Meditations in Fast Times: 2. Tolerance, she said

                  2.

Tolerance, she said,
is well enough and good.
Acceptance is better.

Acceptance
of conditions,
a simple recognition
of a basic truth:
each and all are.

The storm, settling
in for a daily dose,
clattering, cluttering, close—
an exertion
gripping mind and soul
—holding self in a
grip of judgment,
casting a dark cloud
over possibility;
simple
is the most difficult
condition of all.

The rhythm of feet to floor,
the staccato of many voices
against a descant of driving rain,
these are reminders;
the vastness of experience
is no different than the center
that is home,
and each foot fall,
each whispered prayer,
each meal lovingly prepared
is refuge taken in now
and everything.

The thunder and lightning
startle one from reverie;
muscles suddenly tense,
then release
into realized truth:
acceptance is nothing less
than an intimate engagement
with all things.

© 2014 by Elisabeth T. Eliassen

Teary Balm

The rains return,
a blessing and a communion
for all that is parched and scarred,
for the cracked and dry rotted;
the rains return, a teary balm.

Soft sprinkles gather
to dance on leaf and blade,
to explore forming buds and
unfurling fronds of fern,
reaching deeply into
and encouraging
the dormant
mosses.

Any accumulation
pours forth where it can,
settling accounts with roots,
pooling intimately and deeply,
rolling in ever widening waves,
with a depth of touch
and seeming awareness
of that most real commingling
that lies at the heart of being.

The rains return as teary balm
—for the earth and all dwelling thereon;
Holy rains, heal our parched and scarred,
heal our cracked and dry rotted,
heal us from the very roots
to the tips of each branch,
flow into the budding flowers,
and fill the wellspring of our awareness;
Oh, beautiful teary balm,
bring blessing and communion
to full bloom and being
in us.

© 2014 by Elisabeth T. Eliassen

On a Wooded Path

                     for Emily and Ian on their 13^th Birthday

Witnessing
gentle rain
on a wooded path.

Two drops
sought safe harbor
on a mossy leaf.

They gleamed like gems
reflecting light upward,
from whence they came.

The clouds saw,
they smiled,
and they sang.

The leaf trembled,
the gems shimmered,
all joined in dance.

No better music
can ever be
than this.

© 2013 by Elisabeth T. Eliassen

At the Helm

At the sound of a distant bell,
I emerged—shaken like a heavy drop
from some grey storm cloud—
to find myself plopped aboard a barge,
well appointed with cushions, cats
and flagons of tea.

Of any flu suffered,
this surely the most benign,
ranging from cloud-like
to ocean-going,
aching limbs creaking
with each rolling pitch.

When, from this voyage,
I emerge, perhaps
it will be to discover
my cloud was the one
that burst upon our damply
blooming flower-beds.

© 2012 by Elisabeth T. Eliassen

Il Pleut

Like a sanctification,

it rains, sending all inward
to the physical and psychic centers.

Veins of flowing water merge,
becoming tiny ribbons and rivulets,
streaming, flowing and cleansing,
outlining paths of reconciliation
we might take, once sun returns.

There is a world of hurt out there,
being bathed and healed in holy tears;
the birds are already rejoicing.

© 2012 by Elisabeth T. Eliassen

Meditation

In the dream that opens
from inward out
the heat of the day
cools all possibility of thought
like a sudden rain in the garden
falls upon the printed page
rendering the imprinted characters
a sodden and murky pulp mural
that tells me nothing now
if ever it did

© 2011 by Elisabeth T. Eliassen

Spring Rain

The gentle music of rain drops
patters across the roof to wake me,
cooling the mind,
clearing the air,
quenching the parched earth,
drenching plum blossom
and rose, alike,
in liquid pleasure,
perfect raiment.

© 2011 by Elisabeth T. Eliassen

Unexpected Rains II

The clouds had indeed come swiftly,
full and wet and black they were,
strewing tears of agony and grief;
it was truly a solemn occasion,
and they knew, better than I,
who and what had been lost.

My own tears now follow theirs,
and our comingled sorrows
soothe a world road-weary
of the march of pain and death.

This journey never ends,
‘tis true as true can be,
but this path we have washed together
shall be rendered clean by our service,
and will be lined with early flowers.

© 2011 by Elisabeth T. Eliassen

Unexpected Rains I

They drifted in swiftly,
clouds, full and black,
giving up as much rain
as stored in their silver coffers,
a solemn offering,
a duty and service
to any valley, plain or hill
they encounter on this,
their journey that never ends.

© 2011 by Elisabeth T. Eliassen

Sudden Storm

Clouds burst overhead,

yet wind floods the vision,
blowing rain sideways,
and the world flows away.

At last,
washed away,
we fall off the edge,
only to float upward,
improbable
as that seems.

Laugh,
it’s all we can do
when we find ourselves
on vertical planes,
horizons having
become extinct
in our wake
and our waking.

Laugh,
and look around,
and discover what you are:
a missing link,
a wave of laughter,
or a crazy music,
propelled omni-directionally
through a gold-lined, purple cloud of rain.

© 2010 by Elisabeth T. Eliassen

Rain in the Desert

Drops fall from the sky;
infinite views of life that glitter
as small globes of resonance,
while they land and find place,
pooling in community to be
common with one another,
one in another,
ad infinitum.

Each a message,
together a manifesto,
a movement gradual
that gathers swift momentum,
swirling from puddle to pool to rivulet,
thence on to stream and river,
then rolling on into ocean.

This is love;
without this wet and wild kiss,
there is no life.

© 2010 by Elisabeth T. Eliassen

Cloudy, with a chance of rain

With the waters,
I rise and,
under the burning sun,
dissipate as steam
until I am no more than a cloud,
flowing through the sky
as a grey mass
of moist energy,
waiting to be unleashed when,
tickling the ground,
my flourishes
shall paint rivers of brightness
upon a parched land.

Flow onward, my soul

—I drink to thee,
sweet life,
so full
of endless
possibility.

© 2010 by Elisabeth T. Eliassen