May 24, 2017 - Simple Things

Small things.  Cherished things.  Little decorative elements.  These make up a memorable home and, indeed, a memorable life.  Not too long ago, people cherished their small and colorful things, their “breakables,” their decorations.  It didn’t matter if they were tattered and torn and mended several times over.  They were still just as loved and just as prized, perhaps more so.

A collection of simple things that bring joy.

A small old wooden table with a scratched and dented surface becomes a sweet place to have tea and cookies when a pretty vintage table cloth is placed on it.  The table cloth might be worn and repaired in tiny places.  The colors on it might be faded and the lace might be torn some, but the appeal is undeniable.  It says, “Welcome, you are home.”

Enter a world full of “apps,” wristwatches that are really telephones and mini computers, microchips embedded under the skin . . .  I’m not sure how it all happened—and so quickly!—and I’m not sure why, either.  I’m not sure wondering about it makes much of a difference.  But happen, it did.  And here we all are in a strange new world where the latest gadget is highly coveted, money is now openly God (as opposed to secretly), and young people have nothing tattered and torn that they truly love.  Some have yet to even find something they love at all.

Saucer and sugar bowl, WS George, Peach Blossom, 1948.

It’s all fine and well, of course; it’s progress, so they say.  The world must keep on moving.  We can’t stand still, they say.  I have nothing against all the newness.  At least, not usually.  Most people will go in the direction in which they are led, and that’s not always a bad thing for most people.  The world does not operate according to a single person’s whims but rather to the whims of the majority of society.

But when we search back in our minds in times of stress and trouble—those times that hit us all—it’s the little decorations we find waiting for us in the corners of our memories.  It’s the faded lace and the old teapot and the sweet cookies we think about.  We see them as if in a dream with sunlight streaming in through a window, gleaming off the clean and simple surfaces.  If we strain our ears we can still hear the old music playing, and we can still smell our favorite dish cooking.  If we’re honest, we can admit that it brings tears to our eyes.

Saucer and creamer, Artmark, Occupied Japan period.

It’s the simple things in life that matter.  We hear that all the time, don’t we?  And I think most of us agree with it, but once heard, it often leaves our mind as soon as it enters.  Many people are so busy today, and that is not their fault.  That’s the way society seems to be purposely geared.  They rush to work and spend all their energy there, and then they rush home through crazy traffic.  They often eat something that’s not good for them because they’re exhausted and tired.  Then they unwind with something that will shut out those flashing lights.

We cannot live in the past, but we can live like the past.  We can choose what we want—some would call it cherry picking.  We can do that.  There are no laws against it.  We can take the simple things that bring peace and joy and security, and bring them into our own homes right now.  We can turn off the gadgets for a few hours a day.  We can stop paging endlessly and uselessly through mind-numbing “social” media.  We can turn off the flashing lights and the loud noises, knowing full well that we can go back to it all later if we so choose.

Cup and saucer, Currier and Ives, Blue by Royal, 1950s.

Start wherever you are.  That’s always a good place to begin.  Empty the cupboards and throw out or give away everything you don’t use.  Clean everything.  Make it sparkle.  Make it simple.  Make as much open space around your “things” as possible.  Put an old cloth on the table.  Pour a cup of tea and have a hot biscuit.  No noise.  No gadgets (hide them for now in a dresser drawer).  No flashing lights.

Then sit and think and remember who you are.

 

American Limoges, Chateau-France, 1940s.

Limoges France, Statue of Liberty trinket box, 1940s.

May 15, 2017 - Order in the Court

The judge banged his gavel heavily against the wooden block.

“Order,” he said loudly, “Order!  Let’s have the next case.”  It was the case everyone had been waiting for, the reason the courthouse was so crowded that day.

Death was led into the courtroom, his head held high, his face defiant, his hands and feet shackled.  He stood before the judge, silent and sure, powerful even in his captivity.  All around, whispered gossiping of his crimes could be heard.  There were muffled cries from the back of the courtroom, and some people were openly hissing.  Again, the judge loudly demanded order by banging his gavel, and a hush finally came over the courtroom.

New growth from the dead . . .

“You have been accused of the wanton death of innumerable creatures of the forest, from the tiniest of insects to the largest of trees,” the judge said.

Death did not respond but stared stoically ahead.

