The Owl's Song

     I'm going into the WAY BACK machine for this one. September 25, 2007. That's more than 10 years ago. The reason I'm going here is because a barred owl was calling outside of my window last night. I opened the window and called back. The exchange went on for a bit and then I stopped answering. She came back and called a while later. I always enjoy being able to communicate with a wild creature. The genesis for this poem was complicated... too complicated to revive and relive. It was a beautiful time, a time of learning and a time of healing for me. I had a wonderful teacher. He was very patient. I'm afraid I wasn't always a good student, yet, he was patient. This is just one of the things that I created during that time. This poem is something that I have been thinking about. It is no mistake that the owl came when she did. 

     Maybe the owl is back as my totem:

When the owl shows up in your life, pay attention to the winds of change. Perhaps you are about to leave some old habits, a situation that no longer serve you or bring something new in your life. Only time will tell. Time to listen, time to reflect.

The Owl's Song

The owl, 

she flies in search of love

on quiet wings

at night

A silent journey 

that she makes

quite often

out of sight

She makes her roost

high upon a branch

the whole wood

for to see

Sends out her cry

for all to hear

reaching none

but me

"Why is your heart

so heavy dear

burdened with

such sorrow

Open up the door

and let love in

start living for tomorrow"

I listen to her 

wise old song

echoing through 

the wood

Her words I wish

that I knew how-

I'd go there

if I could

I listen harder

searching inside

my heart that 

seems so still

I feel a little flutter

resonating deep

a feeling like

no other

I cry back to her

so silently 

"I don't' know how

to love again"

Each time I do 

I stand alone

much to my

sorrow and chagrin

The wise old owl

she presses on

with what she has

to say

"My dear just

go and search your soul-

true love

will come your way"

As I turn 

to go to bed

I think about 

her words

The wise old owl

has made me think

about what love

affords

I smile a grin

as large as life

to myself 

inside the dark

The owl is right

she knows the truth

of how to mend

a broken heart

I hear her song

one last time

echoing through

the wood

She flies away

so silently

content, I

understood

Radio Ga Ga

I'd sit alone and watch your light 

My only friend through teenage nights 

And everything I had to know 

I heard it on my radio 

(Radio) 

You gave them all those old time stars 

Through wars of worlds -- invaded by Mars 

You made 'em laugh -- you made 'em cry 

You made us feel like we could fly 

So don't become some background noise 

A backdrop for the girls and boys 

Who just don't know or just don't care 

And just complain when you're not there 

You had your time, you had the power 

You've yet to have your finest hour 

(Radio) 

~Queen, Radio Ga Ga

She was homeless and wished for a transistor radio, however, her situation did not allow for frivolous  jaunts to Target where she could aimlessly meander up and down the aisles while she fed her pipe dreams of if and when.  It was easy for me to purchase the radio for her... the difficult part would be finding her!

I had no idea JUST how difficult it would be! I knew I could find her at the train station. I would take a ticket, park in the parking garage, run up the long escalator or sometimes go up or down multiple flights of stairs, circulate through the upper portion of the train station, go down the escalator and circulate through the bottom of the train station, ascend the long staircase and run back to my car. If I was able to do that in under 10 minutes, my parking was free. If not, I had to pay one dollar. My quest had begun. I checked twice a day, every day. Sometimes parking was difficult to find. I had to wind my way all the way to the roof of the parking garage and then go down a million flights of stairs. By the time I made my rounds and made it back to my car, I had to pay a dollar. Sometimes I would say to myself "No good deed goes unpunished" and then I would chide myself for even letting such an idiotic saying creep into my head! My woman was nowhere in sight! 

I started to realize that my mission was bigger than my own world. I began to enlist the help of others. I asked my train riding colleagues if they had seen her. They said yes, however sightings of her were spotty and unpredictable. I spoke to the head of the transportation center security. He knew her well, and took me down to the lower level where many homeless people hung out because it was warm there. No dice! He asked a homeless man named Angel whether or not he had seen the homeless woman with the carts. "She was here earlier!", he replied. Angel was wide eyed and probably wondered what I wanted with her. He had a large gash across the bridge of his nose and I couldn't help but wonder how it got there. I had choked back a few tears when I heard his name. Even Angels can be homeless... how ironic. 

