the bell

my buddy barry will finish his chemo today.

at two o'clock e.s.t!

words cannot describe the moment of joy that hovers over this magic moment.

as he leaves princess margaret hospital in toronto,

barry gets to ring a bell

signalling to every single person within earshot

that he has finished his chemo.

many years ago my best buddy peter, a man who smoked like a damp campfire all his life, found himself dealing with lung and brain cancer. he really didn't let it cramp his style at all though as he travelled to and from toronto for all sorts of radiation and chemicals and counselling and support, and then he ended up with a metal frame attached to his head which made him look like a nutbar. all the while he showed up at the local hockey games with me and we laughed at the pics of him, and then we laughed even harder at his truly horrible baldness! like me, peter couldn't really carry it off because of his skinny head and noble proboscis.

later, when the cancer really nailed him, i remember one moment in palliative care

when i held his hand and then took the plunge and hugged him.

i love hugs. but peter was not a person who hugged.

but we hugged and held each other close - because it was so damn unfair.

the whole thing sucked.

i didn't know that it was a taste

of a challenge that would be even more difficult.

two years ago, i watched one of my students - diagnosed with brain cancer - wade through the endless trips to toronto: appointments for this, that, and the other thing.

i celebrated her tortuous walks into the class when she somehow found both the strength and the will to come in. her hair was gone, her face puffy, her body exhausted, and yet still she sat at her desk and tried to go after the work we were doing. her voice slurred, her balance shot, constant headaches from the shunts draining the fluid from the area around the tumor and then the brain surgery itself. this girl would go in for brain surgery and a week or so later arrive at my room ready to go. well, not ready at all, but wishing she was.

can you imagine?

she'd sit there with blurred vision, her scalp freshly scarred and every time i saw her i thought - this is all she can stand - this is my last time seeing her. i once thought in my mind "please take her back" and the thought left my head almost as quickly as it entered because i wanted her to win this battle as badly as she wanted to win it. i just couldn't stand to see the suffering.

but!

i want you to know that she was given days at one point - less than a handful of days - and her mother came in to tell me and we cried together because her daughter had a christmas gift for me from sick kids hospital and she wanted me to have it for my christmas tree. this kid - dying and days from flying away at the age of eleven wanted me to have a christmas ornament! what can you take from that?! what can you learn about the strength of this child?! what can you learn about valuing every single moment and living your life as it was meant to be lived?

i want you to know that she won.

i want you to know that she is alive. that she is a feisty, gutsy young woman. i want you to know that she beats up her sister, that she hates school, that she argues with her mother and most especially that she managed to ride a bike - a dream of hers and that she is concerned with her appearance like any kid her age ought to be.

i want you to know that through the course of this experience, my class raised thousands of dollars through whatever means we could, including me shaving my head - which cost the kids more than they'll ever know - as each are scarred with the vision of their skinny fifty plus year-old man teacher - completely and thoroughly bald! (unlike barry, i'm not naturally handsome and i can't carry off the bald look that easily!) i want you to know that this year my class will follow the same process of raising money to help make life better for people fighting cancer including shaving my skinny head.

but let's move to this present moment.

i'm writing this today,

knowing that around two o'clock e.s.t,

barry is going to either smash the snot out of that bell,

or perhaps gently tap it -

or even something in-between.

i know a little of your joy barry and as you read this

i am celebrating your fortune

as you experience it in its fullness.

by the way -

what's extremely cool is that there are hundred's of other people out there ringing a bell for barry and if you would like to read their take on this magic moment then you should nip over here!

fenceline

on my walk home

in the early evening

i pass this old fenceline

weather worn and silvered wood

held together

by rusted wires

at its feet

sit streamworn boulders -

a glacier's gift.

an entanglement

of leafless maples

reach into

the slow-forming cloud

that is

the sun's last rays.

sometimes

as i pass this fenceline,

i am drawn into the eyes of a man

who once stood with his hands on these posts

looking south and then westward

across his fields.

he and i share

a similar wistfullness

at the sun's setting

as light and colour fade

before the night's

soft and dark silence.

in my sky at twilight you are like a cloud

and your form and colour are the way i love them

you are taken in the net of my music, my love,

and my nets of music are wide as the sky.

my soul is born on the shore of your eyes of mourning.

in your eyes of mourning the land of dreams begin.

