
shouted in every language, tongue.
We will midwife the rebirth of Gaia
as best we can
restoring the Great Law of Peace.
Guide our hands to the soil and seed
honoring the alchemy of food.
Let us remember your abundance
and share the bread of life with any who hunger.
We are for giving
and giving and giving.
We trust in the give-away.
We give and receive.
Let us be humble before the darkness and the light
walking in harmony amidst them.
Give us courage to know them intimately
both within and without.
For you have breathed it all—
the behind, the above, the below, the beyond.
Your awesome power courses in our veins
and animates our hearts.
You are the Great Drum.
We thank you
translation of the lord’s prayer
from King James to Gaian – claudia l’amoreaux
I did not intend to sit down to write a journal entry tonight. I was planning to do some reading, and catch up on the great number of posts that I have been unable to read due to various circumstances, but it would seem that ‘someone’ (the universe) has other ideas for me. something just fell into my laugh (hahaha upon re-reading, I must add that I meant to say ‘lap’ not laugh, but I will leave it.), and I feel that it is right to share it with everyone. The reasons are pretty obvious. I think that what has struck me most about this synergy is the direct nature of it… kind of like being hit over the head by a two by four. Tomorrow, a new adventure begins for all of us. I am excited by the coming changes, greet them with wide open arms, and feel that we are collectively on the cusp of something incredibly beautiful. It is funny to me to say that – because I already thought I had found something beautiful here.
I have been reflecting a lot on my time here on Zaadz lately, which I know isn’t unique. Many people have been doing the same – it’s natural to feel the urge to do this, especially when our community is changing and growing. It is good to do. I realized, even as I went through an old entry of mine that I wrote about my time here – that I somehow had misplaced almost a year of being here. I was embarrassed a bit when I re-read what I wrote. I am a perfectionist to a certain degree. That being said, one of the ‘problems’ that I have is losing time. I can’t explain how it happens or why it does, it just happens, I do not keep track of time well. The year that I spent has in actual fact been more like almost two years. I joined Zaadz not knowing what I was looking for, only knowing that I was meant to be here. That kernel was planted somehow, and I stayed, coming and going, flowing with the energy, waiting to know what was coming next. I posted from time to time, those things that held meaning for me in the moment (and of course still do hold some meaning for me), but I felt quiet. It wasn’t the right time for me. I have enjoyed meeting those people I have met so far – some have been very challenging, and even infuriating, some have been bright lights in otherwise dark moments. I have never felt the need to ask for much, if anything here but always have I been surprised many times by the warm response that I have received at the right moments. Most of all, tonight, I just wanted to say thank you. Thank you to Brian, Siona, Jessica, C4Chaos, ~Matthew, Michael, Sol and the rest of the Zaadz family, including every single person who is taking the time to read this, and every single person who does not. All of YOU have created a beautiful opportunity for all of us to create our place, our community – I love that it is evolving and growing, as a seed should. A seed doesn’t need to ask what it will grow into. It grows and knows already. This really is our gift to each other – this opportunity to grow, imagine, create and become.
Whatever tomorrow brings, I am very grateful for that first moment when I signed up, became an ambassador and began my journey here. Wherever it takes me, where it takes all of us, I am happy. I am grateful. I am a better person for being part of all of this and for knowing you. We are the mallets for the Drum.
Thank you all.
May you be filled with the grace of knowing and embrace change with an open heart and mind
May your days be filled with laughter and joy
May each moment bring you everything that you need for your journey to the next moment
May your heart overflow with kindness and goodwill
And may you always find a way to share the beautiful gift of you.
with love and quiet laughter
Leigh-Anne
January 14, 2008
am home from work this afternoon early, because my daughter has the flu. It’s been a busy week, because the virus has made its way first through my oldest daughter, then has started with me, and now my youngest. Despite feeling under the weather, my little one, who is currently laying on the sofa near by, resting, felt the sudden urge to sing. Not a common song, or a current pop one from the radio, but one that she made up on the spot – about an ordinary every day event. It made me smile, and then got me to thinking about how beautiful children are. They are for many many reasons, but in particular today, children are beautiful for me because they can create something wondeful out of something that appears to be quite mundane and ordinary… they, in general, make the world delightful and extraordinary. The shortest song even, about something as simple as a spoon, was enough to make her laugh a little extra, and made me smile. On a day when we are both feeling run down, it was just the right thing to lift our spirits. It is why I delight in the ordinary.
