Beauty From The Rough

carver OfirAsif

Photo: Ofir Asif

 

Carve beauty

Out of woe.

Hew purpose

From the rough.

Sculpt meaning

To make good enough

What wasn’t

And yet

Somehow was

All you could

Know.

Carve beauty

Out of woe.

Find you

Inside

The flow.

 

 

For The Daily Post

Undulating Resolve

Maine NaamaYehuda

Photo: Na’ama Yehuda

 

When resolve wobbles,

When your heart

Worries at

Goals

And your fingers

Forget

Their own

Flow –

Recall how

Every wave

Oscillates

To and fro,

How

The ocean

Itself

Undulates

Onto each

Remote

Shore.

 

 

For The Daily Post

Knit and Purl

Knit and purl

Photo: Na’ama Yehuda

 

Knit the yarn

Click and purl

Weave and braid

Loop and curl

Blanket beds

Shelter heads

From the cold

Up ahead.

 

 

For The Daily Post

Wacky Loo

 

PottyLaugh SmadarHalperinEpshtein

LEGOLAND, Deutschland; Photo: Smadar Halperin-Epshtein

 

It may not be the best planning

(Though extra points for depiction geared

For universal understanding …)

To include such giggle-making signing

Right where many are aligning

With legs already crossed in short queue pining …

 

 

 

For The Daily Post

Mini Picasso

 

“This is a big big big mountain and it have a train and it go ‘choo-CHOOOO!’ round and round and also flowers but you see them fast because it a train and rainbow and my name.” (J.N, age 3:4)

 

mini picasso

 

 

For The Daily Post

Birth of Hope

magic-etsy-com

 

“I didn’t think it was possible,” she said. Her hand hovered close over her heart, a tremor perhaps mirroring the flutter inside. “I never dared to even hope.”

A budding of something long buried illuminated her face, softened the crows’ feet around her eyes, smoothed a line of worry that had etched itself, preemptive and ever-wary, onto her forehead.

It’s been such a very long road.

“Can you believe it? At my age?” She shook her head, amazed.

She lowered herself to the couch and patted her own knee in self-comfort or maybe to convince herself that she was real and wasn’t dreaming.

Her voice whispered wonder. “He loved it. Bought it on the spot. My baby. My first sculpture, sold.”

In reverse

“I don’t like cleaning up,” she complained. The floor was strewn with blocks, mini-figurines, doll’s clothing, crayons, plastic tea-set, make up kits, paper bits, and other detritus of a long afternoon.

Her brother frowned. He’s been occupied with his tablet instead of playing with her and while it was nice to have the chatterbox quiet for a change, he did not relish the prospect of doing the work or facing the dressing down he’d get if his parents returned to see the living room drowned under mountains of little-girl paraphernalia.

She glowered back, lower lip already quivering in preparation for what he knew all too well will be a battle he would lose.

“It’s not cleaning up,” he started.

“What?” she squinted, suspicious.

“You see,” he enticed, “it’s like magic …”

“Magic …? ” She still wasn’t buying it.

“Yes, magic! You’ll be making a mess in reverse!”

 

For The Daily Post

Pictures on Pavement

Shirley Baker children draw on pavement France 1960

Shirley Baker children draw on pavement France 1960

 

Find time for drawing

Pictures

On the pavement of your mind.

Remember

The dry feel of chalk on fingers

The odd satisfaction in

Colors

Merging in the rain.

Put aside the rush of feet

The soles of to-do lists

The pressures of perfection.

Pavement pictures do not require

Standards

Other than imagination and

A bit of emptiness,

A soft rock,

A hand.

Make room for pavement pictures

On the pace-space

Of your mind.

Let the squiggles free

So the sketch

You never knew was there

Could stretch

A doodle

To the sun.

On Summer Solstice and the balance of dark and light

summer solstics stone Ireland

As summer solstice arrives, I find myself wondering about the metaphoric increase of light and the ongoing balance of light and dark, the constant shifting from more of one to more of the other and the very brief points of apex on either. We are not meant to be static. Not the planet, not even within the same season–there is constant change. Even as summer formally begins, it begins the long path to the opposite.

Dark to me does not necessarily have the connotation of evil–though it can indeed also mean the absence of light on heart and soul levels–rather it often represents for me all that is hibernating, what is nascent and unborn, the things that await clarifying, the times of preparation, incubation, anticipation, hibernation, rest …

Dark carries in it the potential of enlightenment, the tender differentiation of color in pre-dawn, the realization of upcoming sunshine and the end of opaque unknown.

In the summer solstice, dark is at its shortest, but it is not eliminated, nor should it be. Without dark, there is no contrast. Without dark, it is difficult to find rest or space for incubating thought and creativity, for wonder and imagination, for small things needing sheltering still until they grow enough to face the light.

I am reminded of this as even in the longest day arrives, the path to increasing dark is already beginning–slow and steady from now to the winter solstice, a drop-by-drop addition to the night and its many potentials.

Don’t get me wrong, for all the sheltering potential of sapphire skies and starlit hours, I love long days. I adore the long twilight of summer evenings, the seemingly endless time to be outside in the sun. So much so that I remember wondering–as a child reading about another child’s life in Lapland–what it had to be like to live above the Arctic Circle in a summer of continuous light (only in the summer, please … the freezing cold is not something I am enamored with even considering …).

Someone I know swears by the healing properties of experiencing these dark-less days. She finds that it calibrates her body’s internal needs: she eats when hungry, sleeps when tired, works until the work is done. To her, a fortnight in the Arctic summer is a remedy for most that ails her.

Another friend who spent some of her childhood in Sweden told me that she loved it for the first two days then found it suffocating. “I’d hide under the bed and drape a blanket over the sides to get a place of darkness. I needed time to breathe some night. My brain wanted to rest.”

I can understand both the freedom that a time of continuous light allows, and the need for respite from it. For all the adoration of light–and I indeed adore it–there is the inherent balance of all things. Even my friend who prescribes Arctic summers makes time for breaks from productivity.

A sage woman once told me: “We all seek the light at the end of the tunnel, but the tunnel itself has value in leading you to it.”

May this Summer Solstice become a day of balance for you. May it support your outward creativity and your inward incubation of new being and new doing. May it hold the hint of winter in the making–the cooling and the slower pace already forming.

Happy Summer Solstice to you.

And for all who celebrate it–also a Happy Father’s Day!

summer solstice mandala

From Pintrest: thisenchantedpixie.org