Burnt Orange

Autumn is in full swing in New England. It hasn't been a particularly spectacular autumn. I actually feel that the colors are quite muted. It doesn't make the season any less wonderful, it is just different this year. Change is ongoing. Making new friends, keeping the old, losing some who have moved on and being ready to let go even when we don't want to, those are all part of change. We must be wise and supple enough to flow with change and not to resist it.

I recently decided to think about my Crayola crayons again. It's an exercise that never gets old. This time, for many different reasons, I have chosen Burnt Orange. I have been away from this forum for far too long. I have many (some say TOO many) irons in the fire right now, but something inside me feels the need to breathe life back into this space. Hell, what's one more iron, right?

Burnt Orange

Liquid warmth
The kind that floods your window
On a beach holiday
Burnt orange 

Laughter 
As it bubbles up
From the depths of my soul
Burnt orange

Marmelade
My favorite
Made from the bitter Seville
Burnt orange

Sharp tongue
Said the wrong thing
Hurt
Burnt orange

Japanese Maple
Transitioning gracefully 
Becoming dormant
Burnt orange 

Anger
Brimming over
No longer inside
Burnt orange

Sunrise
Quiet reflection
Deep gratitude
Burnt orange 

Irons in the fire
Many of them
Glowing bright
Burnt orange

Friendship
A warm glow
Not alone
Burnt orange

Right now
I
Am
Burnt orange

The Transistor Radio

Do not judge by appearances; a rich heart may be under a poor coat.

~ Scottish Proverb

I arrived early for my train. I had time to burn inside the station. Oh, how I love to watch all of the different types of people as they rush about amongst the smell of Dunkin Donuts coffee and dart in and out of the negative space that separates us from one another. It was early - 6:30 am, and a Sunday morning at that. People tend to move a little differently at that time of the day. 

I heard an unfamiliar sound; an odd sound that went Click! Clack, clack, clack. C-L-I-C-K! Click! Click! Click!. I craned my head like an alarmed chicken. I wanted to know what that sound was and where it was coming from. A woman came into view. I had seen her on occasion around town. She was pushing a grocery/laundry style cart, the kind you see a lot in the city, with one hand and pulling a twin cart with the other. What a struggle! I watched her as she patiently manipulated the first cart and gently cajoled the second one. It was as if she were dancing with the carts and sometimes the carts wanted to lead and sometimes they wanted to follow. The clicking and clacking were quite noisy. My brow furrowed. I wondered why the carts seemed so tricky to maneuver. I continued to observe the odd dance. Then I saw what was holding her back. 

The wheels on her carts had seen better days. Some of the wheels were down to their metal skeletons. One of the wheels had perfect rubber tread and another wheel only had HALF of the rubber tread on it. As if that wasn't bad enough, the large wheels which were located in the rear of the cart, were bowing in They looked as if one more rotation would snap them off of their axels! The woman who had entered the dance with the carts was pushing and pulling the carts with her own syncopated rhythm. She was muttering to herself and as she slowly began to disappear from my sight, I couldn't help but wonder about her. 

As I waited for my Metro North train to pull into the station so I could take off for my Grand Central Station photo shoot, I overheard a conversation which made me quiet myself and listen. Two women were in the seats closest to the stairs which lead to the front of tracks 4 and 5. I stood and gazed at the leaderboard to see exactly HOW delayed my train was going to be. I zoned out and began listening to a conversation that two women were having.

"Have you ever been shopping in Target? You know, that's where I bought you that pair of sweatpants that I gave you", the first woman began.

"I only went once, but they told me I couldn't bring my carts inside... even if I left them on the side. So I left my carts downstairs and I tried to look quickly for one of those little, portable transistor radios, but I couldn't find one so I left", replied the second woman.

"Oh, did you look in the electronics department? That place is huge. It has two floors, you know", said the first.

"No. I didn't even know they HAD an electronics department. Maybe I'll go some other time and I will be able to get my transistor radio. That's okay", mused the second.

My eavesdropping had gotten the best of me. I turned my head to see who was talking. The first woman was an average looking woman. The second woman, the one with the carts, was the woman I had seen a few minutes earlier. She was a homeless woman. Her hair billowed out from beneath a knit cap. Her rolling carts were filled to the top with a myriad of items. I was able to see an Earth Science textbook peering up at me from inside one of the carts. The outside of the carts had a multitude of plastic shopping bags hanging from them. Since they weren't clear, my imagination was busy running away with me about what could possibly be inside of them. 

