Boat Across the River

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Happy 2012!

January 2, 2012 at 9:17 pm · Filed under Family, Love, My daughter, My son, Prayer and tagged: , , , , , , ,

It’s the end of 2011, and the end of the longest period of time off I will have with my two kids…ever.  My daughter’s first day of school is tomorrow, it’s my first day back to work, and my son’s first day with his grandmother.  I am nervous and emotional…and happy for my daughter.  I think she is going to have a great time and that she is really ready for this transition.  It is sad for me to think of things changing.  Time marches on, though.  I have savored every moment of all this time I have had with them with no work, no school, no obligations.  We’ve had a lot of fun.  But it’s on to the next chapter.  I hope 2012 is a good year for my family, and for yours.

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Dear Daughter

December 20, 2011 at 5:15 pm · Filed under Dreams, Home, Love, My daughter and tagged: , , , , , ,

Dear S. –

This morning, when you woke up, I said, “Good morning!” and you screamed, “I want my Daddy!!!”  and slammed the door in my face with a sneer.  Later, you proceeded to smear your poop all over the bathroom for the second day in a row despite my instructions for you to call for help when you are finished on the potty.  After spending a good amount of time bleaching down the bathroom and doing poopie laundry, I am left with this sincere wish:

I hope that in twenty years you love me dearly and come to visit often.

Love,

B.

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Wordsworth

December 18, 2011 at 6:47 pm · Filed under Children, Favorites, Home, Language, Religion and tagged: , ,

 

 
  
 
  

THERE was a time when meadow, grove, and stream,  
    The earth, and every common sight,  
            To me did seem  
    Apparell’d in celestial light,  
The glory and the freshness of a dream.          5
It is not now as it hath been of yore;—  
        Turn wheresoe’er I may,  
            By night or day,  
The things which I have seen I now can see no more.  
 
        The rainbow comes and goes,   10
        And lovely is the rose;  
        The moon doth with delight  
    Look round her when the heavens are bare;  
        Waters on a starry night  
        Are beautiful and fair;   15
    The sunshine is a glorious birth;  
    But yet I know, where’er I go,  
That there hath pass’d away a glory from the earth.  
 
Now, while the birds thus sing a joyous song,  
    And while the young lambs bound   20
        As to the tabor’s sound,  
To me alone there came a thought of grief:  
A timely utterance gave that thought relief,  
        And I again am strong:  
The cataracts blow their trumpets from the steep;   25
No more shall grief of mine the season wrong;  
I hear the echoes through the mountains throng,  
The winds come to me from the fields of sleep,  
        And all the earth is gay;  
            Land and sea   30
    Give themselves up to jollity,  
      And with the heart of May  
    Doth every beast keep holiday;—  
          Thou Child of Joy,  
Shout round me, let me hear thy shouts, thou happy   35
    Shepherd-boy!  
 
Ye blessèd creatures, I have heard the call  
    Ye to each other make; I see  
The heavens laugh with you in your jubilee;  
    My heart is at your festival,   40
      My head hath its coronal,  
The fulness of your bliss, I feel—I feel it all.  
        O evil day! if I were sullen  
        While Earth herself is adorning,  
            This sweet May-morning,   45
        And the children are culling  
            On every side,  
        In a thousand valleys far and wide,  
        Fresh flowers; while the sun shines warm,  
And the babe leaps up on his mother’s arm:—   50
        I hear, I hear, with joy I hear!  
        —But there’s a tree, of many, one,  
A single field which I have look’d upon,  
Both of them speak of something that is gone:  
          The pansy at my feet   55
          Doth the same tale repeat:  
Whither is fled the visionary gleam?  
Where is it now, the glory and the dream?  
 
Our birth is but a sleep and a forgetting:  
The Soul that rises with us, our life’s Star,   60
        Hath had elsewhere its setting,  
          And cometh from afar:  
        Not in entire forgetfulness,  
        And not in utter nakedness,  
But trailing clouds of glory do we come   65
        From God, who is our home:  
Heaven lies about us in our infancy!  
Shades of the prison-house begin to close  
        Upon the growing Boy,  
But he beholds the light, and whence it flows,   70
        He sees it in his joy;  
The Youth, who daily farther from the east  
    Must travel, still is Nature’s priest,  
      And by the vision splendid  
      Is on his way attended;   75
At length the Man perceives it die away,  
And fade into the light of common day.  
 
