POEM
Vixen
BY W. S. MERWIN
Comet of stillness princess of what is over
high note held without trembling without voice without sound
aura of complete darkness keeper of the kept secrets
of the destroyed stories the escaped dreams the sentences
never caught in words warden of where the river went
touch of its surface sibyl of the extinguished
window onto the hidden place and the other time
at the foot of the wall by the road patient without waiting
in the full moonlight of autumn at the hour when I was born
you no longer go out like a flame at the sight of me
you are still warmer than the moonlight gleaming on you
even now you are unharmed even now perfect
as you have always been now when your light paws are running
on the breathless night on the bridge with one end I remember you
when I have heard you the soles of my feet have made answer
when I have seen you I have waked and slipped from the calendars
from the creeds of difference and the contradictions
that were my life and all the crumbling fabrications
as long as it lasted until something that we were
had ended when you are no longer anything
let me catch sight of you again going over the wall
and before the garden is extinct and the woods are figures
guttering on a screen let my words find their own
places in the silence after the animals
W. S. Merwin, “Vixen” from The Vixen. Copyright © 1996 by W. S. Merwin, used with permission of The Wylie Agency LLC.
Source: The Vixen (Alfred A. Knopf, 1996)
this is one of my favorites, to me it is about remembering those impressionable experiences that always stay with us,leaving permanent images to always come home to
Thursday, September 30, 2010
Will you get rid of me..?
I am in the process of shifting things in my work,so that means changes for me, changes for some of my patients.Transitions make us anxious,we feel in limbo,uncertain where or how we will land.There are times at work that I feel overwhelmed with the gravid nature and complexity of the many challenges that occur in my patients life.Often,I feel helpless myself andvthat what Ihave to offer in the way of help is infinitesimally small and insignificant with such larger looming problems.Yesterday , I had a unique experience in that a group of my patients were told by someone in the office that there are changes going on and I would be seeing fewer patients.A rumor had spread that I would be "getting rid of some patients", a very poor choice of words to be heard by anyone,especially those that are already feeling marginalized.
Yesterday ,evening a man and his daughter came to their regularly scheduled appointment.As you know,I have a special place in my heart for fathers who give good care to their daughters.This dad is a single parent ,who works as a truck driver.He and his little girl, who is actually my patient are kind of scruffy looking,their clothes usually are stained with some kind of food that spilled on it,their hair is kind of wild and messy, the little girl is sweet , but wild and impulsive.Her dad always reports to me how she does in school, meetings he has with her teachers to make her life better,discussions he conducts with family members to teach them how to help her when he is away driving his truck.They go on little road trips together in the summer.What consistently comes across is the unflinching love and dedication that he has for his little girl's well being.I am certain that their live are not easy,but they are content, grateful and dignified.Towards the end of our visit,the dad looked at me intently and sadly with tears in his eyes and humbly asked me,"so are you getting rid of us."The dad got quiet and started crying.He started to tell me about the many times he and his daughter have been,"gotten rid of" because they are kind of scruffy and not always with the most refined manners.He said , he and his daughter were hopeful when they met me that I would not get rid of them.Little did he know,that much of the time I am so inspired by his courage,by his ability to live in dignity with very little and for his unwavering unremitting love for his child.I told him,I am not getting rid of him or his daughter,that I appreciate his sincere efforts to do what is best for his daughter and when and if I move on ,I will make sure he has a place to go with her that will care for them well. I am finding as I wind down in this job,I feel less encumbered with all the minutiae of details of paperwork, administrative duties and I am discovering that more and more I find myself in the presence of greatness and nobility.I am seeing parts of humanity that bring me to tears ,to be privileged enough to witness that which is so awe inspiring in those that have entered my life.Perhaps , it is the process of winding down and not trying so hard that allows us to see each other in grater clarity and appreciate....
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad
Yesterday ,evening a man and his daughter came to their regularly scheduled appointment.As you know,I have a special place in my heart for fathers who give good care to their daughters.This dad is a single parent ,who works as a truck driver.He and his little girl, who is actually my patient are kind of scruffy looking,their clothes usually are stained with some kind of food that spilled on it,their hair is kind of wild and messy, the little girl is sweet , but wild and impulsive.Her dad always reports to me how she does in school, meetings he has with her teachers to make her life better,discussions he conducts with family members to teach them how to help her when he is away driving his truck.They go on little road trips together in the summer.What consistently comes across is the unflinching love and dedication that he has for his little girl's well being.I am certain that their live are not easy,but they are content, grateful and dignified.Towards the end of our visit,the dad looked at me intently and sadly with tears in his eyes and humbly asked me,"so are you getting rid of us."The dad got quiet and started crying.He started to tell me about the many times he and his daughter have been,"gotten rid of" because they are kind of scruffy and not always with the most refined manners.He said , he and his daughter were hopeful when they met me that I would not get rid of them.Little did he know,that much of the time I am so inspired by his courage,by his ability to live in dignity with very little and for his unwavering unremitting love for his child.I told him,I am not getting rid of him or his daughter,that I appreciate his sincere efforts to do what is best for his daughter and when and if I move on ,I will make sure he has a place to go with her that will care for them well. I am finding as I wind down in this job,I feel less encumbered with all the minutiae of details of paperwork, administrative duties and I am discovering that more and more I find myself in the presence of greatness and nobility.I am seeing parts of humanity that bring me to tears ,to be privileged enough to witness that which is so awe inspiring in those that have entered my life.Perhaps , it is the process of winding down and not trying so hard that allows us to see each other in grater clarity and appreciate....
