The Magician's Sonnet

Happy New Year!

One of my favourite forms of poetry is the sonnet. For the past year I have been working on my “Tarot Project”, which is to write 78 sonnets. No small task. It can take quite awhile to write one, because I try to distil all that a card can bring, with it’s nuances, into the form of the English sonnet.

Since this is the first day of the New Year, I offer to you my “Magician’s Sonnet”. May the energy and power of this archetype be yours to bring forth many good things.

The Magician’s Sonnet

With lemniscate halo, poised to respond
One hand to heaven, the other points below
With tools spread out: cup and coin, sword and wand,
All is ready to create and bestow
Concentration and purpose flowing,
The magic time of transforming dreams is here
Drawing from spirit and imagination,
Life is breathed into wishes without fear

Wizard, Trickster, or Shaman, who is this Mage?
Beware the power of this energy,
Harsh judgement and fear shall not be waged
Past hurts and lies released for synergy
Bring forth the purpose and essence of being
For dreams made real are well worth seeing.

2.5 Miles...

Well, I finally did it. I bought myself a treadmill. A really nice one. And I love it!!! For the past few years I have been staying in shape by power walking, which, for me, means walking at a fast pace such that it is difficult to hold a conversation. It is just below breaking into a run. I went out in cool mornings of spring, only to have some birds dive-bomb near my head in an effort to protect their young. I have endured the blazing sun of summer and some days were so hot I simply could not go outside and exert that kind of physical effort without taunting a heat stroke. In the winter time, the fierce winds and bone-chilling temperatures made me want to stay indoors (which began to happen with greater frequency).

Now I can go on my power walk, no matter the weather! I can measure my distance and speed, adjust the incline, program my own workouts, or use any of the nine pre-programmed workouts. There is a hill course, interval training, and a whole bunch of others I can’t remember.

While I don’t get the pleasure of a change in scenery, I am able to use my treadmill time to do some thinking. This morning I thought of a design for a knitted blanket. I mapped out the size, the number of squares, and the motifs I would like to knit into the squares. I though of the bananas I have that are ready to be made into yummy banana nut bread. I also planned our dinner menu for the upcoming week.

So, today I walked 2.5 miles and I feel great. Now I can spend the rest of the day lounging in my La-Z-Lady chair, knit, and watch football. That is how I manage to make myself hop onto the treadmill each morning. I earn my knitting time only after I have had a power walk! Our bodies were meant to move and I hope I have inspired you to do whatever it is that you love for your body. The rewards are tremendous!

Little Fiddler

I came across this photo and fell in love with it. So simple, so delicate, so exquisite. It is perfect. Living in western Canada, along the foothills of the Rocky Mountains, the terrain ranges from two extremes: endless, open prairies to the east and massive, rock-faced mountains to the west. Both are a sharp contrast to the forests of Washington where I grew up. There was green, green, and more green, everywhere. Green of every shape, every shade, and every texture. It even smelled green. Heady, thick, rich, and…well… earthy. It is a smell I shall never forget. This little photo transported me back to that place and time in an instant. I am so grateful that my brain could transport me to this green place and time all these years later. What a beautiful gift.

Hope there is a little green in your life.

The Sea-Limits

The Sea-Limits

by Dante Gabriel Rosetti

Consider the sea's listless chime:

Time's self it is, made audible,--

The murmur of the earth's own shell.

Secret continuance sublime

Is the sea's end: our sight may pass

No furlong farther. Since time was,

This sound hath told the lapse of time.

No quiet, which is death's,--it hath

The mournfulness of ancient life,

Enduring always at dull strife.

As the world's heart of rest and wrath,

Its painful pulse is in the sands.

Last utterly, the whole sky stands,

Grey and not known, along its path.

Listen alone beside the sea,

Listen alone among the woods;

Those voices of twin solitudes

Shall have one sound alike to thee:

Hark where the murmurs of thronged men

Surge and sink back and surge again,--

Still the one voice of wave and tree.