“You may still request counsel at this late date, and the court will adjourn until such time as you have procured proper representation.  If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be provided to you at no expense.”

“I will represent myself,” Death responded.

“You are advised against this,” said the judge, “And the court again recommends that you seek counsel.”

“I will represent myself.”

“Very well.”

The general counsel read a long list of Death’s crimes.  The morbid deaths of birds and insects and animals were discussed.  Gruesome photos of the dead were shown.  The devastation of brush through purposeful fire and the ruin of stately trees by uprooting were shown to the court.  Count after count, victim after victim, the general counsel painted a grim picture, indeed.  To all of this, Death said nothing.

Witnesses, one after another, were brought forward to tell their sordid stories of the Hand of Death.  After each one, Death was given a chance to cross-examine them, but after each one he merely shook his head and said, “No questions.”

At last, with the general counsel’s voice weary from extended talking and accusations, his expression grim, and with the stricken faces of the silent people in the back of the courtroom, the judge asked heavily, “Have you anything to say in your defense before your sentencing?”

Death stood.  “Only this,” he said.  “Yes, it was I who removed the life from each of the creatures spoken of in this courtroom.  There is not one who died without it being by my hand.  I am guilty as charged of each and every death spoken of today.

“It was I who killed the insects—every one of them—as sustenance for the birds.  And it was I who took the lame among the birds and animals, those who suffered tremendous pain in life due to simple misfortune.  It was I who provided the predators and the creatures of the night with prey, killing each one with joyful abandonment.  It was I who did the slaying when the animals fought for territory and resources in their dwindling habitat.  It was I who set the fires and killed the brush that was overtaking the meadow and draining the stream.  It was I who felled the trees, uprooting them from the forest floor and crashing them down upon countless creatures.”

Gasps were heard in the courtroom, but not one person spoke.

“It was I who caused the decay of the once vigorous among the living.  It was I who took the life of each creature as it aged and could no longer run in the forest.  It was I who summoned the hidden flesh eaters from the Earth—the bacteria and fungi—and set them loose on the dead to remove all evidence of my heavy hand.  It was I who called the mosses and the lichens and set them upon the decaying corpses in the forest.

“And . . . it was I who brought sustenance to the hungry mouths of the forest.  It was I who opened the thickets so that new trees and brush might come.  It was at my command that the necessary elements of life were sent to the deep dark of the Earth, only to return yet again to the land of the living in a new form.  It was I who fed the masses.  It was I who took the spirit of the living and gave it back to the Wind to redistribute before delivering the body to the hidden ones in the Earth.  It was I who opened the pathways for the Sun to bring his energy into the woods.

“I am guilty as charged,” said Death.

A great hush came over the courtroom.  Those who had angry accusations on their lips only moments before were now gazing uncomfortably at the floor.  The general counsel was busy shuffling through his papers, perhaps looking for some long lost and forgotten charge to hurl anew at Death.  The judge was stony-faced, staring into the eyes of Death.

“One cannot look too long directly into the sun,” said Death, a tiny smile bringing up one corner of his lips, and as he did so, he broke the trance between himself and the judge.

At last the judge was able to release his eyes from the hypnotic gaze of Death.

“The evidence presented to the court is incomplete,” the judge said, banging his gavel against the wooden block.  “Although we detest the defendant and find his behavior reprehensible, we also find the defendant in full compliance with the Law, without which none of us would be here.”

The stenographer feverishly typed out the words of the judge as the bailiff removed the shackles from the hands and feet of the now free defendant.  As he did so, Death brushed his hand against the bailiff’s chin and whispered in his ear, and what he said will never be known since the bailiff did not return home that night to tell the tale.

As Death passed through the courtroom on his way to freedom, each person sitting there felt his icy hand.  Most were able to brace themselves against him, as they had always done thus far, and avoid the chilling cold.  The bailiff was not so fortunate, and the judge found himself searching for a new helper the following week.  The general counsel was buried in papers, as always.

Out in the forest, the joyful news spread far and wide almost instantaneously that the Dark One had returned.  The trees whispered knowingly in their vast network, relieved that the overcrowding issue would soon be a thing of the past.  Somewhere a terrible squawking indicated that a fox had found a bird’s nest.  New green shoots sprang up in greeting from the old dead trees.  And the scent of decay mingling with fresh growth was utterly intoxicating.