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Wednesday, September 29, 2010
The Art of Stoop Sitting
When I was a child, I loved to sit on the stoop outside my house and just daydream,this video reminded me of those dreamy days....the art of stoop sitting needs to return
"They've been birthing alone for ten thousand years"
Today again from the Writer's Almanac;
Clara: In the Post Office
by Linda Hasselstrom
I keep telling you, I'm not a feminist.
I grew up an only child on a ranch,
so I drove tractors, learned to ride.
When the truck wouldn't start, I went to town
for parts. The man behind the counter
told me I couldn't rebuild a carburetor.
I could: every carburetor on the place. That's
necessity, not feminism.
I learned to do the books
after my husband left me and the debts
and the children. I shoveled snow and pitched hay
when the hired man didn't come to work.
I learned how to pull a calf
when the vet was too busy. As I thought,
the cow did most of it herself; they've been
birthing alone for ten thousand years. Does
that make them feminists?
It's not
that I don't like men; I love them - when I can.
But I've stopped counting on them
to change my flats or open my doors.
That's not feminism; that's just good sense.
"Clara: In the Post Office" by Linda Hasselstrom from, Roadkill. © Spoon River Publishing, 1987. Reprinted with permission
I am someone who grew up without a Dad,and then have been a single parent raising my child without a Dad. This poem resonates well with me. When one grows up with the only option for getting anything done whether mundane or meaningful is through your own efforts and actions, a mindset develops that you do not expect others to do for you that which you naturally can do for yourself. When I hear,people complaining about spouses, not doing this or that for them, I kind of look with a perplexed feeling ,not really understanding what the fuss is all about and often wonder, why not learn to do it yourself.I imagine there are benefits to partnerships,sharing,generosity.....
Clara: In the Post Office
by Linda Hasselstrom
I keep telling you, I'm not a feminist.
I grew up an only child on a ranch,
so I drove tractors, learned to ride.
When the truck wouldn't start, I went to town
for parts. The man behind the counter
told me I couldn't rebuild a carburetor.
I could: every carburetor on the place. That's
necessity, not feminism.
I learned to do the books
after my husband left me and the debts
and the children. I shoveled snow and pitched hay
when the hired man didn't come to work.
I learned how to pull a calf
when the vet was too busy. As I thought,
the cow did most of it herself; they've been
birthing alone for ten thousand years. Does
that make them feminists?
It's not
that I don't like men; I love them - when I can.
But I've stopped counting on them
to change my flats or open my doors.
That's not feminism; that's just good sense.
"Clara: In the Post Office" by Linda Hasselstrom from, Roadkill. © Spoon River Publishing, 1987. Reprinted with permission
I am someone who grew up without a Dad,and then have been a single parent raising my child without a Dad. This poem resonates well with me. When one grows up with the only option for getting anything done whether mundane or meaningful is through your own efforts and actions, a mindset develops that you do not expect others to do for you that which you naturally can do for yourself. When I hear,people complaining about spouses, not doing this or that for them, I kind of look with a perplexed feeling ,not really understanding what the fuss is all about and often wonder, why not learn to do it yourself.I imagine there are benefits to partnerships,sharing,generosity.....
Monday, September 27, 2010
Carer or Donor,maybe both
In writing today's post,I am writing as one of the many me's that make up myself.One of those me's is the me that is a child and adolescent psychiatrist.I often wonder how one's profession shapes their world view or how the person in the garb of their profession mirrors who they intrinsically are.This weekend I saw the movie ,"Never Let Me Go",based on the powerful 2005 novel,with the same title,by Kazuo Ishiguro.Ishiguro is also known for his complex,but subtle novel that became a movie as well, "Remains of the Day".