Now, what comes to mind is a Zen story about tea:
Bodhidharma’s eyelids and the origins of tea
Awareness comes through sensitivity. You have to be more sensitive whatsoever you do, so that even a trivial thing like tea… Can you find anything more trivial than tea? Can you find anything more ordinary than tea? No, you cannot–and Zen monks and masters have raised this most ordinary thing into the most extraordinary. They have bridged “this” and “that”… as if tea and God have become one.
Unless tea becomes divine you will not be divine, because the least has to be raised to the most, the ordinary has to be raised to the extraordinary, the earth has to be made heaven. They have to be bridged, no gap should be left.
Tea was discovered by Bodhidharma, the founder of Zen. The story is beautiful. He was meditating for nine years, facing a wall. Nine years, just facing the wall, continuously, and sometimes it was natural that he might start falling asleep.
He fought and fought with his sleep–remember, the metaphysical sleep, the unconsciousness. He wanted to remain conscious even while asleep. He wanted to make a continuity of consciousness–the light should go on burning day and night, for twenty-four hours. That’s what dhyana is, what meditation is–awareness.
One night he felt that it was impossible to keep awake; he was falling asleep. He cut his eyelids off and threw them! Now there was no way for him to close his eyes.
The story is beautiful. To get to the inner eyes, these outer eyes will have to be thrown. That much price has to be paid. And what happened? After a few days he found that those eyelids that he had thrown on the ground had started growing into a small sprout. That sprout became tea.
That’s why when you drink tea, something of Bodhidharma enters you and you cannot fall asleep. Bodhidharma was meditating on the mountain called T’a, that’s why it is called tea. It comes from that mountain where Bodhidharma meditated for nine years.
This is a parable. When the Zen Master says, “Have a cup of tea,” he’s saying, “Taste a little of Bodhidharma. Don’t bother about these questions, whether God exists or not, who created the world, where is heaven and where is hell and what is the theory of karma and rebirth.”
When the Zen Master says, “Forget all about it. Have a cup of tea,” he’s saying, “Better become more aware, don’t go into all this nonsense. This is not going to help you at all.”
~
the other saying that comes to mind is – Before enlightenment, chop wood, carry water, after enlightenment, chop wood, carry water. ~ Wu Li
🙂
la
November 30, 2007
I wish, on some days, that someone was with me while I was alone, to ask me what I am thinking about… not because it is anything important or profound… but because sometimes I miss having someone around to tell. Today, driving home, I was watching the sunrays coming through the clouds. There has been the promise of rain and the clouds finally arriving give the hope that it will in fact rain. As I drove, I thought about what it would be like to be in one of those rays of sun. I see them falling in straight lines from the sky, and often wonder where they land – like I do when I see a rainbow… what if I were in one of those sunrays? Could I be so lucky? Likely not… I don’t have much luck with things like that – it is more likely to be on the edge watching, and appreciating anyone who could be a part of that experience…
Seeing the sunlight through the clouds made me think also of how we (generally) tend to associate those rays with that of an image of the divine, of God in particular. I am sure with some research I could find out why – there are probably countless references to radiant light in the Bible alone, let alone the associations that we have created ourselves… I can remember one of the first times that I, personally, began making the association. Well, when I consciously made the connection.
Once was when I was a small child. I remember being 5 or so and sitting in church on a Sunday morning. It was an old country church that sat (and still sits) at the crossroads of a then dirt road and highway (now I think all the roads are paved) – an old Anglican Church. I sat and watched the sun pour in through the stained glass windows, mesmerized by the colours that the glass gave the light, and the streams that were created with the dust particles that floated in the air. It felt at the time that beauty itself had stepped into the pew beside me – and I decided that it must be God who had come to listen to the music too. From that day onward, I connected those kinds of moments with someone/ something greater than myself – though I will admit, as I got older I have thought less and less of being next to God, like he was a playmate coming to sit near me but more aware of how God touches the life and lives around me. How God is in and around all things, all people, including me… A shift in perspective that came with age, I suppose.
The sunrays through the clouds today, reminded me of that same hope and comfort… the kind that exists without philosophy or ideas or labels, it just is… It has come to represent for me, the hope of my childhood, which I have never lost – that feeling of comfort sitting there with God in the pew as a five year old… innocent, happy and surrounded by something beautiful. Most of all, the rays of light reminded me of the kind of beauty that can only be experienced. It can’t be recreated or reproduced the same way. You just have to be there, and breathe it in. I think that is why I wished to be inside the ray of light, as much as I wish to have someone next to me to share that thought with at the time.
In the end, it is a comfort that somewhere, perhaps almost everywhere at any time, there is that possibility to see the rays of light from the sun – and that connection is a brilliant one.
la
November 15, 2007
He who binds to himself a joy
Does the winged life destroy;
But he who kisses the joy as it flies
Lives in Eternity’s sunrise.
