Alexandersmap

    Category: Poetry

    • Fresh Snow

      “Let us hope

      it will always be like this,
      each of us going on
      in our inexplicable ways
      building the universe.”

      – Mary Oliver, Song of the Builders

      After warm temperatures melted most of the snow left over from 2019 and the beginning of this month, we’re being dusted with fresh snow this morning. It’s a reset on winter after unseasonably warm weather, which seems appropriate for me as I do my own pivot in strategy after meetings in New Jersey. We’ve finally, blessedly, put 2019 behind us, and look ahead to what needs to happen now.

      People focus on New Year’s Day as a natural pivot point, but really it’s just a change to a new calendar. Pivoting is a mental game – you know when you’re ready to make changes. For me the pivot happens when I’ve digested all available information, processed strategy and set a course for myself. All of the peaks and valleys of last year fade into institutional memory, or maybe muscle memory, and the new climb begins in earnest.  The question recently has been what am I building?, and the last few days have clarified that for me.  I can look back on 2019 proud of what I accomplished, but frustrated with what I didn’t.  Or I can shove it aside and focus on what I’m doing today and what needs to happen next.  The choice seems obvious.

      This morning, now, it’s time to put aside the appreciation for the symbolic change the snow brings. It serves another purpose in reminding me of the urgency of the task at hand.  It’s time to stop reflecting and thinking and planning.  Time to pull on the boots and gloves and go clear the driveway.  My version of the cricket moving grains of sand and admittedly a small first step in the long journey ahead.  But you’ve got to start somewhere, and this is as good a place as any.  The snow isn’t going to move itself.

    • Attention to Detail

      The funny thing about the first few days of a New Year is that I catch myself looking forward quite often.  There’s nothing wrong with looking forward, just as there’s nothing wrong with looking back towards where you’ve been, as long as you’re grounded in the present.  One of the things I love about Mary Oliver poems is her focus on the things in daily life that you might miss if you’re not paying attention.  Shell fragments on the beach become a story in a poem that makes me think of a walk on the beach in a different way.  The poet, teaching us how to see:

      “I go down to the edge of the sea.
      How everything shines in the morning light!
      The cusp of the whelk,
      the broken cupboard of the clam,
      the opened, blue mussels,
      moon snails, pale pink and barnacle scarred—
      and nothing at all whole or shut, but tattered, split,
      dropped by the gulls onto the gray rocks and all the
       moisture gone.
      It’s like a schoolhouse
      of little words,
      thousands of words.
      First you figure out what each one means by itself,
      the jingle, the periwinkle, the scallop
      full of moonlight.

      Then you begin, slowly, to read the whole story.”
      – Mary Oliver, Breakage

      The other day while leaving Cape Cod I was so caught up in getting things packed up to get to work that I missed an opportunity to go to the dump.  Now don’t get me wrong, going to the dump in and of itself is not my favorite activity.  But going to the dump with my favorite Navy pilot, well, that’s a different story.  But I was so focused on checking boxes and getting tasks done that I let him go off to bring the trash to the transfer station on his own, missing the chance to spend 30 minutes talking about nothing and everything.  Moments like that are available if you pay attention, and slip away when you don’t.  I’ll regret the lost opportunity, and have already forgotten what was so important for me to get done that I passed it up.

      We’re all a work in progress, sometimes things just fall into place and we’re focused on the things that matter most, and sometimes we’re looking the wrong way when the magic moment happens.  All we can do is keep chipping away at it, one small bit at a time.  I know I’m a much better human than I was ten years ago, and better still than I was twenty years ago.  Incremental progress isn’t as stunning as immediate transformation, but the Ebenezer Scrooge kind of overnight transformation isn’t the way most change happens.

      “Every action you take is a vote for the type of person you wish to become.” – James Clear

      So I keep taking action, one step forward and sometimes two steps back.  But in general I see incremental improvement.  Learn from the mistakes, change our action next time if lucky enough to be offered a similar opportunity in the future.  Do those things now that matter most.  That starts with getting out of your own head and paying attention.  Begin, slowly, to read the whole story.