The simple plot of ,"Never Let Me Go"is a story of some children who live at a boarding school that is rather stern and traditional in the English country side.What enfolds is a secret that these children come to know about themselves that they were cloned from other human beings with the specific purpose of becoming organ donors to the non cloned masses of human beings so as to prolong the lives of others.The movie is a reflection on the thoughts,feelings,relationships that ensue in the context of knowing vs denying what these children learn about themselves and their impending shortened future.The movie at first glance felt bleak ,oppressive and depressing to me.The language seemed spare and sparse to me, the cinematography was slow and melancholic.There were times that it felt claustrophobic and hopeless to me ,that I even considered leaving the theater as I felt this fog of heavy discomfort hovering over me.After seeing the film initially,I felt it to be almost nonredeemable bleak.Now a couple of days have passed and I find myself revisiting scenes I saw in the movie in my mind.I am beginning to feel that the movie and the novel which I now will read ,is a brave attempt to ask difficult questions about us as human beings.The movie is not perfectly eloquent in achieving this purpose,but makes a poetic and heroic effort that has helped me reflect on the unanswerable about who we are or who I am.
In the story there are paths the cloned future organ donors as young adults can choose.One can become a donor immediately in adulthood,or one can become a"carer" to those who donated.Once one embarks on the donor path an obvious form of suffering and shortening or completing one's life begins.It is unclear how long one can remain a carer and then volunteer or become a donor.I began thinking of my life and those close to me,which of us are carers,which are donors, do we choose these paths, does it say something about expectations placed upon us, about our innate temperaments,do we have a choice,do donors or carers interchange sometimes.Then,of course is the question ,would we be or do differently if we knew exactly how long we had to live and what we may die ultimately of.
Another theme that evolved was the cloistered existence of these children in this boarding school. in order to get by in the real world they learned at times to copy others behaviors as they did not know through their cloistered lives what to say ordo.How much of each of our lives is just copying as we really don't know what to say or do or maybe we were never taught?What are the ramifications to us as creative flexible creatures if we are left only to copy.I began thinking about what are the circumstances that would lead one to neglect their creative impulses and lead robotic lives.The children were asked to engage in art, music, dance to encourage creativity. Can one ever be truly creative if their wings are clipped.The children wondered if the purpose of collecting their creative work was for their teachers or in their case imprisoners were attempting to see into their souls.the question of if and how and should it be that art is a window to one's souls was entertained.One answer that came up when the children became adults was perhaps the collection of their art work in the gallery was to ask if they as cloned children"had souls".I wondered to myself how is it possible to make such a determination and perhaps the school masters themselves had no soul.
Then there was the obvious question of why these children never tried to escape , do cloned children lose their will to survive at all costs,does one need to embrace creativity , have a human soul to want to escape and survive.does one need loving parents at a tender young age to procure the desire to live.I think that part troubled me the most.But as ,I thought more about it , I realized that in revealing nothing of an attempt to escape ,something elegant about our capacity to survive evolved.In the movie , the children as young adults were told , if they were to fall in love and really experience enduring,sustaining love and if they could prove it they could buy some time in life.There was a young couple, the protagonists ,that felt and demonstrated a pure sustaining enduring love who were portrayed as surviving some degree of turbulence in their relatedness.The question was asked about the love that we have for each other that by nature is s rare,s precious,not easily found, can that sort of love change our destiny, our fate, can it lengthen our lives, can it prevent the inevitable.The movie in it's design ,implies not, that love exists for love's sake and for nothing else and to ask love to give us more than the things it gives already in living every day is unreasonable. Is this the voice of pessimism,optimism or reality. If we lower our expectations about the reality of what being loved or loving another can truly offer us, will we have richer, more meaningful lives.This movie adds another dimension for me to continue asking about what really makes us human ,what is really of enduring value to ourselves, to each other, and how important each moment of all living is, as carers or donors or both...
,
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad
The simple plot of ,"Never Let Me Go"is a story of some children who live at a boarding school that is rather stern and traditional in the English country side.What enfolds is a secret that these children come to know about themselves that they were cloned from other human beings with the specific purpose of becoming organ donors to the non cloned masses of human beings so as to prolong the lives of others.The movie is a reflection on the thoughts,feelings,relationships that ensue in the context of knowing vs denying what these children learn about themselves and their impending shortened future.The movie at first glance felt bleak ,oppressive and depressing to me.The language seemed spare and sparse to me, the cinematography was slow and melancholic.There were times that it felt claustrophobic and hopeless to me ,that I even considered leaving the theater as I felt this fog of heavy discomfort hovering over me.After seeing the film initially,I felt it to be almost nonredeemable bleak.Now a couple of days have passed and I find myself revisiting scenes I saw in the movie in my mind.I am beginning to feel that the movie and the novel which I now will read ,is a brave attempt to ask difficult questions about us as human beings.The movie is not perfectly eloquent in achieving this purpose,but makes a poetic and heroic effort that has helped me reflect on the unanswerable about who we are or who I am.
