I and Thou

So slow, aye, so slow, I,
plodding the repetition of my path;
nearly weightless, you wait much less,
zipping from branch to branch,
calling with a flick and a click,
until, at this very moment, that
until now, you slowed to hover,
level with my eyes, to gaze,
level, within our space.

Locking eyes, at this moment,
‘tis a case of I and Thou;
but so briefly synchronous,
then quickly out of phase, once more;
a moment of unexpected depth.

What you saw in me,
I hope you could enjoy;
I so liked what I saw in you!

© 2014 by Elisabeth T. Eliassen

Note to readers: Have you ever locked eyes with a hummingbird?

Well, this happened in my life, on June 29^th of this year, and I have been trying to find a way to write about it, ever since. Such a small happening, fleeting. But it was unexpectedly profound. I may write more about it, but this is what comes to me now.

It reminded me of the work of Martin Buber, of his book, "I and Thou", which has had such an influence in the growth of my philosophical self-- hence, the poem's title.

Meditations in Fast Times: 38. We all walk this path

Note to Readers: “Meditations in Fast Times” is a devotional writing experiment for the Season of Lent. Each day during the season, I am writing a poem as a meditation on, taking as my inspiration and intertextual basis, T.S. Eliot’s “Four Quartets”, as well as incorporating the daily office, current events, and other readings—some the same as those Eliot used while composing his seminal work and others.

                38.

We all walk this path,
The blood in our veins dances
As we follow the stars;
Each pattern is a math
Of blind schemes and chances,
Of discovery solely ours.

We seek the still,
Where at the still point
There might be peace
Within which to find will
To withstand all disappoint,
To accept a final cease.

Where have we been?
It is difficult to say;
Perhaps we are the place
Where there is no sin,
Only experience may
Mark our path and face.

We watch one we love
Ascend the final tree;
Sacrifice does not mar
The healing of the Dove,
It is here for all to see,
Being reconciled to the Star.

Freedom and release,
Both time and timeless,
Past and future join now,
Where the only timepiece,
Is being, explicitly ceaseless
—Only truth hangs from the bough.

© 2014 by Elisabeth T. Eliassen

Meditations in Fast Times: 4. Flowers were our guests

                 4.

Flowers were our guests,
stopping with us
and blushing at our attention
to their beauty,
as if to say,
we just are;
in them is crystallized
the liquid potential
of increase and decrease,
of here, of now,
of gone, of loss,
of remembering
and return.

On the crowded city streets,
of a Winter day
the silent array
of lax and flaccid faces
reflects a vacancy, promoted
by distraction to distraction
by means of empty distractions
or at least none that edify.

Winter came to those streets,
but not to this garden,
where Spring still manages
to surprise with bright colors
to delight with intoxicating aromas
—ah, how intoxicating!

High in the trees,
the wise hoopoe bird
makes the rallying cry:
lost atoms, faces, hearts:
return to your center;
the outlier calling
is an empty journey.

Rose and jasmine,
hyacinth, Persian blue allium and iris,
showing through twisting honey suckle,
our flowers, our friends,
having come to visit,
are grateful to retain their seats;
the dusty bowl of petals
is no fit ending to their story
or ours.

© 2014 Elisabeth T. Eliassen

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

In the Garden of Delights: 4. Fault Lines

There, where you stand,
wherever you are,
there, unique fault lines lie;
the ground beneath your feet
is a monument of instability.

You and your kind
think in straight lines;
such do not exist,
not here, not anywhere
in this garden or beyond.

There, where you stand,
the ground is, nevertheless,
where you begin and end
your journey through now,
an experiment in ertia.

When the earth quakes and
the ground opens below you,
this signals opportunity
for movement, growth and change;
be not afraid—move and be free.

Your feet straddle an eternal gap
between the illusion of what is
and the limitlessness of possibility;
your heart hangs in the balance
between all past and future nows.

There, where you stand,
Wherever you may be,
you are the liquid catalyst for change
—the fault lines are your garden;
have a care, mind the gaps.