    • Cat

      I live with a cat

      Not very much like the other cat

      But rather

      Like a dog, in her way of

      playing fetch

      with elastic hair ties she retrieves

      She’s not very much

      a cat in that way

    • Every Morning, So Far, I’m Alive

      “Every morning I walk like this around
      the pond, thinking: if the doors of my heart
      ever close, I am as good as dead

      Every morning, so far, I’m alive.  And now
      the crows break off from the rest of the darkness
      and burst up into the sky – as though

      all night they had thought of what they would like
      their lives to be, and imagined
      their strong, thick wings.”
       – Mary Oliver, Landscape

      I’m doing Mary Oliver an injustice not putting the entire poem here, for the full meaning of a poem comes from reading the entirety, but then again I’m pointing emphatically towards all of her work, imploring you to read more.  When I first read this poem, Landscape, it was a gut punch for me.  I’ve returned to it a few times and these lines still grab me, for they perfectly capture the frame of mind I’m in in my own life.  It’s not lost on me that Mary Oliver passed away in 2019, and somewhere along the way that may have been how I found and keep returning to her work.

      2019 has been a profound year of growth and change for me, from stoicism to spirituality to poetry, immersive trips to some places close to home and some bucket list travel to places further away.  There’s friction in me that the writing has revealed, whether that’s mid-life nonsense or creeping unfinished business that gnaws at me, disrupting my day-to-day thoughts.  I’ve become a better person this year, but know there’s a long way to go still.  For as much as there is to be grateful for, Memento mori whispers in the wind, and I can hear it more than ever.  Remember, we all must die…  but every morning, so far, I’m alive.  What shall you do with this gift?  More, I say to myself, and this De Mello challenge comes to mind:

      “People don’t live, most of you, you don’t live, you’re just keeping the body alive.  That’s not life.” – Anthony De Mello

      This isn’t a call to leave all that you’ve built, but instead to be fully alive and aware of the world around you.  Break off from the rest of the darkness and be fully alive.  Thoreau didn’t leave Concord, he immersed himself in the world at Walden Pond but still maintained contact with the people in his life.  But his awareness grew in the stillness.

      “Be it life or death, we crave only reality.  If we are really dying, let us hear the rattle in our throats and feel cold in the extremities; if we are alive, let us go about our business…  Time is but the stream I go a-fishing in.  I drink at it; but while I drink I see the sandy bottom and detect how shallow it is.  Its thin current slides away, but eternity remains.” – Henry David Thoreau, Walden

      So I’m doing better at this awareness thing, and this making the most of the time you have thing, and I keep flapping the wings and fly when I can.  Life isn’t just stacking one adventure upon another one, real living is immersion and awareness.  Mary Oliver joined De Mello and Thoreau on the other side of life this year, this very year that I’ve made a few leaps forward in being more alive.  Maybe adding her voice to the chorus of whispers from those who have left us was the tipping point, or maybe I was already there.  But I’m grateful for her contribution nonetheless.

    • Sunrise in Bitter Cold

      It’s no secret in my world that I’m a sunrise junky.  There’s nothing wrong with sunsets, and I love a good one as much as anyone, but there’s something to be said for earning the show the way getting up early for a sunrise does.  There’s also the mindset of the beginning, rather than the ending to the day that I appreciate.  I like beginnings it seems.

      This morning the sunrise rose over the hills, split into fragmented rays by the trees in the woods, and finally reached my face as I did some outdoor chores before work.  It’s been bitter cold the last few days, but the sun would have none of my complaints.  Blame your Mother for turning a cold shoulder on me, the sun seems to say.  And I nod, silently thankful for the warmth that does reach me.  And I thought of a beautiful turn of words from this Mary Oliver poem that I’d read recently, appropriately named Sunrise, “it is another one of the ways to enter fire”:

      “… I thought
      how the sun

      blazes
      for everyone just
      so joyfully
      as it rises

      under the lashes
      of my own eyes, and I thought
      I am so many!
      What is my name?

      What is the name
      of the deep breath I would take
      over and over
      for all of us?  Call it

      whatever you want, it is
      happiness, it is another one
      of the ways to enter
      fire.”
      Mary Oliver, Sunrise

    • All The Mind’s Ghosts

      “The intelligent and the brave
      Open every closet in the future and evict
      All the mind’s ghosts who have the bad habit
      Of barfing everywhere.”
      – Hafiz, The Warrior

      “You’ll see the miracles that happen to you when your senses come unclogged.” – Anthony De Mello, Awareness

      A month ago I had one of those head colds that just gums up the works, making it hard to focus on anything.  I caught it in London, carried it in Scotland and then back to New Hampshire with me.  You carry on in circumstances like that, but you know you’re not playing your A game.  Perceptions, mistakes, past glories, biases and self-limiting beliefs are like that head cold; holding you back and keeping you from doing things for too long or forever.