In the story there are paths the cloned future organ donors as young adults can choose.One can become a donor immediately in adulthood,or one can become a"carer" to those who donated.Once one embarks on the donor path an obvious form of suffering and shortening or completing one's life begins.It is unclear how long one can remain a carer and then volunteer or become a donor.I began thinking of my life and those close to me,which of us are carers,which are donors, do we choose these paths, does it say something about expectations placed upon us, about our innate temperaments,do we have a choice,do donors or carers interchange sometimes.Then,of course is the question ,would we be or do differently if we knew exactly how long we had to live and what we may die ultimately of.
Another theme that evolved was the cloistered existence of these children in this boarding school. in order to get by in the real world they learned at times to copy others behaviors as they did not know through their cloistered lives what to say ordo.How much of each of our lives is just copying as we really don't know what to say or do or maybe we were never taught?What are the ramifications to us as creative flexible creatures if we are left only to copy.I began thinking about what are the circumstances that would lead one to neglect their creative impulses and lead robotic lives.The children were asked to engage in art, music, dance to encourage creativity. Can one ever be truly creative if their wings are clipped.The children wondered if the purpose of collecting their creative work was for their teachers or in their case imprisoners were attempting to see into their souls.the question of if and how and should it be that art is a window to one's souls was entertained.One answer that came up when the children became adults was perhaps the collection of their art work in the gallery was to ask if they as cloned children"had souls".I wondered to myself how is it possible to make such a determination and perhaps the school masters themselves had no soul.
Then there was the obvious question of why these children never tried to escape , do cloned children lose their will to survive at all costs,does one need to embrace creativity , have a human soul to want to escape and survive.does one need loving parents at a tender young age to procure the desire to live.I think that part troubled me the most.But as ,I thought more about it , I realized that in revealing nothing of an attempt to escape ,something elegant about our capacity to survive evolved.In the movie , the children as young adults were told , if they were to fall in love and really experience enduring,sustaining love and if they could prove it they could buy some time in life.There was a young couple, the protagonists ,that felt and demonstrated a pure sustaining enduring love who were portrayed as surviving some degree of turbulence in their relatedness.The question was asked about the love that we have for each other that by nature is s rare,s precious,not easily found, can that sort of love change our destiny, our fate, can it lengthen our lives, can it prevent the inevitable.The movie in it's design ,implies not, that love exists for love's sake and for nothing else and to ask love to give us more than the things it gives already in living every day is unreasonable. Is this the voice of pessimism,optimism or reality. If we lower our expectations about the reality of what being loved or loving another can truly offer us, will we have richer, more meaningful lives.This movie adds another dimension for me to continue asking about what really makes us human ,what is really of enduring value to ourselves, to each other, and how important each moment of all living is, as carers or donors or both...
,
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Sunday, September 26, 2010
nostalgia for an old friend
I haven't been blogging much lately.I have been more in my head these days I have been feeling in limbo lately,a quiet turbulence, none the less, rocky.I took a long yoga practice this morning,that oddly amidst a mind mildly storming,the practice felt smooth.I am always amazed at how just the mere focus on smoothing out my breath smooths out so much else.I felt so much more at ease with myself, that I decided to meander out to the art institute in town that is hosting a retrospective exhibit of the great photojournalist,photography master Henri Cartier Bresson. the exhibit was expansive,covering all of his career.As I roamed from room to room, I came across so many photos that I have come to know so well over the years.I felt that I had spent the afternoon with a dear old friend
.Cartier-Bresson was amongst the first photographers that I fell in love with as an adolescent in New York City.I was reminded of his humor,his compassion,his talent to capture the serendipitous and the sublime.It reminded me of my early passions, the feeling of seeing things again for the first time with the energy ,freshness,excitement of my youth.I was thinking what canI say to a friend who is no longer here,who I never met in person,but has influenced me in how I see the world.We all influence each other everyday unknowingly in such profound ways.I,today was given reprieve to get out of my head some into the world to remember the gifts of man that I have never met,but through his work I have learned about this world,about myself, about you....
To take photographs means to recognize - simultaneously and within a fraction of a second - both the fact itself and the rigorous organization of visually perceived forms that give it meaning. It is putting one's head, one's eye and one's heart on the same axis.
Henri Cartier-Bresson
We photographers deal in things which are continually vanishing, and when they have vanished there is no contrivance on earth can make them come back again. We cannot develop and print a memory.
