Find Your Tribe
If at the end of the day
If there was a magical way,
That clouds could suck up the fear,
All pain, bloodshed, the tears,
Angry words people say
And carry it on red wings of wind
Beyond the abyss of time
Never to return again
We would celebrate cloudy days.
Photo:Evening Sky~©️Val Letkeman
Happiness is a butterfly, which when pursued, is always just beyond your grasp, but which, if you will sit down quietly, may alight upon you.
I was working in my garden today (actually I was playing) when I noticed this butterfly alight on a leaf near me. It looked so pretty, sunlight bouncing off its wings that I stooped in for a closer look and a picture to show others. Truthfully it made me feel happy. How could that be? It wasn’t doing anything special. But it’s very existence was special to me. Butterflies speak of peace and good will. They speak of change, rebirth and happy endings. I had one of those mindful moments. Questions fluttered through my mind.
What has this little butterfly seen of the world in its journeys? Does it think about how important it is to the flowers as it flutters along , pollinating the natural kingdom? I picture it singing a happy tune, and even though it’s life is short I doubt I’d hear a mumbling word of complaint. What would that song sound like? Does it know it’s creator? Could it lead me there? Or do butterflies just soar? Some questions don’t get answered do they? I weave these thoughts, coccooned around my heart as the butterfly flies away.
The day has been long. Night has drawn its shuttered eyes, and I will do likewise. But before I go I leave you with this little Cinquain to ponder❤️ Vcl©️
Tissue white, graceful
Chasing the wind, laughing
Happy little thing
Ya’ll remember the lines spoken by the minister at a wedding ceremony that go like this. “If there is anyone here today, who knows of any reason why this couple should not be joined together in Holy Matrimony, speak now or forever hold your peace.”?
45 Years later I now daydream through that scenario…picturing someone, a sister, mother or even one of the church potluck team ladies jumping up and waving from the back of the church, “Raisins, he hates raisins, your marriage is doomed!” Then they exit with maniacal laughter. (It’s my daydream 😀)
We thought we had covered all the important stuff, like children, money, pets and who’s family to visit on each holiday, but like so many couples we felt completely blindsided by seemingly trivial preferences that can change the relationship landscape forever.🤭
Like raisins. “I thought raisin pie was your favourite?” piped up my husband’s mother after he refused a slice at a Sunday meal visit soon after our marriage. “No,”said Ken emphatically. I dislike cooked raisins actually. I prefer pumpkin. I hate how cooked raisins squish in my mouth. Like polyps I imagine.”
I wondered how many raisin pies he had choked down through the years and now, as a grown man at last he was taking a stand. No more cooked raisins for him! Free at Last!
Well it actually turns out that there have been very few cooked raisins for anyone in our family. You can pretty well say it has been a raisin free environment. Thank God(truly) for cranberries. Life has been tolerable. I must admit though it has made me a bit of a raisin warrior. Today, while travelling, we stopped at Tim’s for a coffee and donuts treat. There in the case before me I spied the most amazing oatmeal cookies with raisin deliciousness.
I ordered one and my husband ordered a luscious peanut butter. The clerk accidentally placed two raisin cookies in the bag. My heart stopped…for just the soupçon of a second…waving frantically I alerted her to her error. “Sorry, she said. “Now you have 2 raisin cookies because once out of the case I can’t put it back. Do you want both? I indicated that while I was excited about the prospect of TWO raisin cookies….but my husband was not. She added the peanut butter one. Phew, crisis averted! My husbands eye rolls were hard to miss. He whispered that I could enjoy twice the punishment.
So today I am mindful that We need not think alike to love alike.” ~Ferenc David
In fact for me in that moment, while I recognized my raisin cookie need, and fulfilled it, I was entirely conscious that my husband wouldn’t feel the same bliss. And then I realized I cared. Somewhere, all wrapped up in our childhood memory of the seemingly miles and miles of raisins, we had reached two different conclusions. And that is ok. Because we love each other in spite of our differences.
Me: I hate guacamole. Ken: What?How can you hate guacamole? 🙄
I read that the sunflower’s name comes from its tendency to reposition itself to face the sun. It’s genus, Helianthus, is rooted in two Greek words — “helios” meaning sun and “anthos” meaning flower.
The ancient Greek myth of Apollo and Clytie is one explanation of why sunflowers turn towards the sun. In this story Clytie, a nymph, adored Apollo. At first, he loved her back, but soon he fell in love with Leucothoe. Because of her jealousy, Clytie told Leucothoe’s father of the relationship and he punished her by burying her alive.
In anger, Apollo turned her into a flower, but even in flower form she still loved him and would spend her days watching him as he moved the sun across the sky in his chariot, just like sunflowers move to face the sun. 🌻
In 2013 my husband and I visited the Rikkmuseum in Amsterdam. We were excited to view amazing art and I particularly liked Van Gogh’s Sunflowers.
I share his enthusiasm evidently…..❤️ I wonder if he would prefer regular seasoning or all dressed?
“The sunflower is mine, in a way.”
― Vincent van Gogh
The Earth weeps
And the sound of her sobs
Has fallen upon deaf ears
Or met with a look of scorn
How dare she wallow
In loud suffering
Is she not bedrock
to our future generations?
Is she not blessed
We have come and gone
Are not our footprints eternal?
Do we brazenly shout
Into the abyss
Scream at the unknown
Rip out tree and root
Poison our affections
Abuse our children
Or despite our insistence
That we slough off
Old wives tales
Are our ears perked
Listening for the voice
Of absolution ?
for it may only come
I make things complicated for myself and chaotic, so I feel unsettled, and then the challenge is to make something structured and complete emerge from that.
I am packing for a trip. A short jaunt. But packing unsettles me. Do I really need 3 pairs of shoes? What if it rains? Where are my sunglasses?….and the beat goes on, la dee dah. Experience has shown that I overpack. If I’m not careful I will let my joy get stolen. And the ransom may be more than I want to pay.
So I’ve taken a breather. My packing will be complete. It always does. I am writing a poem to celebrate my freedom from packing blues, spilling chaotic thoughts, into a summer night wind that’s reflecting summer’s heat. ❤️
As the wind
my mind is wafting
in and out
of conscious thought
whirling in a sea
Stirring up what
they aught not
old barriers worn
o’r what really matters
Unsettled as the wind. vcl©️