(italicized text) pablo neruda excerpted from in my sky at twilight

a familiar language

i hold willow in high regard.

so when she recently created a blog

that would allow for people

to "write"

you know . . .

like "writers" . . .

then i didn't think twice

and took her up on her generous offer.

i haven't deliberately "written"

for a very long time.

thankyou willow!

my eyes follow

their deliberate arcs

and sinuous arabesques -

an echo of a lexicon known to all

who have walked their fingers

along the length

and breadth

of a woman’s body.

i laugh at myself

village girl sir george clausen

sometimes i catch myself

wondering

what you wonder about me.

wouldn't that be something -

to fully know another person!

i can only imagine

that it would be like

arriving

at the end of time.

the journey done.

the jigsaw completed.

"oh it looks just like the picture on the cover of the box".

and then what?

break the puzzle

into all its little pieces.

put it back into its box.

put it back on the shelf.

let it collect dust.

let it sink into the well of memory.

until partially or wholly forgotten

and then perhaps on a whim

reassembled.

~

i enjoy the mystery

the not-knowing.

~

i laugh at myself, old man, with no strength left

inclined to piney peaks, in love with lonely paths

oh well, i've wandered down the years to now

free in the flow, and floated home the same

a drifting boat.

shih-te

trans. james sanford &.j. p. seaton

like a river through trees

sometimes

i get glimpses

of the flow of my life

like a river through trees

fragments

small ripples

all the shades of blue

my mind tries to assemble

the pieces

into something

resembling a whole

but moving

down the road of a day

i leave the vision

fragmented behind me

my blogspot

a while back, dan upped a post in which he shared his blogspot -

the space he sits and writes in.

he asked people to share something of their own favourite space

for writing blogs in.

so dan (and fascinated onlookers), here's mine!

i work on a macbook in a wireless house

so i can work anywhere.

but there are two places i really like to write in and i'll share those here.

one is in our kitchen.

the windows there look west and allow the afternoon and evening light in.

right behind me is my favourite piece of art in our home.

it's a print by a local artist named martina field.

right next to the print is my favourite object in the house.

a box made by an artist from oakville, ontario

named norman chandler.

the other space i like to work in

is our living room.

the windows here face east

and allow the morning light in.

i love that great big soft chair.

it is stuffed with the chin hairs of over three hundred thousand

bearded salamanders.

the hairs fall off their chins naturally once every five years.

it is a labour of love to collect them and then carefully stuff them

into the chair.

the outer covering is made from the white rind

of seven thousand seven hundred and seventy seven oranges.

they are pealed by trained tamarind monkeys

and are then hand cured and stitched together with specially treated banana strings.

on especially humid days it's like settling into an over-ripe fruit salad.

only not quite as damp and sticky.

there are lovely objects here as well.

two of my favourites include this glass container filled

with one small part of my daughter's beautiful rock collection

and this blue glass goblet.

i see that right next to it are the remains of a robin's egg

and a polished ammonite.

oh and i should mention that right across from me

is where my dawsonboy likes to shred his licks

(which can get pretty intense at times)!

there's a peek at my blog space.

i hope you enjoyed your visit!

the winter bench

i wanted to be an artist

but i heard

that it wasn't

a "practical" existence.

i heard that

i could paint and write

and create music

"in my spare time".

i heard that

i shouldn't confuse

a hobby

with making a living.

i did manage to

work and paint

for a while,

but eventually

the demands

of my many commitments

became more vertical

than horizontal.

some were more

necessary than others.

i wonder

how many of you

experienced

similar

directions

from well-meaning

and influential friends

and relatives?!

i wonder how many of you

harbour the same wish?

~

the wish is still lit

inside me.

i feed the wish

with other artist's work,

with music that paints the air,

and of course

with the inexpressible benevolence

of the world around me.

like this winter bench,

the wish waits

for the time

when its purpose

and the features of its world

merge into one

and the sameness.

the door latch

in the middle of winter

in the eastern woodlands

a leaf

earthbound

and

skyward

an opening

to both worlds

the door latch

rusting scarlet...

winter rain

issa

in the air

in the air

in the morning

"your prayers are your light;

your devotion is your strength;

sleep is the enemy of both.

your life is the only opportunity that life can give you.

if you ignore it, if you waste it,

you will only turn to dust."

rabia al basri

in the air

in the evening

living with fullness

in-between.

every way

the subtlest film -

it moves

like gauze

in an open window.

moves across the light

in filament threads

woven into shade

threads and feathered wings

- soul wings

bound to the body -

painted

soft and grey

across the snow sky canvas.

oh stormy winds, bring up the clouds

and paint the heavens grey;

lest these fair maids of form divine

should angel wings display,

and fly far far away.

henjo

walking home in the evening

through the wintertime

when i'm not riding my bike

i walk home.

eight kilometres -

it takes about an hour and a quarter.

sometimes it's really windy and cold.

sometimes it's snowy or freezing rain.

so even though i love the chance

to walk and clear my mind

i really love getting home.