Earth fills her lap with pleasures of her own;  
Yearnings she hath in her own natural kind,  
And, even with something of a mother’s mind,   80
        And no unworthy aim,  
    The homely nurse doth all she can  
To make her foster-child, her Inmate Man,  
    Forget the glories he hath known,  
And that imperial palace whence he came.   85
 
Behold the Child among his new-born blisses,  
A six years’ darling of a pigmy size!  
See, where ‘mid work of his own hand he lies,  
Fretted by sallies of his mother’s kisses,  
With light upon him from his father’s eyes!   90
See, at his feet, some little plan or chart,  
Some fragment from his dream of human life,  
Shaped by himself with newly-learnèd art;  
    A wedding or a festival,  
    A mourning or a funeral;   95
        And this hath now his heart,  
    And unto this he frames his song:  
        Then will he fit his tongue  
To dialogues of business, love, or strife;  
        But it will not be long  100
        Ere this be thrown aside,  
        And with new joy and pride  
The little actor cons another part;  
Filling from time to time his ‘humorous stage’  
With all the Persons, down to palsied Age,  105
That Life brings with her in her equipage;  
        As if his whole vocation  
        Were endless imitation.  
 
Thou, whose exterior semblance doth belie  
        Thy soul’s immensity;  110
Thou best philosopher, who yet dost keep  
Thy heritage, thou eye among the blind,  
That, deaf and silent, read’st the eternal deep,  
Haunted for ever by the eternal mind,—  
        Mighty prophet! Seer blest!  115
        On whom those truths do rest,  
Which we are toiling all our lives to find,  
In darkness lost, the darkness of the grave;  
Thou, over whom thy Immortality  
Broods like the Day, a master o’er a slave,  120
A presence which is not to be put by;  
          To whom the grave  
Is but a lonely bed without the sense or sight  
        Of day or the warm light,  
A place of thought where we in waiting lie;  125
Thou little Child, yet glorious in the might  
Of heaven-born freedom on thy being’s height,  
Why with such earnest pains dost thou provoke  
The years to bring the inevitable yoke,  
Thus blindly with thy blessedness at strife?  130
Full soon thy soul shall have her earthly freight,  
And custom lie upon thee with a weight,  
Heavy as frost, and deep almost as life!  
 
        O joy! that in our embers  
        Is something that doth live,  135
        That nature yet remembers  
        What was so fugitive!  
The thought of our past years in me doth breed  
Perpetual benediction: not indeed  
For that which is most worthy to be blest—  140
Delight and liberty, the simple creed  
Of childhood, whether busy or at rest,  
With new-fledged hope still fluttering in his breast:—  
        Not for these I raise  
        The song of thanks and praise;  145
    But for those obstinate questionings  
    Of sense and outward things,  
    Fallings from us, vanishings;  
    Blank misgivings of a Creature  
Moving about in worlds not realized,  150
High instincts before which our mortal Nature  
Did tremble like a guilty thing surprised:  
        But for those first affections,  
        Those shadowy recollections,  
      Which, be they what they may,  155
Are yet the fountain-light of all our day,  
Are yet a master-light of all our seeing;  
  Uphold us, cherish, and have power to make  
Our noisy years seem moments in the being  
Of the eternal Silence: truths that wake,  160
            To perish never:  
Which neither listlessness, nor mad endeavour,  
            Nor Man nor Boy,  
Nor all that is at enmity with joy,  
Can utterly abolish or destroy!  165
    Hence in a season of calm weather  
        Though inland far we be,  
Our souls have sight of that immortal sea  
        Which brought us hither,  
    Can in a moment travel thither,  170
And see the children sport upon the shore,  
And hear the mighty waters rolling evermore.  
 