© 2012 by Elisabeth T. Eliassen 

Endless Now

Mindful footfalls on the shore
sift the sands of time and trial,
shifting thoughts from forward back,
then forward again
to beyond the scope,
where time may bend
and slow, to revel as
endless now.

Counting breaths,
like grains of sand,
like counting glittering music
as it dances away in the wind,
a less than linear movement
that finds completion
glorying in new pathways
to trace endless now.

Thoughts flitter, flutter and flow,
flowering as freely as the wind;
even as thought is tied to form
within all repetitive motions
that construct the sentient world
and feed the conscious flesh,
this free flight is full autonomy
in endless now.

© 2011 by Elisabeth T. Eliassen

Here Now

—an homage to John Lennon

Only dimly aware of where you have been,

I really don’t know all the ins and outs,
but none of that matters now,
because you are here with me now.

You don’t know where I’ve been,
sometimes stuck in fears and doubts,
but none of that matters now,
because you are here with me now.

Coming of age from the children we’ve been,
we’re learning to sing by softening our shouts,
but none of that matters now,
because you are here with me now.

And Wow! Now is why we are here, then—
the now, the how and the why withouts;
simple, but not so that it matters,
because we are together here now.

Here is where we go from where we’ve been
to where we’ve never been, before or about,
and really nothing else much matters,
because on we go, together from here, now.

© 2010 by Elisabeth T. Eliassen

The Point

Many people ask the difficult question,
“What is the point?”

This = ,
this point,
this is where we meet;
this is a place, both metaphorical and real:
now.

There may have been a before,
which speaks to some other point of fact or being,
or may even indicate a point of origin,
if such is possible,

But this is the here-and-always-now,
the ultimate point on which we must focus our attention—
all comings and goings depend upon ti,
all shall-be and ever-beens, as well—
the turnings of universes within universes
rely on how well met we are at this point.

Shall we dance like angels on the head of a pin?
The point is what we make of it, within it,
whether guiding or following it as a moving path,
in lines or waves,
flowing on it as a stream,
surrounding it, avoiding it,
on point or off,
melding into or averting from
(rendering either a going and a return
or a point of departure)…

Now is always;
whether we “decide” to meet there or not,
now happens,
here, there and everywhere.

Now is the wellspring of creation,
the hub,
the crux,
the point of being
and, more to the point,
of beingness.

How shall we make our point?
How shall we be?
What shall we do?

Now is an opportunity that requires action
(for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health),
but action depends on how we define our point.

Shall we dance?


© 2010 by Elisabeth T. Eliassen

Placid Pool

           ~about singing and life

Placid pool,

font of being;
here, there is surface tension,
but there is no holding back.

Depths and heights,
aboves and belows,
all vividness reflected here
is a perfect and lively counterpoint;

Nothing that rises or falls
is ever disconnected,
nor even far-flung—
there is nothing beyond
this teeming now,
this moment,
this.

Fish, rising softly
toward sparkling light,
kiss this moment
and are quenched in air.

Birds, descending lightly
toward darkling sheen,
kiss this moment
and are quenched in water.

The rising and the falling are one,
the light and the dark are one,
highs, lows and all the in-betweens are one,
tempered to clarity and density
in this place of being
that quenches all being,
in this teeming now,
this moment,
this.

© 2010 by Elisabeth T. Eliassen

Awareness

Deep in walk;
deep in thought.

Then wind speaks, and
hair strays into her eyes,
the ends pricking the soft, fleshly orbs.

Her attention is pulled backward,
then forward,
to Now,
but is she now focused?

[Mind does not respond to the mindless happening;
Heart does not respond to the act not originating in (com)passion;
only the body seems engaged in this wordless conversation
'twixt a neutrally aware self and environs.]

By way of response,
an arm moves upward,
fingers flex casually,
and the errant strands are flicked away,
expected by the hostess to find rest
in some more appropriate way,
or at least a way less irritating,
one that will not obscure vision, cause pain.

"Time for a haircut," she thinks, dismissively.

The wind has been slighted, however,
and the opportunity to unravel
a coded message from the Kosmos has passed.

© 2010 by Elisabeth T. Eliassen