      I’ll confess I’d never heard of Anthony De Mello until this book was mentioned on a podcast, but it’s one of the most profound books I read this year, and I keep pulling quotes out of it.  They say when the student is ready the teacher will appear, and this year I’ve been heavily invested in my education.  And I think it comes back to the writing.  You commit to writing daily, and sometimes you’re writing about some woman in a kimono or a battle that took place where you stood that day, but other times you mine the mind, clearing away years of crap and dig deep for the good stuff.  Maybe it comes across in the writing, or maybe I’m not there yet, but I feel the improvement and the refinement that comes with daily discipline.

      The rest of that Hafiz poem is worth reading, and I thought of posting the entire thing, but instead added a link to it.  Hafiz put a spotlight on my own ghosts, barfing away in the mind, needing to be evicted.  We all need to clean out the past, stop planning for a future we may not see and live in the now.  Easier said than done of course.  And it doesn’t mean to ignore the past and not learn from it.  Nor does it mean to ignore the future.  To live in the moment is to eliminate the concerns of the past and the worries of the future.  We’re all going to the grave one day, but if we’re lucky maybe not today.  So given the blessing of being alive in this moment, why not make the most of it?

    • Chess Boards and Calendars

      The chess board and the calendar are one and the same.  

      For each demands strategy and each is a game,

      of reaction and discipline and boldness in kind.

      I marvel at masters, 

      while struggling to keep more than two moves in mind

      I marvel at poets as well, for my words betray me as a clydesdale and my words as poetry on the fly.  So be it – not every dance is a tango.  Back to the topic at hand, the similarities between the chess board and the calendar.  I win my share of chess matches, but I find my vision of the board betrays me at times.  I focus so much on my own moves that I don’t always see the threat lurking on the other side.  But I know sometimes I can overcome a threat, while strategically making a noble sacrifice, with action towards my objective.  Chess and the calendar do demand reaction and discipline and boldness, and I try to play both with equal grace, but still struggle with each.  We never master the game of chess, just as we never master the calendar.

      I look at the moves I’ve made with time over the last twelve months, and know that I’ve made some moves I regret, but also many that I’m quite pleased with.  2019 is a year of brilliant highlights mixed with some real duds, which makes it like just about every year I’ve been on the planet.  We build the calendar and hope for the best.  I can stand back and see myself in the beginning of a pivot, but the direction I’m pivoting isn’t entirely clear yet.  So I press on, filling the calendar with necessary meetings and positive habits that offer incremental growth.  A few have paid off, a few have been complete failures, and a few are just in the embryonic stage and need a bit of nurturing to grow.  Such is life; we never look like what we once were when we grow.

      Playing chess last night against the computer instead of a human, I felt bored and was going through the motions.  Passing the time.  That’s a great time to walk away from something when that something doesn’t move you towards a place you need to be, and I finished the game and turned off the computer.  Life is too short to play boring games, and chess had lost its luster for me for the moment.  In some ways the calendar has too, and it’s a wake-up call to see where the calendar is taking me and start filling it with more things that get me where I’m going.  Wherever that may be. Boldness has genius, power, and magic in it, as the saying goes.  As in chess, stop being distracted by reactionary moves and be more bold.  Better still, weave a little more magic into the calendar.  Ready?

       

    • Monday, Take Two

      The thing about Mondays is they mean different things to you based on your expectations for the week. Are you attacking an exciting project or slogging through a job you don’t like? Are you eagerly anticipating that could seal your rise in your career or dreading the thought of work that doesn’t inspire you? Are you sipping coffee in a tropical cafe or in a line of cars at a coffee chain drive-thru waiting to get some coffee and get on with the commute already? Reaction to Monday’s are thus highly subjective. But it’s all a time construct and life choices anyway, at least in America.
      Back to Hafiz, who couldn’t have imagined lines in drive-thru coffee places or tapping away on a computer to complete a blog post before you get on with your newborn work week. But he knew about human nature and living in this world. Of getting in your own way. He knew we are here to dance while the music plays. Here, using poetic magic, he reminds me to stop thinking small (with a nod to Tim Ferriss for highlighting this poem):


      “You are the Sun in drag.
      You are God hiding from yourself.
      Remove all the “mine”—that is the veil.
      Why ever worry about
      Anything?
      Listen to what your friend Hafiz
      Knows for certain:
      The appearance of this world
      Is a Magi’s brilliant trick, though its affairs are
      Nothing into nothing.
      You are a divine elephant with amnesia
      Trying to live in an ant
      Hole.
      Sweetheart, O sweetheart
      You are God in
      Drag!”

