maybe i was just dancing a little here and a little bit more somewhere over there like the alligator shuffle dance a little lazily hand in hand with my demons
but winds shifted and the skies changed color in one lightning flash now spun on a dime then dipped way way back i’m sent flying up and out and through and far far beyond the stratosphere hurled past all of those burning stars swimming there in that deep inky darkness
spun and dipped way way back then flung fast furiously straight like an arrow to fly right into the giant beating heart of the SUN
here, out on the shore teetering on edge i need the warmth of your hand holding mine my chest, burning with the ash and smoke of yesteryear rises and falls, swells with deep ocean waves
i want salt on my tongue the grit of sand in my mouth as i plunge into the unknown into this darkness descending further and further down to the very rock bottom
to the fissure where lava meets water steaming and hissing like snakes out of nowhere out loud screaming where this primordial earth is churning and grinding the bones of my ancestors into diamonds and pearls into gold into the fiery horizon of new day
the lotus floats, not on a surface of sparkling clear and crystal waters the lotus rises, rather through a dark and shadowy underworld hidden from light little by little, the lotus reaches up and out and into the open air breathing and unfolding her offering of grace to the sun
Folding Japanese origami peace cranes is one of my early childhood memories. As as small girl, I watched my mother’s quick and nimble fingers magically fold and crease the single sheet of square paper with a graceful ease that mystified me. In the time that it took me to make one crane, she would have finished several of them, and then she’d laugh with amusement at my little-girl cocktail of envy, frustration, astonishment and admiration. We gave our carefully folded cranes away to friends and neighbors, and to strangers at peace rallies.
Now I am older than my mother was then, and perhaps I’ve made hundreds of peace cranes throughout my life, inspired in part by my mother and in part by the story of Sadako Sasaki—the young girl who folded paper cranes in the hope that her wish to be healed from leukemia would be granted. Sadly, in the aftermath of the atomic bombing of Hiroshima in World War II, Sadako died at the age of 12 but her wish for healing and peace symbolized in the act of folding paper cranes lives on. Every year school children from all over Japan, and people from all around the world, make thousands of cranes and hang them up at the children’s peace monument in Hiroshima.
In this time where the world seems to be teetering on edge and everyone seems to be running on empty, I asked myself what I can do to create more peace—for myself and for others. Folding paper cranes is something simple that I know how to do. And an ancient Japanese legend says that if you make one thousand cranes your wish will come true… so I decided to make one thousand cranes for peace. Starting just last month, I have only made 23 cranes so far and have another 977 cranes to go, but I am not concerned about how long it will take. I am folding them one by one and giving them away as I fold them, one by one. Each fold and crease, each crane, and each exchange—is one small moment of peace-making and one small moment of peace itself. The wish becomes reality already—in the folding, in the giving, in the choosing to continue one fold after another fold, one crane after another crane, one day after another… night. Journey and horizon become one prayer, one act of love, one choice for peace, one way of being, one path.
And when I have folded the 1,000th crane maybe I will start on another thousand or on some other peace project… but it doesn’t really matter because in the choosing now, in the folding and creasing and loving now, peace is already my world.
*photo credit: Kanenori on Pixabay (I slightly altered photo color and light.)
i am a rolling stone mossy messy and deep emerald green
Have you ever tried writing the story of your life in six to ten words? I tried this recently with some of my students, and came up with the following: a rolling stone, mossy, messy, deep emerald green After reflecting on it for a bit, I was pleasantly surprised by how much of me unpacked within just eight words! What story do you read in these words? To me they describe a character who is a little unconventional, even a bit rebellious at times, possibly hard-headed and stubborn, but on the other hand original and unique. She has a deep love and reverence for nature. Like a rolling stone, she is adventurous and has lived in many different places—not however, resulting in loss but in an ever deepening and enriching, moss-gathering journey through life. The journey is sometimes messy and most certainly not without many a mishap, but it is also all together magical, enchanting, and beautiful.
steaming bright and bold i am black bitter coffee with the sun, rising
In this crazy world of ours… I want to be peace and to be love—and a little bit of whimsy. Anything else simply hurts too much. Aren’t we all beyond tired of the violence by now? Exhausted, really. We’ve seen world wars traumatize generations and we’ve watched empires rise and fall like storm systems shifting across the globe. Where does it all come from? I do not understand its fuel nor this pathology of self-destruction. I am not sold on a superficial history defined by battles between so-called heroes and villains, saviors and sinners, the haves and the have-nots, and the blessed and the damned. All life is sacred. We are all worthy and beautiful.