Then sing, ye birds, sing, sing a joyous song!  
        And let the young lambs bound  
        As to the tabor’s sound!  175
We in thought will join your throng,  
      Ye that pipe and ye that play,  
      Ye that through your hearts to-day  
      Feel the gladness of the May!  
What though the radiance which was once so bright  180
Be now for ever taken from my sight,  
    Though nothing can bring back the hour  
Of splendour in the grass, of glory in the flower;  
      We will grieve not, rather find  
      Strength in what remains behind;  185
      In the primal sympathy  
      Which having been must ever be;  
      In the soothing thoughts that spring  
      Out of human suffering;  
      In the faith that looks through death,  190
In years that bring the philosophic mind.  
 
And O ye Fountains, Meadows, Hills, and Groves,  
Forebode not any severing of our loves!  
Yet in my heart of hearts I feel your might;  
I only have relinquish’d one delight  195
To live beneath your more habitual sway.  
I love the brooks which down their channels fret,  
Even more than when I tripp’d lightly as they;  
The innocent brightness of a new-born Day  
            Is lovely yet;  200
The clouds that gather round the setting sun  
Do take a sober colouring from an eye  
That hath kept watch o’er man’s mortality;  
Another race hath been, and other palms are won.  
Thanks to the human heart by which we live,  205
Thanks to its tenderness, its joys, and fears,  
To me the meanest flower that blows can give  
Thoughts that do often lie too deep for tears.  

 

 
 

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Wordy

December 5, 2011 at 3:26 am · Filed under Community, Death, Family, Fences, Language, Love, Meditation, My daughter, My son, Prayer, Religion and tagged: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

Spent a lot of time at the Meeting House today (i.e. church).  There were all kinds of events as the season of Advent begins.  As I sat in the pew holding my baby son, (my daughter was down the hall rehearsing for her role as the literal star of the show that pointed the way to Baby Jesus), I gazed at the books in front of me that rested on their special little rack.  On the covers of these books read words like “hymns,” and “psalms”.  I wonder what it is about words with silent letters that make them seem even more beautiful.  The letters aren’t pronounced, so why should their presence make a word sound differently?  It’s psychological I guess, but that “n” and “p” make those words so delicate and…I’ll say poignant, just to bring up another one of those words that I love.

Looking around the room today, another word that came to mind was “together”.  I could meditate and pray alone, and often do.  Sitting in extended silence with a roomful of people, though, is a different experience.  Even truer to reality, perhaps.  We are in this together, all of us, whether we like it or not!  Some of the people we are here in this life with can be so frustrating, but we belong to each other just the same.  Being together in silent prayer with like-minded people, however, leaves me with such a peaceful feeling.  It feels so true.  Like…how things really are, all the time.  Like how things are for real.  

I think of a television show I have been watching lately on the Biography channel called “I Survived…Beyond and Back”.  These people have technically died for anywhere from 5 to 20 minutes.  On the show they recount their experiences while dead.  It’s riveting, I’ve got to say.  J. is suspicious, which is what I count on him for!, suggesting that some of these people may either be lying or misinterpreting what happened to them.  I have no reason to suspect either of those things.  I don’t claim to know more about death than someone who has actually died, and I prefer to believe that these people – often moved to tears in the telling of  their stories and whose lives have often done 180 degree turns after survival – are telling the truth. 

One woman died on the operating table in a hospital and she tells about rising up out of her body and looking down on the doctors and nurses trying to save her life.  She was able to tell them the exact conversation they were having while she was flatlined.  She describes seeing some kind of shimmery “chords” going from one person to the next such that they were all connected.  It created an effect that looked something like a spider web.  The chords appeared to her to go from one person’s chest to another’s, and she was able to know what each person was thinking and feeling.  Another aspect of this show that is so fascinating to me is that I have sometimes seen images like this flash in front of my eyes when I meditate – that is, during several of these shows I have been able to say, “Yes!  I’ve seen what you’re talking about!”  But I might have thought at the time that it was just randomness popping into my head for no reason. 

Together…moreso than we even realize I think.

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6 pm

November 19, 2011 at 6:34 pm · Filed under Big Cities, Community, Home, Time and tagged: , , ,

I take back my previous post.

I want to be able to get out of my driveway!

I want something in my head besides constant loud beeping!