The PA system called for attention and alerted me that my train was going to be next on track 4. As I descended the long stairway, I couldn't easily shake what I had heard or witnessed. Her world was contained in two, rickety carts that looked as if their wheels were going to snap under the pressure of all her possessions. A simple trip into Target was unreachable because she would have to leave her world behind and without it, she'd have nothing.

As my train departed the platform, my mind and heart were still back in the station. I needed to step forward and do something, but what? The wheels in my brain went into immediate motion. Time to come up with a plan. 

Moving Forward. Day One.

     He went to bed on Sunday night, November 18th and died in that same bed on Monday, November 19th at 5:00am. There was no struggle. It was peaceful. Just like my Uncle Juergen had lived his life, a peaceful existence. Now he is gone and he was my favorite and I loved him. He was a man child. A grown man with a little boy inside that grown-up body of his. Always full of fun, a twinkle in his eye and a laugh that was often accompanied by his mouth wide open and his eyes squeezed shut. Such an infectious sound. The walls of his huge apartment tell stories of his love of art, cats, sensitivity, avant-garde style and his playful existence. He will laugh no more, but his legacy will live on.
     Now that he is gone, the question that sits like a huge elephant in the room is how do we make sure his memory lives on? I think a good place to start is with 10 life lessons derived from the teachings of Buddha. One a day for the next 10 days. Little by little working on being a better person for the good of self and for the greater good of all.
     Day 1: Its Okay to Start Small.
                 "A jug fills drop by drop." Start somewhere. Start anywhere. Just start. Make an attempt and keep working until you make progress. Little by little you will get there. The thing is making the first move. Then the second and the third. Life goes on and on and on. Before you know it, life has passed you by. Don't sit there and wait for life to come to you. You go after it. There may not be a tomorrow. Yes, I know. We have all heard that a million times before, but have we stopped to heed the warning? All too often, we have not. So, start now. Start today. Add your drop to your jug. If you have the time or the strength, add more. Do not wait for tomorrow. You may not be able to. Pick your thing to work on and get going. No one is ever promised tomorrow. The present is all you've got. Be brave. I'm here if you need help.
Namaste and hugs!
-Susan

Dreams

I cannot count the stars...

nor touch them...

but in the magic of the night

I feel their calm and glory...



The rhythm of the rolling waves...

winds that whistle... roar...

and whisper...

are part of one great harmony

that plays within my heart...



Swallows sweeping through the air...

fireflies twinkling in the twilight...

are all this soul of mine desires

to keep it dreaming...

dreams...
~ Gwen Frostic

That's what I hope the dreaming will become for me - magic, calm, glory, rhythm, rolling, whispers, great harmony, sweeping, twinkling, desires... dreaming... a heart that's not afraid to feel the emotions associated with living or to love without reservation or hesitation.

I wrote this almost one year ago, and in that year, my dreams have become realized. I spilled out my heart's desires and when I read the italicised words that I once divulged, it amazes me that everything that I had hoped for has come true.

Life is good and rich and fulfilling. I have learned to follow my heart and doing so has tempered my soul. I have found my stride and my rhythm and the best part of all is that I have stayed true to myself the entire time. I'm glad I never let go of my dreams.
<3
~Siouxsie

Sunglow

Bright against a dark sky      
             almost surreal
Sunglow is magical
          Immediately warming and
                      eyecatchingly attractive -
difficult to look away.
Sunglow is
absorbed and reflected
         all at once
making the autumn leaves
seem so alive when we know inside
            that they are anything but...
Sunglow makes you feel the
rust and amber and maple red
           it makes you feel the honey and
the oak brown and orange turning reds
      for as the sunglow casts its light
         perspective tends to shift.
Sunglow starts at dawn and ends at dusk
and everything inbetween
           it seeps and steeps into my soul
a golden glow within my heart.
       And when night casts out
          a dark blanket in the sky,
            It is sunglow sparkling down
                  as a million, twinkling stars-
Liquid light, flowing free
      the happy hum
           of feeling so alive.