Henri Cartier-Bresson
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Wednesday, September 22, 2010
I have to vs I want to
l have long commutes to my place of work,so I have some time as I drive to reflect on my life, my relationships, my dreams, my aspirations,what has gone right and that which has gone wrong,what I would like to change about myself and what I am content with or even proud and confident about in myself,my strengths,my weaknesses. Sometimes ,I think about a dream I had the night before and what the hidden message for me may be. Early this morning I had one of those dreams that is unnerving,though not catastrophic.I do not remember the content now,but is was long,arduous,circuitous, laborious.It was one of those dreams that felt so real that when I awoke, I believed the dream was my actual life and it caused me to feel desperate. I briefly fell back to sleep and and realized that the same feeling was occurring in my dream and indeed, to my good fortune,it was really a dream.I then ,out of nowhere started asking myself ,"how many things in your live have you had to do and how many things have you done that you really wanted to do?"As the screen of the many memories of things I have done in my life flashed before me, I realized that the list of things that I have wanted to accomplish and actually do or did was a short list, of maybe one or two things that truly mattered.It seems that most of my days are comprised of things that I have to do because it has been the right thing to do or as it happened if I did not do these things they would not be done by anyone else and they were deeds that need to come to action for good reasons.It seems that often when I have done things that I want or wanted to do,it has come at a personal cost to me or others in my life that was too onerous.So it seems that I have cultivated this "silver lining " attitude,trying to rearrange the "I have to's into I want to's".Perhaps that is the ultimate journey of adulthood , to find a way to be fulfilled, inspired and enlightened with the myriad of "I have to's" in our lives and turn them into something resplendent and sparkling that mirrors who we are,so they really become our "I want to's".
In your lives,dear reader,how much of your life is I have to or I want to......
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In your lives,dear reader,how much of your life is I have to or I want to......
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad
Tuesday, September 21, 2010
The Harvest or Hunter Moon...."Let's go dancin in the light"
Neil Young -Harvest Moon
The harvest moon is the moon of the autumnal equinox which is tomorrow. It is called the harvest moon or hunter moon as the light from the moon was abundant and radiant enough to guide farmers in their autumnal harvest.The moon appears lower in the sky, so it looks bigger to us. The color of the moon appears warmer as the light refracts through more atmospheric particles when it is in this position so it reflects hues of red..This year's harvest moon is unique as it will be in conjunction with Jupiter and Uranus, which apparently is a once in a life time celestial occurrence. It connotes a time for great creative energy, risk taking,adventure and mysticism. Perhaps Neil Young was feeling the effects of the radiant glow of the harvest moon when he wrote this song. I am hopeful that the radiant glow of this harvest moon will bring us a year that has the qualities of a the warmth, radiance and glow of a harvest moon and that the conjunction of Jupiter and Uranus will lead us to a bounty of creative energy to harness.
"Let's go dancin in the light, let's go feel the night"
Monday, September 20, 2010
"More than being a human being"
Translations
by Michael Dickman
My mother was led into the world
by her teeth
Pulled
like a bull
into the
heather
She only ever wanted to be a mother her whole life and
nothing else, not even a human being!
One body turned into
another body
Pulled like that
by the golden voices of children
A bull
out of hell
Called out
her teeth out in front of her
her children
pulling
*
First I walk my mother out
into the field
by a leash
by a lifetime
then she walks me out
our coats
shimmering
I brush her hair
Wipe the flies away from her eyes
They are my eyes
Who will ride my mother
when we aren't around
anymore?
Her children won't
Turned from one thing into another until you are a bull
standing in a field
The field just beginning
to whistle us
home
*
Thank you,poet, Michael Dickman,so true to my heart these words, these days. I remember vividly the days I hoped I would become a mother and gratefully have and am. I wanted it so much like you said ,"more than being a human being". In fact, on my path, it has taught me to become a human being,"pulled like that by the golden voices of children". In the Yom Kippur sermon this year the rabbi spoke of a talmudic teaching, "that the universe is sustained by the breath of children in houses of learning that teach the ways of humanity".The breath and innocent play and wisdom of children is really what makes us human....
by Michael Dickman
My mother was led into the world
by her teeth
Pulled
like a bull
into the
heather
She only ever wanted to be a mother her whole life and
nothing else, not even a human being!
One body turned into
another body
Pulled like that
by the golden voices of children
A bull
out of hell
Called out
her teeth out in front of her
her children
pulling
*
First I walk my mother out
into the field
by a leash
by a lifetime
then she walks me out
our coats
shimmering
I brush her hair
Wipe the flies away from her eyes
They are my eyes
Who will ride my mother
when we aren't around
anymore?
