Sunday, December 12, 2010

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

Saturday, December 11, 2010

Message in a Bottle

        for Nina Shuman

A Love-O-Gram,

to put in the pram
of your thoughts
            as they billow thither,
full sail on the yacht

Unbound.

A Love-O-Gram
from where I am
to wherever you may be,
            and to where you see all
that sun and moon trace:
the revolution that is each day.

O, Love-O-Gram,
come only as I am
to your thoughts,
            speak only as I can speak,
with fullest of heart,
to toast the beauty of your art
and you.

© 2010 by Elisabeth T. Eliassen

Friday, December 10, 2010

Within the Embrace

Between sound and silence,
one kiss, one embrace,
one bed of contemplation.

Speculations as to
which one is holding the other?
—an irrelevant conversation.

© 2010 by Elisabeth T. Eliassen

From a chapbook entitled “Brief Encounters With Fluidity” © 2008 by Elisabeth T. Eliassen, this poem and others from this collection have been set to music by composer Carson P. Cooman in his cycle for solo voice (unaccompanied) Brief Vibrations op. 870.

Thursday, December 9, 2010

Indivisibility


Through now’s vast dreaming space,
light passes through and through the me I know as mine,
enlivening, crystallizing, enlightening, singing
--singing within me, singing through me, singing of me--
to every other facet of now as it passes through happening,
carrying my essence,
like a delicate thread,
to gently weave,
with all the others,
into a pulsing brocade of Being.

Light,
unseen while visible worker of miracles,
interleaving, interweaving, transporting, transforming
each uniqueness from simple melody into a symphony of life
by the mere whispering of each name through every other,
a subtle grafting of every loose end or fragment,
onto every complement that could ever be devised,
and some beyond imagining,
until all endings and all beginnings blur… blur… blur…
so that there are no more boundaries
and there is but a single name
carried on the head of the mystery called light:
an invocation of all-that-is, of all-that-could-be,
of all-that-shall-ever…

--One body streams
across the shadows of yet-to-be
unfolding into the awakening smile of now.

© 2010 by Elisabeth T. Eliassen

Wednesday, December 8, 2010

Tower of Babel


Creation hangs on one word alone.

S’truth, one was the word, and
of one accord was the song,
by which the tower was begun.

But each ascending storey
found diversion and division.

The word splintered from one
into a world of words;
the people from friends
into nameless ranks of strangers.

At every turn, every new height
the plans and styles change;
right hand knows not left,
nor wants to.

The Witness had only to watch,
with heaviness of heart,
as the great structure
began its collapse from within.

unraveling into flames,
consternation and war.
From that time forward,
diversity has yet to discover
its sacred power to build.

No human tower shall ever reach God,
until the daughters of woman,
and the sons of man
remember that

Creation hangs on one word alone.

© 2010 by Elisabeth Eliassen

Tuesday, December 7, 2010

A Season of Giving (All Year Long and For A Lifetime)

Give, give, give. And when you have given, give more.

I am no preacher, but I think on words from the Bible, every once in a while. Last Sunday, we read what John the Baptist (in Matthew 3:1-12) said about trees. Trees either bear fruit or they don’t. John said that the trees that bear fruit will be cultivated by the farmer, while those that do not will be cut down and consigned to the flames.

Of course, this preacher man was talking about people.

This time of year is called “The Season of Giving”. I think this is a sad commentary on our culture. Giving is not something to be shoved in a month or two, but it is an everyday event, week in and out, every month, all year long.

Here is a riddle: How can genuinely generous people limit their generosity? Well, the answer is they cannot, you cannot make them do so, and they simply won’t.

This season we call “The Season of Giving” is really about taking, isn’t it? How much money can the marketplace take from consumers? How much can consumers take for personal consumption, while under the guise of doing for others? How much more can government take or borrow or steal from public programs, public schools, public health and public parks, so that the rich can take bailouts, bonuses, undeserved tax cuts and lucrative government contracts, and take our people’s jobs overseas to bestow on others? By their absence of fruit, we know them only too well; there is an absence of generosity toward the average person in these dread deeds. These trees do not bear fruit; these are ornamental trees that suck up more nutrients than they need, starving the rest of the orchard.

We, the People, are being taken for a ride.

And yet, and still, the spirit of giving is alive. It is not in the running around and buying of things. It is not in the rushing and the stress.

Giving is alive in the magic of the unexpected. The smile from someone, waiting in line just like you are. The tokens of friendship that start with a warm cup of tea and radiate outward. The giving of food, not just to the Food Bank, but to your neighbor—just because. The passing on of kids' clothes to younger children of another family. Freecycling any and all things that you no longer want or need, so that someone else can extend the life of perfectly good manufactured items. This is good fruit.

This good fruit is all day, everyday giving. These are trees that bear fruit and prosper, in spite of all the taking that goes on around them.

As for that other kind of tree, the preacher man John said there is an ax, waiting to cut down those non-fruit-bearing trees. In history, we have seen this come to pass. It is a sad story, and innocent people are also hurt. How it will play out in our time, we cannot see.

What we can see (and delight in and give thanks for) is that there are many lowly and unassuming trees bearing good fruit everyday, whether or not they are properly nourished, whether it is asked of them or not. There are no limits to what good trees will bear. There are no limits to what good people will do.

God bless the beautiful people that make everyday a gift! 

Monday, December 6, 2010

Singing

Walking,
forward motion,
a gathering of energy.

Halting,
a planting of feet,
rooting deep into the earth.

Reaching,
deep within the soul,
to the farthest interior places.

Breathing,
all the way down,
filling the roots to earth’s core.

Opening,
with skill and intent,
awaiting an optimal cue.

Releasing
the voice into waiting space,
words floating on waves of song.

Singing:
defying rooted gravity
to soul-fly with the birds of the sky.

© 2010 by Elisabeth T. Eliassen