~ William Blake
Sitting on top of a boulder
The gorge stream icy cold
Quiet fun holds a special charm
Fogged-in on deserted cliffs
A fine place to rest
The sun leans and tree shadows sprawl
While I view the ground of my mind
A lotus comes out of the mud.
– Cold Mountain
Reaching my hut built of quiet mystery,
I sweep clouds away and settle into repose.
There’s no one left to climb with me beyond
Slippery moss and frail vines to this peak
Where autumn winds bluster and breeze
And spring grasses grow lush and green.
You’re traveling beyond hope of return.
– Hsieh Ling-yun
Pausing to breathe
In the lush green morning
I take up my usual place
Tucked into the folds of branches and leaves
Listening to the song of sparrows
Each note mirrored in my soul
Wings unfolded, the source of breeze overhead
To quench the thirst in the fountains
Their call to each other dots the morning
And leaves me longing to know their conversations
The dappled morning sunshine
Trails leaf shadows over my skin
And along the curves of the garden paths
Where the stones, in low tones
Tell secrets to the trees
As the silent witness, I lay back
To hear with my whole body
What the day will bring
~
04.09.07
Leigh-Anne Tyson
In the shadows of the day
The evening light reminds me
There is no waiting for the day
The death of patience lost
On the unknowing curls of leaves
I have felt the rich, honeyed sun
Against my face, upturned
As the day stretched on in lazy moments
And I wandered through the past
The remnants linger slowly fading
Now with the mist of winter coming
They turn up from me and away
Not with broken wings or bitterness
Not even anger to sour my smile
My feet I find are there to stand
When I thought I could only fall
I wish you could see
I wish you could see
See where this life is going
But I can wait no longer
for your eyes, sweet one
To light on this self
I kiss you lightly
As this moment floats by
Good bye my love
Good bye
~
04.09.07
Leigh-Anne Tyson
The fading sunlight brings me
The fading sunlight brings
A different kind of life
To the garden here
Where the fountains hum
With the evening birds
And the trees keep the harmony
My soul echoes their song
I am their wing and they are mine
Flying in the dying day to touch
The delicate water’s edge
Stream flows over the stones
My whole, and landing together
In the pond below, I know
Stillness and totality
The fading light reminds me
In each corner here
In the curl of water, the shadow of leaves
And quiet folds of the garden
Everything lives through my eyes, my ears
My body, my soul
And but for grace
Does my heart know this joy
The joy of living
Now
~
04.09.07
Leigh-Anne Tyson
Abundance between the stones
In this September garden
Full blooms drunk on honey’d sun
Lean down low towards the path
Quiet stones as I pass, barefoot
Careful not to disturb their well-earned slumber
Hibiscus have unfurled their petals
To trumpet the last warm days
Before thoughts to other things
More serious and withdrawn
The golden finches and mourning doves
Chatter to each other
I listen remembering, it was the sparrows
And their brother song yesterday
Who drew me into reverie
While the floral neighbourhood slumbers
Grace keeps a watchful eye
I sit, deeply grateful once again
For these moments living in bliss
The defiant green moss growing in hidden crevices
Far more deserving of my attention
Than the words, hurled like swords through me
Here, the madness of the summer fades
Leaving me here – to sit in love
With my fingertips trailing in the stone pond
My heart full like the blooms
~
04.09.07
Leigh-Anne Tyson
I
Not once, but for some days
I though and wrestled over
Thoughts about conversations
Conversations with silence
I supposed that there were none at the end
Not with Silence
But all, at their core, the conversations themselves,
Were simply and truthfully
A gentle or not so pleasant exchange with the self
Myself
Not even could it be certain
That it was even the bigger ‘self’
The one that stands alone with a capital S
Self – that one
No, more likely always it was the small one
Timid at times, or filled with fear, anger, confused
Giddy, overjoyed
Who half-kneeling spoke, under the pressure of Silence
nothing much of value was said.
Once some days ago, months now maybe it is hard to tell
By now, I had thought about this long enough
To try on the ideas and conclusions like they were clothes
Some like heavy felted wool,
I shrugged them on around my shoulders
Stumbling as though forced down by the neck
Into the dirt
Others instead, slipped on my body effortlessly
Like a well worn pair of jeans or shoes
With a memory of every movement, every path made
Worn to a mold of myself after a million steps
And without another thought I was walking
In these familiar impressions once again.