Her children won't
Turned from one thing into another until you are a bull
standing in a field
The field just beginning
to whistle us
home
*
Thank you,poet, Michael Dickman,so true to my heart these words, these days. I remember vividly the days I hoped I would become a mother and gratefully have and am. I wanted it so much like you said ,"more than being a human being". In fact, on my path, it has taught me to become a human being,"pulled like that by the golden voices of children". In the Yom Kippur sermon this year the rabbi spoke of a talmudic teaching, "that the universe is sustained by the breath of children in houses of learning that teach the ways of humanity".The breath and innocent play and wisdom of children is really what makes us human....
Sunday, September 19, 2010
Young or Old...Choices
The Woodcutter Changes His Mind
by David Budbill
When I was young, I cut the bigger, older trees for firewood, the ones
with heart rot, dead and broken branches, the crippled and deformed
ones, because, I reasoned, they were going to fall soon anyway, and
therefore, I should give the younger trees more light and room to grow.
Now I'm older and I cut the younger, strong and sturdy, solid
and beautiful trees, and I let the older ones have a few more years
of light and water and leaf in the forest they have known so long.
Soon enough they will be prostrate on the ground.
"The Woodcutter Changes His Mind" by David Budbill, from While We've Still Got Feet: New Poems. © Copper Canyon Press, 2005. Reprinted with permission
This was in my box earlier this week. It led to me to thinking how our minds lead us to these complicated choices that are really not our choices at all. A forest is an ecosystem of young and old,wild and timid, raw and ripe, weak and strong, just like us. I think cutting down trees is necessary to keep us warm , to build us shelter, chairs to sit on ,beds to sleep on, tables to eat on. I guess it is inevitable that we would have to choose which tree to cut down for own purposes, ...young or old, in reality we do choose, choices allow us freedoms, but also responsibility, a need to pause in thoughtfulness.
Wednesday, September 15, 2010
Sunday, September 12, 2010
My grandmother Sally's love for me....continues on
from Poem A Day this morning
The New Colossus
by Emma Lazarus
Not like the brazen giant of Greek fame,
With conquering limbs astride from land to land;
Here at our sea-washed, sunset gates shall stand
A mighty woman with a torch, whose flame
Is the imprisoned lightning, and her name
Mother of Exiles. From her beacon-hand
Glows world-wide welcome; her mild eyes command
The air-bridged harbor that twin cities frame.
"Keep, ancient lands, your storied pomp!" cries she
With silent lips. "Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me,
I lift my lamp beside the golden door!"
This morning after a long , reflective and soothing practice,I was sitting in my car with a warm, radiant sunrays flooding over my space.I was in my post yoga , not quite here yet space and was taking a few extra moments of self reflection before driving on. I was feeling kind of vulnerable and teary eyed, which is common after an intense yoga practice with lots of second series back bends. I opened my email on my iphone to "Poem A Day" I began reading the familiar words of the poet Emma Lazarus that my beloved grandmother Sally, who was also a poet ,would recite to me quite dramatically throughout my childhood. I read the poem and felt the words indelibly posted in my mind, i could see Sally reciting to me with all her heart and soul as if she was giving me a mantra to always carry with me.I felt her presence, her gifts ,her love for me as if she had never passed and was sitting there like always, with tears in her eyes, but with great pride and bravery , she would recite,"Give me your tired.your poor. your hurdled masses yearning to breathe free,The wretched refuse of your teeming shore. Send these , the homeless,tempest-tost to me, I lift my lamp beside the golden door".
Sometimes I wonder how I have end up on the path as healer, as doctor. Sometime it feels so hard, that I want to turn back give up, I wonder how I got here, I wonder what will give me courage, strength, sustenance to continue to do my best . Today, in these rare auspicious moments I felt the source, the seeds that led me to this path, that continue to guide me, to nourish me , to love me. I am so so lucky to have had a grandmother that recited to me poetry every day of my life as a child and exemplified the courage, wisdom, and grace to begin to learn the path of a healer, the path to become a person, Today, my dear Sally, I miss you more than ever and feel so lucky that you were are part of who i am. Today , I wanted to share the part of me that you have given me.....
The New Colossus
by Emma Lazarus
Not like the brazen giant of Greek fame,
With conquering limbs astride from land to land;
Here at our sea-washed, sunset gates shall stand
A mighty woman with a torch, whose flame
Is the imprisoned lightning, and her name
Mother of Exiles. From her beacon-hand
Glows world-wide welcome; her mild eyes command
The air-bridged harbor that twin cities frame.
"Keep, ancient lands, your storied pomp!" cries she
With silent lips. "Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me,
I lift my lamp beside the golden door!"
