Although here in my Seattle home, I am only 200 miles away from my Oregon, the fact that health has prevented me from returning for a number of years, and makes it impossible for me to ever again trek the breathtaking wilderness of that region, that lives so vividly in my memories — it feels that it might as well be on the other side of the country, in a beautiful, unreachable dreamscape. This envisioning I’ve written here of my return is presented from that perspective. It is likely also sparked, in no small way, by a subconscious wish that I could return to the robust health I enjoyed most of the 25 years I lived and explored in Oregon, discovering and falling in love with its precious beauty.
”It is not down in any map; true places never are.” — Herman Melville
Across the chasm of time
and great distance
memories unfold
vividly rich
like elaborate origami sculptures
as the paper of this odd map
unfolds bewilderingly before me
even ‘cross this flat
boring land spread
I see in my mind’s eye
soaring ramparts
of sky-piercing mountains
forested tier upon tier
with enormous sitka spruce
scattered brewers
known as the weeping spruce
the most beautiful of the conifer
whose branches in summer
display sunlight
as a jeweler’s velvet
showcases gems
the whispers
of wind-stirred
lawson cypress
towering ponderosa pine
and douglas fir
waft down emerald climbs
tangerine-scented white fir
a fragrance rivaled only
by the rough-tufted red cedar
the dogwood’s brilliant leaves
big-leaf maples
pendulous western maples
tight ranks of dark-green sadler oak
the golden shimmer
and crisp crackle
of white-barked aspen
these live and breath
boldly in my heart
calling me forward
this morning’s sun comes crisp and bright
enfolding my waking in warmth
and vivid presence
the world fresh and fascinating
I embark toward noonday
the joy of homecoming palpable
senses saturated and alive
blissfully consumed
by a deep satisfaction
that permeates this afternoon
my soul is full
my mind is clear
my heart — overflowing
as dusk descends upon this place
painting its heady grace and expectation
my pace is smooth and steady
the downing sun — a gentle gold embrace
early shadows fall soft across my face
as vesper’s velvet blanket
drapes its comfort ’round my shoulders
splendid calm envelops me
yet there are other shadows
strange distractions
that disrupt my moments
they come unannounced
almost imperceptible
but I follow close
without fear
the way blazened in my mind
and there is still far to go
I am eager to journey
drawn by the beauty
that is the rising moon in sunset
facing into the evening breeze
I venture onward
rolling amber and coral
spreads across the horizon
again the shadows shift
dull confusion finds me
I lose my pace and focus
but I do not heed
this temporary distraction
nor the suggestions of this creased parchment
unfurled before me
for it is not what will lead me home
I do not let it sway or stray me
for my heart knows the way
yet
nagging concern
disquiets me
a stab of panic
pierces my solace
have I been gone too long
will it feel the same
unwelcome bewilderment
grips me
holds me
uncomfortable in my skin
a cloud of frustration
sweeps over me
obscuring briefly
my purpose and destination
then the fog wafts
and again I envision
across the veiled valley
of time
my hearth and home
twilight is coming
much too quickly
and my concern
at first a nuisance — mounts
a gathering feeling
gnaws inside
fear I will not make it home
before this sunset
I am afraid
to lose this evening light
that leads my way
but my way
is not on this map
not on any map
it lives in my heart
and in my soul
this calms the disturbance
of my reverie
quiets my mind
brings my fear to settle
as the ease of remembered beauty
and warmth of home
swell my soul
ahead are the mountains
and forests of my Oregon home
where I finally return
to reclaim my heart
this day
now I have
such sweet recall
pulling me forward
urgently
even in the faded light
of many distant memories
these visions have held me breathless
soon I will gaze upon them again
As you read this Christmas poem, with its taste of bittersweetness, see it not in a dark light — embrace it as a tale of a long-awaited journey, to be with the one beloved.