Still others – and there were many
Made me shrink away – away
At first glance
Resistance to those threads of thought
And then at second glance or third or fourth
I found no connection, no comfort, no understanding
I refused to open my palm
To embrace what I could not face,
Not even once
The thousand faces buried here
In this line of thought, pushed and pulled
Wrenched and cajoled and still
It was not the Silence I mistook it for
It was not the conversation I was part of
Not as I naively thought
It turned out to be just a smaller version
Of me
Now, as I sit here to write
Humbled and quiet
I find that the conversation
Has always been
Well over my head.
~
20.08.07
Leigh-Anne Tyson
II
To the ear, words and discussions,
Poetry and dreams are like candy
Some days, where they fall inward
Like a stream of water through the soul
Punctuating the day and night
They leave me at their close,
With the sense of having known something
That I did not before
And I treasured that
Some days, they are like a bitter drink
That flows through the inner canal to the heart
Words, like daggers, score the surface
And deeper still
They throw the inner sky into turmoil
Those days are like high winds beating
Itself against the wall, and I am left
Spent and worn down
These are not new – not to my ears
Or eyes or heart (and likely no one else’s)
But when solitude exerts itself
And sits on me like a lumbering oaf
I can no longer decide which of the two
I most prefer.
~
20.08.07
Leigh-Anne Tyson
III
An echo rumbles outward now
Propelled by unseen hands
I am only one standing on the edge
To listen – but what do I really hear?
Like a face reflected in the mirror
How do I know which is true
The note that leaves the instrument
Or the one reverberating in my mind?
What weight does the truth have in either case,
When I only want to listen….
The echo now is caught in my throat
Like a horn or drum that sounded at one time
Carrying messages beyond, but stopped awkwardly
As I wonder am I strong enough to follow through
Despite the hesitant step,
the sharp pangs of fear and self doubt
the echo as insistent as the original note
bellowing to be heard
love. live. be free
~
20.08.07
Leigh-Anne Tyson
Down where the road turns
And disappears behind
The heavy leaves and trees
I will meet you
My friend,
One day.
The stones beneath my feet
Catch me from time to time
Hurt my feet, cause me to stumble,
Or fascinate me
To the point I am crouched on my knees
To have a closer look
Above the sky is clear and blue
The August breeze coll and fresh
In the shade of the woods
And I cannot help but linger
Along the roadside
Watching the butterflies
And goldfinch perch together
On the wild flowers
It is not lost on me
That at the same time
Somewhere, someone is sitting
On a cold hard slab of concrete,
Wrapped in ripped cloth, hungry and alone
Or that anger and hatred-filled crowds
Hurl everything that they can at each other
To destroy utterly what either side wants
It is not lost on me that despair and sadness
Sometimes looms large in the minds of others
Including my own
Those days when shadow outweighs the light
But
This is part of the roads side as well
It is the ditch and the fields beyond
The well worn path
Down there
Where the road turns
And disappears,
My love, my friend,
I will meet you,
One day
~
20.08.07
Leigh-Anne Tyson
Caught in the wind
I tried to speak and yet
My words fail
Fail again with each line and
Then fall flat
Like a note half played from memory
And to what end?
I ask myself
The point of beginning
Just as useless as the content
That I threw out onto the screen
Would have been better to rest
My eyes
And spend the time
In silence
~
03.07.07
Leigh-Anne Tyson
away from you
the light does not fall the same
not the same
the road bends, as it always does
curves and turns and rolls with the
landscape
but I do not follow
the horizon just out of reach of my eyes
out and beyond
away from you
the still water, though reflecting the sky perfectly
seems a riotous storm in my passing glance
and then as the moments stretch like the shadows
over the corners, like a well worn shirt caught
on the shoulder blades
caught
away from you
half naked in the open window
this is where you can see
me
away from you
~
27.06.07
Leigh-Anne Tyson
in passing, no more
the sun across the trees
or the breeze through the open window
no more
as night stretches to the corners
and the burning sun finally sleeping
brings some relief
no more the words that dress the fingers,
the pages, the books, the painting that lies
behind the eyes, unpainted
unthought of
now, even the images are not luring
drawing against a virgin canvas
demanding to be seen
instead, just passing
like a child on a bicycle
rolling oblivious passed
the smart fence-lined yards
with small dogs barking salutes
and running to the ends of their ropes
before they are reminded suddenly
that life has limits
passed the overgrown gully and low willows
to the pond
with only a thought to sit idly by water’s edge
until the fish bite at least once
in passing, no more
the wish for elsewhere, or anywhere
or nowhere
just passing
through
like the sun on its way to
beginning again
~
06.26.07
Leigh-Anne Tyson
lei fraser 