Gather a shell from the strown beach

And listen at its lips: they sigh

The same desire and mystery,

The echo of the whole sea's speech

And all mankind is thus at heart

Not anything but what thou art:

And Earth, Sea, Man, are all in each.

The sheep who couldn't sleep...

Well, another sleepless night. I swear the Sandman has lost my address. I decided to finally write a story of sorts which has been brewing in my mind for quite a long time.

The Sheep Who Couldn't Sleep

Mama Sheep tucked the covers in just right,
And gave Little Sheep a sweet kiss good night.
Little Sheep squirmed to the left, and then to the right
The covers were tucked in just a little too tight.

He threw back the covers and sat up and bleated
He sighed quite loudly and seemed quite defeated.
“It’s time for bed but I’m not sleepy, not one little bit.
Something might happen, and I don’t want to miss it!”

Mama Sheep turned around, and came back to sit down
She reached out to smooth his curls, which were nappy and brown.
“Relax, Little Sheep, I’ll tell you a secret,
But only if you promise me you’ll be sure to keep it.”

Little Sheep nodded his head in agreement
He could keep a secret, of that he was confident.
“When sheep can’t sleep they count, you see
It has worked for your father, your grandmother, and me”.

“What do they count?” asked Little Sheep
She answered "The very same things as people who can’t sleep”.
“Sheep?!” he exclaimed, and he started to laugh
Then he imagined all his sheep friends, one by one, following a path.

Billy was first, very smart and funny
His disposition was friendly, smiley, and sunny

Tucker was next, he was real good at sports
He could play any game and could build the best forts

Tilly was third, she had her rulers and calculator
She was good at science and was a really good baker.

With a big yawn, Little Sheep leaned on the pillow and settled back in
He was getting sleepy and Mama Sheep began to grin.

He continued to count each sheep in the land;
His eyes grew heavy and he began to understand.
Counting sheep was lots of work for such a young lad
But the secret was working and for that he was glad.

Again, Mama Sheep tucked the covers in just right
Because Little Sheep was now sleeping with his eyes shut tight.

Curious night...

Some nights are endless. Some nights are filled with dreams. Last night was one such night. While lying awake, waiting desperately for sleep to come, lucid dreams would wrap around my conscious self, refusing to give my brain peace. When sleep did come, infrequent and briefly, my dreams were full and vivid.

These nights of endless dreams are like traversing some curious landscape painted by Salvador Dali. Dreams turn the impossible into the plausible. They make sense of what seems to be nonsensical, even if only for a moment. We mostly keep our dreams to ourselves as they carry meaning only for us. Some people give no thought to their dreams, but they are wonderful conduits for our irrational and baser side, the side that is censored so heavily when awake. Then, when the night has finally passed, in the light of day, our dreams can be examined like a found treasure.

For those who claim it was ‘only a dream’, they are missing out on an entire world that is theirs for the taking, if only they would ‘listen’. It is a dismissive statement and comes from those who are dreamless.

The words of a childhood song suggest ‘…a dream is a wish your heart makes, when you're fast asleep..’. Perhaps our dreaming selves deserve more credit for it is during dreams that we can process stuff that is built up in our waking moments. Researchers can tell us much about our brains and what happens when we sleep in great detail. Sleep is crucial for survival. I believe dreams are crucial for our soul, even when they are difficult and disturbing.

Each night, when the light is turned off, I look at the tiny glow-in-the-dark stars painted on my ceiling and breathe a wish for sweet dreams. Sometimes my wish comes true.

Through his pen...

"God writes the Gospel not in the Bible alone, but also on trees, and in the flowers and clouds and stars” ~Martin Luther

Such beautiful words from such a controversial figure. Martin Luther was a man who challenged the Catholic church and paved the way for the Protestant Reformation. Not only did his theology bring about monumental change, he also had some views which I find to be reprehensible.

In spite of the ugly words he has written, he was responsible for translating the Bible into German and this was ultimately influential in terms of the English translation into what is known as the King James version. Through his pen the word of God was made accessible to the common man.

Words can cut and words can heal. I prefer to think of Martin Luther in terms of the latter.