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Posts Tagged ‘Reflection’

Dusk


Dusk,

an ember of the sun.

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A Black bear frosted with cinnamon sits on the side of the road.

An Eagle peers into the distance from her high perch over the shoreline.

Two geese bugle as they fly just over head,

against the background of a Minnesota blue-white sky,

in Red Lake.

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I just finished watching “The Fault In Our Stars”, a great tearjerker about love, eulogies, etc.

It made me think of what I would say if I wrote my eulogy, and I realize that anything one says or writes, is a part of their eulogy.

I think part of my eulogy would be an apology. Because I can come across as hard and unyielding in the moment, when I know that my intentions are good. And that’s because of pride. Pride is such a defense mechanism, a flawed way of protecting yourself. It is a dis-ease, a dis-ability. It’s a way of hiding vulnerability in the moment. Of not being in the moment. Or perhaps of being someone you don’t want to be in that moment; when the moment is all we have, and that most important moment involves people.

Humility on the other hand, is being vulnerable in the moment, open to the moment and flexible in relation to all of its possibilities. That’s the funny thing about being vulnerable. I don’t know if it’s something that you can spontaneously feel in the moment once you have reached a certain level of awareness. It is only something that you can practice.

It’s like patience. I don’t consider myself a patient person though some other people may, I don’t know if patience will ever feel natural. I think it is something you can only practice. I only know that to date, I do not comprehend the feeling of patience. But with practice ( like choosing to wait in the longest grocery line) patience is becoming second nature. I don’t have to think about it. Perhaps when one reaches a certain level of awareness, anything/everything becomes second nature.

The point being that for me,

humility in the moment ,

is an intermittent short in the wiring.

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Mister Cardinal,

I distinctly saw and heard you warble in dulcet tones,

chocolate…

chocolate!

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Like a canted boat beached on dry land,

you sleep on the yellow stripes in the middle of the road.

You lie near skunk who is black, white…and red.

 

One Wing covers your head.

Does it shield your sensitive eyes from the sun?

 

Don’t you know that is a bad place to sleep?

 

On my next visit, someone has spirited you away.

Are you in a better place?

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Migrate dying children.

Do you leave the parent of your birth,
or are you cast off?

Or is your separation by mutual agreement
while you still have some life left?

Fall to the Earth in ones and twos and multitudes,
until you finally expire.
Lie dessicate on the ground,
or rot in sopping wet,
neglected.

Trod upon by uncaring feet.
Ground beneath the wheels of vehicles whose owners
have come to gawk at the casualties
of this yearly conflict.

Waste away as the cold and snow entomb you.

The irony is that most people will exclaim in wonder
at the color of the blood left behind at your death.
Or the golden glory as your spirit passes.

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Nanabozhu decided to visit Maui on the spur of the moment. What he didn’t know was that Maui decided to visit Red Lake at the same time. So they missed each other. Nonetheless, Nanabozhu had a great time on Maui’s island. This morning Nanabozhu decided to greet the sun at the top of Haleakala, and take the bike tour down. He thought it was kinda funny that the tour guides slept in the van because the mountain was covered in clouds and they knew that no one would see the sun that morning from the top of the mountain.

Nanabozhu decided to check out the gift shop since it was open  during the time the sun rose. He chanced upon a Hawaiian ranger chastising a white tourist who had (N. supposed) complained about not being able to see the sunrise. The ranger said in her best berating voice. “I’m Hawaiian, and we are taught from when we are very young to discern things with all six of our senses, not just our sight. Now if you’ll excuse me I have a duty to perform.” And with that she left.

You go girl!” Nanabozhu thought. The term “Haoli”, coming to mind.  Outsiders would always be Haoli to a native people. There would always be that sense of otherness between them. He had to smile at the irony. Here, Nanabozhu was haoli.

He then followed her outside to a crowd of about six hundred people who had gathered, and this is what he saw and said:

tour

Cold impenetrable fog whips their hair.

A crowd and Japanese tour couples stand huddled.

Their windbreakers occasionally wrapped in ineffectually thin blankets.

Waiting in vain for a visible sunrise.

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