May 11, 2017 - Chasing Ra

CHASING RA

Wave after wave crashes in the clouds

laughing at the water below

the ocean silently watching, jealous

wistful for the dance with the sunset

chasing Ra in his celestial boat

as he sails across the universe

an endless ocean full of stars

and brilliant blue globes of water

sparkling in the night

 

May 1, 2017 - On Being a Seed, Part V

[This is Part V of “On Being a Seed.”  Click Part I, Part II, Part III, and Part IV for the prior episodes.]

Once touched by the King, you are never the same again.  It is not something I can adequately put into words.  Only those who wear the green ribbon can commune with the King.  The other members of the land of liquid gold—those who moved on two or four legs, the jealous ones—cannot commune with Him.  They can talk to Him, they can sit with Him, and they can delight in Him.  But they cannot commune with Him.  That is for the wearers of the green ribbon, only.

The green ribbon.

It is as if your outward covering, your skin, is completely porous, but the only thing that can enter is the King.  The water dancer tries her best to do so.  The gentle breezes nudge and push.  The delicious earth hugs and squeezes.  Yet none can enter but the King.  It is a true communion.  The liquid gold enters in an eternal embrace, and a feeling of absolute power ensues.  It is a reaching out to the ends of the universe and beyond, but as I said, it is not something I can adequately put into words.

It is a direct transference of power and energy, and while it is happening, the entire universe is at your command.  Then the King leaves without warning, and the world seems black, indeed.  Gone is the universe in the palm of your hand, like a fleeting dream, a wisp of spirit.  The memory of ultimate power fades almost instantly, an unsure fantasy.

So I took the gold the King gave me and I hid it in tiny places where I hoped he would never see.  Tiny fractions of energy and power, they were, and I took them and greedily hid them.  I was energized by them, entranced by them, empowered by them.  I used them to grow exponentially.  My body ripped and tore itself as it grew rapidly upward toward the realm of the King.  It was my intention to enter His palace and claim Him for my own, so I did not care when my skin was stretched and ripped and twisted.  I laughed at the pain because I knew that it brought me that much closer to Him.

But there were things in this new world that were not as kind as the King.  The two-leggeds and the four-leggeds were terrible, indeed.  They would often destroy many of my green-ribboned brethren, and I feared they would destroy me as well.  But they did not.  The King protected me, I told myself.

Just as I ate incessantly in the Underworld on my way to the land of liquid gold, so too did these terrible creatures eat of the green-ribboned brethren.  I decided it was a jealousy they had because they could not commune with the King directly.  In order to receive the King’s power, they had to consume those of us who did commune with the King.  The King loved them, but He did not share Himself with them.  He shared Himself only with the green-ribboned brethren, and so the creatures came and stole His gold.  But like water in their fingers, it would eventually drip out completely and they would have to steal more.

So far I had managed to avoid them.  I heard some of the other green-ribboned brethren talking, and they said that we were completely immobile because of our unique relationship with the King.  Some said it was so that He could always easily find us.  Others said it was a punishment for storing his power deep within.  (Yes, they were doing it, too!)  Still others said it was a gift to the two-leggeds and four-leggeds from the King Himself.

I didn’t care what the reason was.  I hated the creatures and the fact that I was immobile and they were not.  I watched in rapt fascination and horror as they consumed many of the green-ribboned brethren.  Did they know—did they see—the tiny flashes of liquid gold in their mouths as they consumed?  I could see them all like flashes of lightning, and it frightened me to the core.  I did not want to lose even one tiny bit of my secret liquid gold.

But the nature of this bizarre world was inescapable.  It happened one day as I was growing strong and tall and sure.  I felt a breach in my energy field.  Something was taking my gold.  I looked down and saw a yellow and black and white striped creature with black antennas sitting comfortably on one of my beautiful green leaves.  And she was voraciously eating my beautiful green leaf.  Every bite she took was so very painful.

“Stop that!” I yelled at her, but she only laughed.

“Stop, I say!”

“I will not,” was all she said.  Then she smiled and kept eating.

Tiny bits of liquid gold poured out of me with every agonizing bite, and she hungrily devoured them all.  She was a thief of the worst kind.  But then, we all were, weren’t we?

[Click here for Part VI.]