(as you know)

if i see the sun setting

especially nicely

i move a little quicker

to get to the edge of the farmer's fields

and this is what i get to see.

and these trees

holding hands like lovers

walking through the sunset fields

and most especially this

tree's gleeful branch and twig dance

to the tangerine music

of the last

shimmer of daylight

shadows

snow up on the roof over the front porch

sometimes

i get a view

of steven.

and i get to watch him

as he lives his life.

he knows i am watching

without judgement

but then too -

being keenly aware

of the features of automatism

he has embraced

and also of those

features of his personality with which

he engages with

and deflects the needs of the world -

i wonder

what he would be like

if he gave up all pretense,

let go of the stolen thoughts

and ideas

that are sometimes his currency,

and saw them as

unnecessary

shadows.

mediating the dance

between

light and dark.

~

that shadow, my likeness, that goes to and fro, seeking a livelihood, chattering,

chaffering;

how often i find myself standing and looking at it where it flits;

how often i question and doubt whether that is really me;

—but in these, and among my lovers, and caroling my songs,

o i never doubt whether that is really me.

walt whitman

the snow at the back of my home

the improbable gold

wild grasses

on a mid-winter's day.

the wind blowing hard

and unrepentantly cold.

seed-heads

the improbable gold

of doll's hair.

ablur in the

late afternoon sun.

i walked by them

at first.

then an insistant voice

in my head

asked me

to turn back.

i listened.

and saw them.

again

for the first time.

plumes of pampas grass -

the helpless tremblings

of a lonely heart

issa

the lovely signs

i entered the winter woods

through this soft green doorway

the air a blend

of woodsmoke

evergreens

and snow.

seeing this tree

i followed

the opening -

not entirely sure why -

but i trust

simple signs:

the lovely signs

of a thirsty

visitor

so many turnings

the arc of a life

so many twistings

and turnings.

there aren't enough

points on my life's compass.

places i've been

and backed out of.

places i'm going

with no idea

what's at the other end -

or even if there is an end.

so i dive inside

this present moment -

feel its sinuous form,

listen to its sonorous song,

dance its dervish whorl -

know it

for its knowing of me.

(hard is the journey,

hard is the journey,

so many turnings,

and now where am i?)

so when a breeze breaks waves,

bringing fair weather,

i set a cloud for sails,

cross the blue oceans!

excerpted from "hard is the journey" li po

sussex and major

on a recent trip to toronto

i was able to visit a home

that i spent the daytime portion

of a summer

helping to renovate.

it was 1974.

inside the home

lived a couple

who became iconic

in my own mythology

as paragons of the sort

of people

and the quality of relationship

i hoped one day

to experience myself.

this visit

marked twenty years

or more

since i had last seen them.

grandparents now.

the essence of their

individual

and combined selves

still as bright

and colourful

as the stained glass

in the window

of their book-jammed living room.

i told them of the memories

i could conjure up

from that magic summer.

my favourite

memory comes from

one day at lunch

when i put on a record

- elvin jones "genesis" -

a gorgeous album of blues-inflected jazz.

i played it loud enough

that a little group

of beautiful people

stopped out on the street

to dance to it.

that little experience

spoke to me

of so much

of what i wished

- and still wish -

for this world.

racing home

the end

of a working day

constitutes a race of sorts.

strange that.

i don't like to hurry much of anything.

but getting home

is something i hurry along.

it's where so much

of what

i value

waits.

racing home

through the chilled hollowness

of a february afternoon.

deep aqua skies

settle on snow-blown hills

slender-fingered trees

draw the last rays

of warmth

and light

into themselves.

pale green scarves

making my way

down the banks of a little stream

i come across

an unexpected surprise.

pale green scarves

blowing in a watery breeze.

no flowers yet in the new year

but fresh grass blades surprise me in early february.

impatient for spring, white snowflakes

swirl through trees and courtyard like petals.

han yu (translated by tony barnstone and chou ping)