Playing with Haikus

It’s been a long, dark winter.  The farmer and I are walking mindfully, yet with sustained effort through our transitions: the uprooting move, the death of his brother, his heart surgery with all the reflecting and recovering that comes with such experiences, the medical bills and sorting out of insurance claims. 

My psyche and soul are still navigating the past election cycle with all the division, fear and negativity, especially the unleashing of hate and disrespect towards women, Jews, Muslims and people of color. Add the uncertainty of climate change to the holding of my own whiteness, femaleness, while knowing I can never understand completely what women of color are experiencing.  

Unsettling. 

Perhaps it’s been a long dark winter for you too.

If I were writing a book, this chapter would be called The Dark Night of the Soul. So much has become obscure for me, not hopeless or joyless, rather complicated and unclear. I hold this too, and mostly trust the process. Sometimes begrudgingly, yet I find comfort trusting the Mystery when redbirds and deer sightings bring no consolation. 

If I were painting, I’d paint my soul a sapphire blue pot being stirred by Divine Fire. As Bruce, from the Virginia Department of Forestry said while gesturing toward the straw-like patches of dried Japanese Stiltgrass in our back meadow, “What this place needs is a controlled burn. You’d be surprised at all the new growth.” I instantly thought of my soul. Sure, fire burns chaff and hallelujah for new growth, but the burning feels hot and wild. 

Like erasure and emptiness.    

That said, I play with haikus and feel my barrenness easing slightly. At the end of winter, after the burn, the soul opens like warm earth receiving and releasing hardened seeds. 

Orchid

Light a candle.

Kneel. Pray for union, peace, love.

Trust the blossoming.   

Farmer's Valentine Day gift to me,
bird bath/fountain made from our old farmhouse
pump and trough

             Thirst

     Build a pump.

     Invite all thirsty souls come.

     Huddle. Drink. Quench!

Deepest Joy

CC BY-SA 3.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=174698
flowers of Ailanthus altissima

Trees of Heaven, Ailanthus,  

not a glory, invasive.

Another hostile takeover,

needing removal.

Like the undesirables

rooting in my depths.

Yet, stands a grandchild, 

arms stretched, “Here, I feel so free!”

My soul holds space for joy.

Photo by son, Ryan Landis, taken the same weekend our grand daughter so grandly
expressed her freedom when ever she's at our  place.



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