Posts Tagged ‘serenity’

My mind wanders

August 25, 2019

Outside the window
Contours of the land
Among the trees
Made visible by the snow

On this quiet Saturday morning
An intrusion into my thoughts
What?
Memories, longing, loneliness?
Perhaps all that

A longing to be alone
Something pulling, tugging
Toward solitude

How can this pull,
This longing to be alone,
Intrude on loneliness?

Is what is sought,
Present in an apparent
Nothingness?

My mind wanders,
Daydreams …

Thoughts go to a small hill
In a prairie somewhere
Nothing visible but grasses
Distant trees
A breeze gently grabs at my clothing,
Washes over my face,
Rustles the grasses

I find myself on a trail
Deep in the woods
Sunlight flickering through
Leafless trees
Pale light
Winter light
Silence

A broad valley welcomes me
Soaring mountains, dark gray
Snow-covered peaks
Along the path, green
Intense green
Warmed by the rising sun

©2019 Thomas W. Cummins

A cosmic projection

August 13, 2019

I saw her dancing
Dipping and swaying
Tempo set by a breeze
Leaves caressing the light
Beams from the rising sun

Juliet
Candle-like, flickering
Caught on the curve
Of the lamp’s
Metal shade

A cosmic projection
This image
Solar ball of nuclear fire
Thrust through space
Appearing as a gentle flame

©2019 Thomas. W. Cummins

Eternity at arm’s length

April 25, 2019

 

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We have explored
Looking for, searching for
Meaning amidst the stars
Millions of light years away
Or by stepping out the front door
In early spring

©2019 Thomas W. Cummins

 

I’ve never been me before

October 5, 2018

With the early morning fog
All was white-gray
Seeing nothing for more than 100 yards
Islands were not to be seen
Nor the far shore

Silence
Well, not quite
Soft, gentle movement heard
Water caressing the rock-strewn
Beach

I was thinking, for me,
This is a new experience
And certainly so
On this day, in this place
At this age

Who I am today is new
What I experience today is new
All I see and all I hear, new
The me of now
Has never existed before

I’ve never been this me before
I should be in awe of everything
Tired of nothing
Open to the grace
Of all things

©2018 Thomas W. Cummins

Staying true to self

October 4, 2015

Turmoil and pain from events, even if separated by 30 years, can be reawakened by the words of a poem.

In Desert Run, Mitsuye Yamada reflects upon her family’s time in an internment camp during World War II. In the last stanza are these words:

I cannot stay in the desert
where you will have me nor
will I be brought back in a cage
to grace your need for exotica.
I write these words at night
for I am still a night creature
but I will not keep a discreet distance
If you must fit me to your needs
I will die
and so will you.

When I re-read those words a few months ago, moments of shunning and rejection came creeping back out of dark passages in my life. Most assuredly, there have been times when I couldn’t/wouldn’t, or can’t/won’t, dance to the tune of someone else. To have done so would have been sacrificial and destructive to my own sense of self and well-being. This isn’t about following instructions or performing job expectations. Rather there have been behavioral and performance expectations of the most unreasonable and servile nature.

What is most interesting to me has been the astonishment and rage, punishment and revenge, observed and experienced as a result. Not bending in order to conform to a misinformed and delusional notion of who I am, or who I should be, comes from my unwillingness to be an enabler. Been there, done that, the ‘walking-on-eggshells’ thing.

As you can see, Ms. Yamada’s poetic reflection struck a nerve with me. Much suffering has come from my resistance. But I must not create a false self to meet unreasonable expectations of others. Nor can I sit idly by and await the next page for me to recite from an unshared and unexplained script. I’ve never been very good at playing guessing games.

If you must fit me to your needs
I will die
and so will you.

A North-woods Walk

October 1, 2015

—∞—

If only words could let me share
But what can they do?
Re-imagining a morning walk
On an hilly dirt road
Through the woods
Past driveways leading down to the lake
To hidden cabins

Early morning rising sun
Leaves bursting with color
Light flirting with shadows among the trees
Aspens shimmering in an unnoticed breeze
It was very cool, if not cold
Hands taking turns
Between pocket and hiking stick

A deer’s follow-me white flag
Bounding, bounding, bounding … gone
At the bottom of a hill
A pair of ducks exploding from a small pond
Little flocks of tiny birds
Gathering something for breakfast
Amidst the weeds and lingering wildflowers

Unnoticed before
The breeze has picked up
And plays with the holes in my walking stick
A horrible flute
Producing a tone that is simply beautiful
Appearing then vanishing
With the rhythm of my gait

An hour later
Back at the cabin
Warm
Invigorated
Sitting by the window
Steaming cup of coffee
Sparking lake beyond the sheltering glass

© 2015 Thomas W. Cummins