I sit in the morning. Groggy, with recalled terrors from yesterday’s news—these persistent, ongoing nightmares of abductions, starvation, theft, genocide… and the suffering of children. Mania of distorted powers. And i try to just breathe and sip my hot, black coffee. We are steaming. With the sun, we rise again for a new day.
somewhere there is an ocean of beyond an ocean beyond good & bad beyond light & dark and love & hate and black & white beyond, there is an ocean of rising and falling breathing in and out an inhale and an exhale threaded, soft, and connected together inseparable actually, and one
this ocean of beyond is beautiful—wide and deep and infinite will you meet me there?
Whoever you are and wherever you are, I hope that your path and your days are grounded in peace. I hope you find in the outer world around you, beauty that brings solace to your heart… and in your heart, an inexhaustible wellspring of joy.
like water i want to know all life to seep into the soil and soften stones and under even scorching suns rise into a sky where i billow buoyant all throughout the light blue
and like water i will fall, steadfast, and surrendered to gravity give in to fate to this unknown yet inevitable destiny
streaming and rushing i will run, i will run like the water to my sea to my beautiful dragon calling me calling me to come home
transplanted in LA i discover delicate sakura and tall palm trees blossoming together
It is now sakura season in Kyoto, Japan. And unexpectedly, to me, sakura are blossoming at the same time here, far away across the Pacific Ocean in Los Angeles, where the tall palm trees are emblematic. Am I right to say that sakura will be the last thing to come to mind when thinking of LA? This city conjures three things: Hollywood, beaches, and palm tree lined boulevards. But quietly, sakura are here too, pink and light in this sprawling City of Angels.
When writing Japanese words in romaji, the Roman alphabet, we use the letter R to spell words that include the syllables: ra-ri-ru-re-ro (らりるれろ). For example, cherry blossom or sakura. But the sound is not a straight R-sound, like rah, ree, roo, reh, roe. It’s closer to something of an LR-sound, like lrah, lree, lroo, lreh, lroe… So it would be better to write sakulra, but then it would be mispronounced as sa-kul-ra. So maybe it is actually better to write sakula, and specifically for cherry blossoms in LA, sakuLA! Saku means to blossom. So sakula or sakuLA could have a double meaning: LA cherry blossom, or blossom LA—a unique variety of sakura only to be found in LA!
We are transplanted… in flowers, as peoples and languages, as ever changing and creative expressions of culture brought together by chance or by fate. Perhaps by love. It is something beautiful in the soil and it is something beautiful in the sky. SakuLA and palm trees blossoming together. Holding hands, we dance in the wind, pink and light.
Below is a flower-photo montage created by my phone, magically just on the day I started writing on the theme of being transplanted in LA and blossoming like sakura/sakuLA together with the LA-local palm tree. I did not choose any of the photos nor their sequence, yet the last photo is the same as the featured one above, which I had already selected earlier. Maybe it’s accidental coincidence. Or maybe it’s all the work of an angel—here in LA, in this sprawling city of angels.
Give light and people will find the way. ~ Ella Baker
now, more than ever here in this darkness without horizon i need your light your shine your beautiful illumination
our world is in flames and our dream today is dying like embers, falling from the sky and like ash scattered about in a reckless wind ravenous for more and more and more but without meaning
so more than ever now i need you i need your kindness, compassion, empathy, your heart and, your unconditional love
your love brighter than a billion stars gives light and life, and yes together we can you and me rise and grow anew the sacred garden wild and free
Written for Black History Month, 2025. Inspiration from Ella Baker, Martin Luther King Jr., Barack Obama, and Maya Angelou. May peace prevail.