This morning after a long , reflective and soothing practice,I was sitting in my car with a warm, radiant sunrays flooding over my space.I was in my post yoga , not quite here yet space and was taking a few extra moments of self reflection before driving on. I was feeling kind of vulnerable and teary eyed, which is common after an intense yoga practice with lots of second series back bends. I opened my email on my iphone to "Poem A Day" I began reading the familiar words of the poet Emma Lazarus that my beloved grandmother Sally, who was also a poet ,would recite to me quite dramatically throughout my childhood. I read the poem and felt the words indelibly posted in my mind, i could see Sally reciting to me with all her heart and soul as if she was giving me a mantra to always carry with me.I felt her presence, her gifts ,her love for me as if she had never passed and was sitting there like always, with tears in her eyes, but with great pride and bravery , she would recite,"Give me your tired.your poor. your hurdled masses yearning to breathe free,The wretched refuse of your teeming shore. Send these , the homeless,tempest-tost to me, I lift my lamp beside the golden door".
Sometimes I wonder how I have end up on the path as healer, as doctor. Sometime it feels so hard, that I want to turn back give up, I wonder how I got here, I wonder what will give me courage, strength, sustenance to continue to do my best . Today, in these rare auspicious moments I felt the source, the seeds that led me to this path, that continue to guide me, to nourish me , to love me. I am so so lucky to have had a grandmother that recited to me poetry every day of my life as a child and exemplified the courage, wisdom, and grace to begin to learn the path of a healer, the path to become a person, Today, my dear Sally, I miss you more than ever and feel so lucky that you were are part of who i am. Today , I wanted to share the part of me that you have given me.....
Sunday, September 5, 2010
How is the world transformed by your presence?
If you had to name a way in which the world has been transformed by your presence, what would it be?
This was a question asked on a blog that I follow this morning. It is asked in the context of the month of Ellul in the hebrew calender which is a month of self contemplation preceding the month of Tishrei which celebrates the birth of the New Year, the creation of the universe and all its inhabitants.It is a difficult question to answer in what way the world has been transformed by my presence. I thought about it for a while, and in the meandering nature of thoughts in the mind, I remembered a recent phone conversation that I had with my father. My father left when I was very young and I did not see much of him in childhood or my adult life . He did not participate in teaching me or guiding me through the trials ,tribulations ,milestones, and joys of being or becoming a person. When I have had conversations or small visits with him ,he has usually been unduly harsh and critical, when he has really put no effort into "baking the bread"(me,being the bread).
In this recent conversation with my father,he reminded me of his mantra of survival of the fitness, that I should not be drawn into helping those seemingly in need ,frail or weak , who are only manipulating because after all, when push comes to shove everyone finds a way to survive no matter what,each to the level of his survival ability. Of course, this is his mantra as when he left me as a child, I being the oldest was left to carry on the tasks that he never wanted to take on. Yes, this has made me stronger,independent, but the child inside of me is always seeking guidance. It is true that we are genetically programmed for survival, but there are tricks of the trade in survival that a parent ideally attempts to teach one's child as I have to mine and continue to,as best as I can, even in their adult life. A parent's job is never completely done. So the conversation went as usual, chastising me for not following a path that assumes that somehow we are all equally programmed and endowed for perfect survival even without any training. My father is big on the mantra,"give a man a fish and he will eat for a day, teach him to fish and he will eat everyday'" Dad, you never gave me a fish ,nor did you teach me to fish. Luckily. others have replaced you and have taught me to fish well and I can teach that skill well now. Teaching one to fish requires patience,the need to hang around and repeat the gestures thousands of time with new nuances and subtleties. Teaching to fish involves lots of mistakes and trying again. Teaching to fish means there may be days that you are ill and weak and someone kind fishes for you and you will return that kindness in turn. That to me is how the world is transformed by my presence,that despite the lack of your example, your harshness, your miserliness, your cowardice, i have spent my life not emulating you, but everyday look for role models to teach me the paths of generosity,compassion and love that you could not and will not. The world can be transformed by my vigilant observations and actions to not neglect the weak, the ill, the suffering,and to patiently hang around, get a little dirty.give some of myself,because if others in the world suffer less by my actions, i too suffer less, in fact i feel joy and purpose ...
This was a question asked on a blog that I follow this morning. It is asked in the context of the month of Ellul in the hebrew calender which is a month of self contemplation preceding the month of Tishrei which celebrates the birth of the New Year, the creation of the universe and all its inhabitants.It is a difficult question to answer in what way the world has been transformed by my presence. I thought about it for a while, and in the meandering nature of thoughts in the mind, I remembered a recent phone conversation that I had with my father. My father left when I was very young and I did not see much of him in childhood or my adult life . He did not participate in teaching me or guiding me through the trials ,tribulations ,milestones, and joys of being or becoming a person. When I have had conversations or small visits with him ,he has usually been unduly harsh and critical, when he has really put no effort into "baking the bread"(me,being the bread).