      The poem is called The Sun In Drag… and it had me thinking about ant holes and elephants this weekend. So who cares if it’s a Monday? Get out of the ant hole already! Do you hear the music playing? Dance!

    • The Encouragement of Light

      I’ve come late to Hafiz, and that both saddens and delights me. Three writers I’m following separately pointed me towards his poetry, and I finally woke up and paid attention. Where was that attention all those years when Hafiz was right there all the time? But that’s the way life is in all things. Writing came to me late too, even though I knew it was there waiting. So instead of sadness I delight in the discovery:

      “How

      Did the rose

      Ever open its heart

      And give to this world

      All its

      Beauty?

      It felt the encouragement of light

      Against its

      Being,

      Otherwise,

      We all remain

      Too

      Frightened.”

      – Hafiz, It Felt Love

    • The Stages of the Moon

      I spent time in the passenger seat of the car last night contemplating the waxing crescent moon.  The stages of the moon are something I contemplate more than I should, but it’s a good exercise in awareness of the world around you, and a connection to people around the world now and people for as long as there’s been people.  Everyone who can or could look up at the sky and recognize the moon for what it is has experienced the same pattern recognition.  You may not know the names, but you know the shapes and thus the stages of the moon.

      A new moon is a blank slate.  The moon is completely obscured, though you might make it out in the sky.  Most people don’t think about a new moon because they aren’t seeing it in the sky.  But the moon doesn’t go on vacation to Mars for a stage, it’s still there with the shades pulled down.

      The next stage is the waxing crescent, when you get that fingernail sliver of moon shining.  But how do you know a waxing from a waning?  By which side the sliver is on.  That shade pulls from right to left, so when you see part of the moon illuminated on the right side that’s a waxing moon, and when it’s illuminated on the left side that’s a waning moon.  When I was younger I had it backwards because I thought of the shade pulling left to right, the way we read English.  Nope, it’s right to left, like reading Hebrew or Arabic.

      “Slipping softly through the sky
      Little horned, happy moon,
      Can you hear me up so high?
      Will you come down soon?” – Amy Lowell, The Crescent Moon

      After the waxing crescent the shade pulls further to the left illuminating more of the moon.  When it looks like an American football or bigger it’s called a gibbous moon.  And again, when the moon is illuminated on the right side it’s a waxing moon, so now we have the waxing gibbous moon.  Welcome to the party!  The waxing gibbous and it’s cousin the waning gibbous are the wallflowers of the sky party.  Everyone carries on about the full moon because it’s so full of itself, and the crescent moon twins are a bit flirty, liking the attention that comes with being so seductive.  Not so the gibbous cousins.  They don’t dance as well, step on a few toes along the way and that makes them a bit shy. But let’s have some love for these gibbous!  What would our sky be without them?

      We’ve finally arrived at the full moon, and it’s so full of itself that it starts having nicknames.  You can’t just call it the full moon, this character wants you to call it the Harvest Moon or the Milk Moon or the Beaver Moon.  Okay, we’ll humor you full moon, on your next debut we’ll call you the Cold Moon.  You good with that? Full Moon Fever is a real thing, everyone goes a bit crazy when this character comes around. Tides get bigger and minds get zanier; thanks full moon.

      Now the shade starts closing, again right to left, so where we had illumination before we start seeing shade.  Does the full moon notice the Earth casting shade at it?  Does it care?  At first it’s a small sliver of shade and you barely notice the change, but give it a day or two and and our wall flower has stolen the show from old Beaver Moon and we have that familiar football shape illuminated on the left side of the moon; yup, our old friend waning gibbous has come to town, doing it’s clydesdale dance across the sky.  I can relate to you waning gibbous, it’s not easy having two left feet, but keep dancing anyway, just mind the toes.

      Finally we reach the last call of the stages of the moon and the light is just a sliver on the left side of the moon.  It’s that flirty younger twin the waning crescent, here to dazzle you with her dance moves and seductive lighting.  The crescent twins are fuel for the poets and dreamers.  Who doesn’t love to see that sliver of moon rising out of the east, dressed in a bit of pink and yellow before slipping into something white?  The waning crescent offers a lovely frame for the celestial dance beyond, a star in its own right even if only a moon.  Don’t tell her that, this is her time!

      But waning infers things are wrapping up soon, and so it is with the moon. But one last hurrah for our friend.  The next stage is the old moon, where just a tiny sliver of light appears on left edge of the moon.  We’re all moving towards that stage, and it’s one more reminder to make the most of the day at hand.  Dance with the sky, make the most of your arc across the heavens, and try not to step on any toes out there.