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Strange Comfort

November 19, 2011 at 6:31 pm · Filed under Big Cities, Community, Environment, Home, Love, Time and tagged: , , , , , ,

Is it weird that the constant construction noise in our neighborhood, as the city puts in sewers, has started to become soothing?

Strange that I smile in my sleep and turn over at 6 am as the man driving the backhoe in my yard begins his day’s labor?

Odd that I have considered making cookies and coffee for my old friends slopping away out in the street?

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love. guitars.

November 19, 2011 at 6:24 pm · Filed under Community, Fences, Home, Music, Poetry, Prayer, Religion and tagged: , , , , , , , ,

at the show
guitarists play
 
one guitar is cherry red
shining in a bright light
 
i start to feel
that it’s become my heart
 
the room shakes
music beats inside my chest
 
either that or I
am inside this song
 
pieces of the ceiling fall
our seats vibrate
 
they are pulsing
the whole balcony
 
beats the rhythm
that beats on stage
 
and in our chests
will we all fall down? 
 
i think that any minute now
during any one
 
of these songs
we could each break open
 
like eggs and ooze together
in the frying pan.

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Jerry Sandusky

November 11, 2011 at 2:28 am · Filed under Children, Death, Questions, Religion and tagged: , , , , , , , ,

I honestly feel like throwing up just typing his name.  I heard about this story last night and haven’t been able to stop thinking about it since.  I figured I should write about it and maybe that would help me process.  I know that these things happen — that they are happening right now probably.  But I prefer to pretend that they are not.  Still, you can’t just look away and say it’s not so.  

What in the world goes on inside someone’s head to allow them to hurt an innocent child?  I want to say there must be some kind of chemical imbalance that would allow you to rape a child.  I don’t think that’s always true, if ever.  I guess it must just be that there really is evil in this world.

I guess he told one child’s parent that he “wanted to die”.  I couldn’t help thinking that I wanted him to die, too.  I will say though, that if he apologizes to his victims, at least it is up to them if they want to forgive him.  There is forgiveness in this world, and change and redemption are possible.  I keep thinking, what if that were my son who was raped?  And then I think, Sandusky is someone’s son, too.  I am left with such pain for all involved.  It reminds me of some George Clooney movie where he is this horrible assassin, and a priest tells him, “You know that Hell exists.  You are already there.”  I think Jerry Sandusky must already be living in Hell.  I hope, as I hope and pray for all people who have hurt children, that he can manage to change and to find his way out of Hell.  Much moreso for the sake of any future victims, but also for these people, and also for their parents.  What would I do if my son turned out like Sandusky has? 

Oh my God.  It’s just too sad.

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Daughter’s Third Birthday

October 22, 2011 at 7:45 pm · Filed under Earth, Family, Home, My daughter, Poetry, Trees and tagged: , , , , , ,

The leaves fall slowly
down, constantly,
always the same
speed, always
the same number
of leaves seemingly
always falling
such that I think
of a screen saver
called “Autumn”.
They have coordinated
their falling — in fact
it is a simple letting go:
first these, then the next
group.  It seems it will always
be the same, but it won’t
really and this exact
scene won’t last for long.
These are my thoughts
as we walk together,
and you have just
turned three, and you collect
your beautiful leaves
for your bouquet, so excited –
each one is a miracle. 

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Son’s Day of Birth

September 14, 2011 at 1:58 pm · Filed under Love, My son, Poetry, Religion and tagged: , , ,

We were lying in the bed
where you were born,
looking out the window
at the storm –
beautiful and dangerous,
I remembered that people
are coming and going, always
coming and going.
It’s August — here you are!
One year ago, your great
grandmother moved on
and you will never
know her, though she will
be watching over you,
and she will know you well.
Strange to be known
and not to know.
 
Distracted by the hospital,
needles, the neverending flow
of nurses marking time — rigid
hands of a clock
where things are black or white.
I was numb
to the fact it was your first
day on Earth!
Then one woman held you up,
said, “Welcome, Little One!”
She really saw
you like I do and I focused
again on the mystery
of life — yes!
Welcome!  On this day of your birth,
welcome to life
with us on Earth.

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