In this recent conversation with my father,he reminded me of his mantra of survival of the fitness, that I should not be drawn into helping those seemingly in need ,frail or weak , who are only manipulating because after all, when push comes to shove everyone finds a way to survive no matter what,each to the level of his survival ability. Of course, this is his mantra as when he left me as a child, I being the oldest was left to carry on the tasks that he never wanted to take on. Yes, this has made me stronger,independent, but the child inside of me is always seeking guidance. It is true that we are genetically programmed for survival, but there are tricks of the trade in survival that a parent ideally attempts to teach one's child as I have to mine and continue to,as best as I can, even in their adult life. A parent's job is never completely done. So the conversation went as usual, chastising me for not following a path that assumes that somehow we are all equally programmed and endowed for perfect survival even without any training. My father is big on the mantra,"give a man a fish and he will eat for a day, teach him to fish and he will eat everyday'" Dad, you never gave me a fish ,nor did you teach me to fish. Luckily. others have replaced you and have taught me to fish well and I can teach that skill well now. Teaching one to fish requires patience,the need to hang around and repeat the gestures thousands of time with new nuances and subtleties. Teaching to fish involves lots of mistakes and trying again. Teaching to fish means there may be days that you are ill and weak and someone kind fishes for you and you will return that kindness in turn. That to me is how the world is transformed by my presence,that despite the lack of your example, your harshness, your miserliness, your cowardice, i have spent my life not emulating you, but everyday look for role models to teach me the paths of generosity,compassion and love that you could not and will not. The world can be transformed by my vigilant observations and actions to not neglect the weak, the ill, the suffering,and to patiently hang around, get a little dirty.give some of myself,because if others in the world suffer less by my actions, i too suffer less, in fact i feel joy and purpose ...
Saturday, September 4, 2010
Finding the crevices of oneself
The Tunnel
If you dig down deep enough
and lose the world of light
and let yourself descend
in the thick tunnel of air
and forget what it was like
to learn the outline of a hill
or breast, if you allow the pressure
of the narrowing walls, down
where you must wedge in, out of sight,
and settle in the damp cusp, the first home,
the air which stinks of grease, and read
what's written on the tunnel wall
and cannot find your name, if you dig where
there is no grip, no face, neither
friend nor foe, where the bones
which once knew the logic of your chest
scatter like thrown sticks-
there you'll wait for the good push,
the fierce act, that gives you up
and sets the tunnel aflame.
by Elliot Figman
I chose this poem today to post as lately I have been digging down deep,where as the poet says ,"there is no grip,no face,neither friend nor foe" .In "those narrowing walls where we wedge in out of sight", perhaps ,it is only in those crevices where breathing is not taken for granted nor is anything else that we begin to find ourselves.
This fall...a soft veil of.....Mercy
The Merchant of Venice, Act IV, Scene I [The quality of mercy is not strained]
by William Shakespeare
The quality of mercy is not strained;
It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven
Upon the place beneath. It is twice blest;
It blesseth him that gives and him that takes:
'T is mightiest in the mightiest; it becomes
The throned monarch better than his crown:
His sceptre shows the force of temporal power,
The attribute to awe and majesty,
Wherein doth sit the dread and fear of kings;
But mercy is above this sceptred sway;
It is enthronèd in the hearts of kings,
It is an attribute to God himself;
And earthly power doth then show likest God's
When mercy seasons justice. Therefore, Jew,
Though justice be thy plea, consider this,
That, in the course of justice, none of us
Should see salvation: we do pray for mercy;
And that same prayer doth teach us all to render
The deeds of mercy. I have spoke thus much
To mitigate the justice of thy plea;
Which if thou follow, this strict court of Venice
Must needs give sentence 'gainst the merchant there.
I post this today as I am a tad melancholic today,have been all week. This happens every beginning of autumn, a sadness sets in, the days are for sure shorter, the air is cooler, crisper, the leaves are beginning to lose their green color, there are some dried golden leaves that blow in the wind. It is the season of the Jewish New Year , a time of self reflection ,penitence, forgiveness and ultimately hope ,growth and change. I am easily attached to the the radiance, the abundance, the softness of summer, that I feel. It is always hard for me to let go of things,people,seasons that I love. I think this season of fall after recently having some time for self reflection at Shasta, I know there are things ,qualities about me that it is time to let go of and open myself up to the new that life has to offer and to welcome change,even though it can rattle me up at first.
So,at times like this, I call upon "mercy". I think of Shakespeare's words," The quality of mercy is not strained,It droppeth as gentle rain from heaven,Upon the place beneath."In the autumn there is often a chilling rain, may the rains of this fall season gently fall upon us all in its soft veil of mercy....
Wednesday, September 1, 2010
W.H. Auden,"we must love one another or die"
Today is September First, W.H. Auden, the poet's, reflections on Sept.1,1939, at the start of WW2
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