Posted in Flowers, Trees & Gardens, General Interest, Religion/Spirituality, Spirit

sleeping with the moon, a poem

isnessgarden speaks through its flowers ..
a dharma talk on cosmic truth, its syntax
is the rush of joy in different hues
written on the harmony of loam,
on sturdy leaves and gray rock ~
an elemental symphony

a webbed raiment as transient as foam, a
feral scent flirting with a lilting breeze,
a few sleepy stepping-stones along the path
and then the budding, the blooming, the
falling into decay, undisturbed by worldly
cares, a green nirvana of prickly branches

and cherry trees, the wildish thorned
rose and the innocent daisy, palm fronds
and color spectrums, no burdens, just an
isness of small beings embracing the earth,
dancing in the sun, sleeping with the moon

© 2014, poem and photograph, Jamie Dedes, All rights reserved

Posted in General Interest

“The Spoon Theory” … a way of life …

I originally encountered The Spoon Theory when a dear friend with MS sent me it in the form of a feature article.  Just now I found it posted in video format on Us Verses Lupus, whose post was reblogged by Kim at silentlyheardonce. Thank you, ladies!

The Spoon Theory is a clear and vivid way of explaining what it is like to live with any chronic, catastrophic and potentially life-threatening illness. I suspect that it is also explains what life is like for those who have lived long enough to be described as “elderly.”

The first step in living successfully with catastrophic illness and advanced aging is to recognize (acknowledge/understand) the ramifications in terms of everyday life and its details. The Spoon Theory (video above) helps with that.

The second step is acceptance. That’s about letting go of your story. It’s about not being defined by the circumstances of your life. It’s about living with not struggling against. This requires something much more profound than positive thinking, which does offer some help but only at a very superficial level.

Letting go of our story means letting go of judgement and attachment and a sense of victimization, which are the root causes of most of our very human pathologies. The philosopher Arthur Schopenhauer wrote of this my-story mentality as “striving, disappointment, and boredom” or a life that is devoid of Spirit. Songwriters, who often make their living by stoking the “pain body” or the residue of emotional pain that stays with us (Eckhart Tolle), call this the IFD disease – idealization, frustration (the ideal cannot be achieved) and demoralization.

The third step in the journey is to adapt, a business of the heart. Adapting is not about giving up. It’s about joy and gratitude and no one says that better than the beloved Benedictine Monk, Brother David Stendl-Rast (video below), who combines the wisdom of traditional Christianity with the wisdom and pragmatism of Buddhism.

© 2014, essay, Jamie Dedes, All rights reserved

Posted in Poem/Poetry

Winter … and the Other Seasons of Life

1489-1248446570quce1No illusions, no illusions, no lies, no softened truths,
no tears, no bargains, though sun shines and birds sing,
Winter is here, I know.

Once Spring danced like wild flowers in the wind,
held dew and promise and wore the colors of her heart like jewels
She hadn’t heard the word defeat and didn’t know hate or anger.
Spring liked to play and romp and sing and
hung her question on a tree to ripen – Why?

Summer took herself seriously, was wide-eyed with longing, sizzling in the sun.
She wore a red dress and the champagne happiness of a husband and baby
She had reckless courage because Summer is young and youth is bold,
a silver bell that rings and rings and never stops.
Too much is not enough and still that tremulous – Why?

Autumn gently smiled, like Da Vinci’s lady, and danced old dances,
reminisced Begin the Beguine, stepping lightly on dry leaves.
Autumn was lined with gold and muted silks, remembered her manners,
nodded wisely, spoke sagaciously, and was a might too profound.
Haughty with herself, she just knew she knew Why?

Winter is a season content to see herself in time displaced,
knows though fleshy bonds and boundaries dissolve, life –
like heart – has its reasons that reason doesn’t know*  . . .
Sanguine and serene, it’s just a habit now, that old question Why?

* after Blaise Pascal, “The heart has its reasons, which reason does not know. We feel it in a thousand things. It is the heart which experiences God, and not the reason. This, then, is faith: God felt by the heart, not by the reason.”

2013, poem, Jamie Dedes, All rights reserved, licensing for online publications is nonnegotiable and requires permission, attribution, link to this site, my copyright, no modification, noncommercial only and does not imply permission to include the work in the site’s printed collections or anthologies.
Photo credit ~ John Witherspoon, Public Domain