Archives for posts with tag: future

October 19, 2011

The moon teaches Time
to change, become more or less
– pause – then start again.

The moon, a cosmic image of earthly cycles of death and rebirth, can teach us too if we are attentive.  The moon sharpens its roundness into a scythe, shears itself down to nothingness, reaping what it sows, and then, just as matter-of-factly, forms itself again.

This haiku speaks to its three counterparts in the ring composition:

Month-ring: This haiku speaks across the month to the haiku for October 4 (“Moonlight Blue”) which describes the experience of the moon unexpectedly waking me up to the beauty that I miss when I am inattentive.  The moon teaches me to become more, to become less, to reflect on my fullness, to pause and reflect on my nothingness, to start again.

 Classic parabolic or pedimental year-ring: This haiku speaks across the parabola of the year to its parallel haiku on March 13 (“Saving Time”) which talks about human attempts to improve time by changing the clock, but that is not the way.  Taking a clock by the hands to lead it here or there is only befriending the clock’s control, and one begins to wonder who is leading who.  Improving time is a hands-off task.  If you let it go, it will go away.

 Year-ring:  This haiku speaks across the year-ring to the haiku on April 19 (“Now”) which claims that this present moment, rain or shine, is the only suitable mentor.  The past has left its lecture notes behind but we may only read them now; and the future waits silent in the wings.

May 9, 2011

As I walk this path,
what once is becomes concealed:
a revelation.

I have two old bricks on my bookshelves:

One – a yellow brick – comes from a farm located in southern Sweden in the province of Skåne.  The farm is Näsbygård, part of the Näsbyholm Estate in Gärdslöv parish known for its disappearing and reappearing lake, its progressive farming techniques in the early 1900s, and its connection to the Danish writer Karin Blixen.  When I traced my family heritage back in Sweden to the early 1600′s, I visited Gärdslöv parish to see the ancestral home of my grandmother (farmor) Anna Fredrika Fyhr.  Anna worked on this farm and lived in the gulbygning “yellow building” named after the color of its bricks.  When I arrived at the farm, Anna’s childhood home had recently been razed and all that remained was a large pile of bricks.  It was from this home that my grandfather Nils courted Anna and from where she emigrated to America 100 years ago (April 18) three days after the Titanic sunk.  I was given permisison to take home one of the bricks from the pile and now it rests on my bookshelf, a symbol of my heritage.

The second brick – a dark brown brick – is from one of the most historic buildings in Illinois, a part of Old Main at Knox College, a brick that saw Lincoln debate Douglas, a brick that heard for over a hundred and fifty years the bell in its belfry - inscribed with the words “Not just to live / but to live well” - calling classes to session.  It was in this brown-bricked building that I discussed Chaucer and Shakespeare and Dickinson and Whitman, and just outside this building that I graduated on a sunny June afternoon.  My wife bought me this brick one Christmas the year Old Main was being restored.  It rests now on my bookshelf symbolizing my continued lifelong love of learning.

Seeing these bricks, one might not be too impressed; after all, they are just two old bricks.  One, however, stands for my past; the other for my future.  They are the bookends of my life.

Follow

Get every new post delivered to your Inbox.

Join 84 other followers