B rushed my shoulder on this morning’s train
then at the market it was there again
while in line to get my breakfast tea
from our favorite table it beckoned me
in the crowd at the festive mall
glimpsed like a flicker of candle light
I swear I saw it fleeting fall
upon the gifts I did not wrap this night
upon the tree I did not decorate
the greeting cards I did not write
in frail voice I chastise fate
singing carols doesn’t feel right
this season I see it everywhere
the shadow of your love
elusive as a shopper’s smile
caught up in the crush and shove
but soon I’ll catch and hold it close
warmly to my breast
it will sweetly fill my heart
lay soft with me this midnight rest
for it returns this night each year
the same night you went away
in dreams you kiss away each tear
touch my lips that beg you stay
taken from my life in sleep
gone without a last goodbye
as we dreamed at midnight deep
each year I weep and wonder why
but this year I’ll not awaken blue
in the end an easy thing to do
this night I’ll make our dreams come true
this midnight deep I will come to you
* Watch me read Frozen Man complete version: CLICK HERE
Stopping is no option
to lose the way is to keep going
keep moving forward
lest one atrophies
rigid with despair
paralyzed with doubt
locked in hopelessness
bound by fear
the giving up
is the giving in
is the rot that sets
with the loss of wonder
when grip lets go of dreams
loss of faith debilitates the soul
cripples the manifest light
that shines so bright
at the leap into sacred uncertainty
so bright
as to boldly illuminate truth
frozen is the frightened man
withered in a worried cage
terrified of the wrong step
of the journey all in
of daring the way unmarked
wounded by fear
bleeding out the color of life
hemorrhaging joy
exsanguinating possibility
a cold brittled husk
mired in regret
for never having shone so brightly
as to blind the eyes of death
as to light the way of truth
valiant is a voting man
a hero heard and heeded
a cry of dissatisfaction
a voice of change
a stand for defiance
stopping is no option
so senators and congressmen
you best heed the call
don’t stand in the doorway
don’t block up the hall
for they that will lose
will be they who have stalled
so brothers and sisters
raise up your hand
let it be known
throughout the land
if we want change
we must take a stand
“This is the 4th anniversary of my wife Kathleen and I moving to Seattle to be with our grandson Alex. I posted this new piece containing mindful reflections on leaving our home in Oregon, and our new Seattle home. The photos are of our Oregon yard in the Cascade Mountain foothills. That is my wife Kathy standing under, and peering up into our 2 giant banana palms. The poem is just below the photos.“
Time’s Window
~
we now have a wonderful
new Seattle home
shared with family
ruled by my little guy
my precious 6-year-old grandson
and I know sweet happiness
but there are moments
with eyes closed
I can gaze back
through time’s window
I see my beloved Oregon home
of 25 amazing years
vividly alive this morning
here in my memories…
through my window this day
I see the scurry of creatures
warmed by the Oregon summer
I hear nature
in splendid voice
the chuff
of a tree’d red squirrel
the song
chirp
and trill of birds
chickadee
goldfinch
western bluebird
and others
fly
flutter
and flit
in a flash of orange
a striking northern flicker
momentarily eschewing insects
is peck peck pecking
cracking black-oil sunflower seeds
that spill from our feeder
a red-tailed hawk
calls
from atop a Sitka spruce
swaying
in the crisp blue sky
the muffled belling of a deer
wandering the safety of old-growth
whispers
through the foothills
the distant bark
of a neighbor’s dog
echoing the basin
up along our stream
reminds me
we have friends nearby
my wife’s
gentle laughter
validates the friendship
her tender smile
validates our love
the rustle of leaves
stirred by the breeze
wafting through the valley
smartly punctuated
by the staccato
of conifer cones
that fall
from time to time
wrested free by chickaree
and chipmunk
chattering high in Douglas fir
busy with their forage
wap wap wap
they bounce off our roof
striking the ground
closely followed
by the scamper
of their liberators
crunching their way
to the heart-meat of the cone
the delicacy
that elicits this furious industry
drifting in the window
intoxicating fragrances
cedar
pine
fir
lily
rose
lilac
grasses
loam
and more
a rich
earthy bouquet
caught in my reverie
I breathe in
deeply
to suddenly remember
…I’m not in my Oregon home
I am in my new Seattle home
and it’s filled to overflowing
with family
and love
for a moment
I do not open my eyes
I linger a bit longer
in my beautiful dream
of my Oregon
my heart will forever be there
but we will likely never go back
not until my ashes are spread
high in the Cascade Mountains
on Mt. Hood
across breathtaking Lost Lake
but here
now
on this day
filled with memories
and joy
a solitary tear
falls
These sculptures are called cairns. A cairn is a human-made balanced stack of stones. The word cairn comes from the Scottish Gaelic: càrn. Cairns have been, and still are used for a broad variety of purposes, from prehistoric times to the present. They are stacked as landmarks, direction finders, memorials, and also spiritual reasons, among other purposes.
For society to have a real chance we need quality education!
Last Hope
~
I lift myself quietly
very quietly
from beneath the sheets
soiled with neglect
soaked with my nightmares
I am again awake
from another dark night
that began with fear
fear I might not survive
and ends in sorrow
realizing I did
I rise
make my way carefully
past the shallow-breathed crumple
that lay milky-eyed
in a heap on the floor
un-moving
save a twitch of the head
a head which now harbors demons
where nocturnal angels of sweet release
had lain down lush upon it
in fevered embrace
lustfully conjured
by last night’s spoon and lance
still skewered silver in the soured vein
this wreckage is my mother
I stop but for a glance
verifying life
then move on head down
angle to the bathroom
to the scum-brown bowl
to wash my face
lit sallow by the yellowed bulb
that hangs bare and lonely
strange eyes
hold me in the mirror
broken as my heart
eyes of knowing
eyes of sadness
grief courses through me
weighing upon my being
burning into my heart
I want to cry out
but there is no one here to hear me
no hero that can help me
driven by instinct to survive
by urgency to flee
I shudder away the paralyzing despair
in this dank food-less morning
in this ruined single room
in this coat-less chill of predawn
I gather up my books
step lightly through the door
down the damaged stairs
into the hostile streets
heavy with this childhood of strangled dreams
I duck and dodge
in and out of shadows
praying to once again avoid the evil
that lurks and slinks
among the garbage and graffiti
of these crumbled bricken’d canyons
that rolls slow and lethal
gripping cold blue steel
in predatory drive-by
evil
seductive as a smile
deadly as a snake
evil
which if diligence should fail
I fear will consume my soul
deliberately I continue
until at last I find my way
to the building
to the classroom
to my teacher
to my desk
DAY 7
