Tag: story

rolling stone

.Reading time 1 minute.

*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.

What is your life story in ten words?

nothing is known

.Reading time 5 minutes.

nothing is known
not the who or why or how
just someone
with their long story
asleep on the edge of a concrete driveway and burrowed beneath a blanket
shopping bag for pillow

nothing’s known
but in my heart, i ache,
and so i ask:

um, hi, are you ok? excuse me… sorry to bother you but…
it’s a bit dangerous here,
i say
i pause, nervously, but persistently
and in the dim light a hand uncovers two eyes peering directly into mine

uh, you know cars coming out of the parking garage might not see you here and they might accidentally hit you or run over your foot,
i sputter awkwardly
glancing at the large foot i now see sticking out from under the blanket
Can you move?
There’s another spot just over there,
i urge,
and i think it’d be safer…

nothing is known,
but i hear an elegant voice emerge from the shadow:
Maybe in a few minutes, thanks, but I’m kind of tired right now…
says he,
somehow in the tone of an amused smile.
But persistently I press on:
What if tomorrow i were to hear in the news something about a man who was run over in the driveway—and i could have prevented it—so how would i feel then?
a pause passes
“I won’t make the news,” he forecasts wryly.

um… a little more determined this time…
is there something i can help you with, something you need?
i implore.
Well, pause, I do accept cash donations.
With the exception of an iPhone16 i am empty handed on this ten minute work-break walk around the block.
I’m sorry, i say awkwardly and self-consciously, I don’t have anything right now…
“I was just joking,” came his swift reply, seemingly more for my sake than for his.

I let him know that we have some extra dinners and that i’ll bring him one and tell him that i’ll be back in a few minutes and i ask him to wait and to be careful…
and then i return with a boxed take-out dinner in a plastic bag, napkins and sauces, and chopsticks included.
What if he doesn’t eat with chopsticks, i wonder.
i mean
nowadays most Americans (assuming he’s American; his voice has slight British undercurrents, at least to my ears) know how to eat with chopsticks and we are in LA after all.

Placing the bag down carefully near him, still burrowed under the blanket, i pause.
um, here you go… i’m sorry there’s chopsticks… we have forks too…
He peers at me.
The shadows are steep and we cannot see one another well.
“Chopsticks are ok,” he says, patiently.

Look, there’s a place just over there that’s off the street and away from cars… I’ll help you carry your things…
i try again
but he doesn’t want to move
in a few minutes, a little later, he promises

But this time he extends his hand to me,
asking,
“What’s you name?”
I hold his hand.
Mi-chi-ru, my name is Michiru (uncommon, even in Japan).
Michiru, he says carefully, and a few times
still holding my hand.

nothing is known
not the who or why or how
but in my heart i feel the connection
and his desire to remember
my name…

Um, pause, I mean…
and this time i feel that it is him who is a little nervous…
Are you single or something? he asks. I mean, I look good in a suit and tie…

Peering into his eyes, i see a beautiful soul.
and i say:
The clothes don’t matter… i can see that you’re a handsome man…

But then i mumble something about how i’m not looking for a relationship and about having to get back to work but and that i’m here every day and i’ll keep my eyes out and, and… will he promise me to take care and to be safe and to move to that safer spot over there?

I promise, he says.
And we let go of one another’s hands.

Nothing is known. Not the who or why or how. Just him, just me, and just us.
Souls.
With a long story.

My heart, aches.





skin

.Reading time less than 1 minute.

~a short meditation on water, one~

When you go to the water—be it river, lake, pond, pool or puddle, or the ocean—do you not wonder what world is there, underneath that surface? Surely it has its own ongoings, and a deep story on the other side of seen. Behind these eyes, beyond these body-bound perceptions, what emerges? Can I just be, the water? All fluid, swirling, and free? 

skin

the surface skin of water
is its own song
of an unseen underwater world
where
together with my love
we dream
we dream and we dance
this heartbroken
this wounded and oh so weary, world
anew

A Simple Story

.Reading time 1 minute.

This is a simple story. 

The other day I went for a walk and found a small park with a bench and a very large tree. Sitting there, I took in the surrounding quiet, light, and pleasure of watching a mother and child playing together. And even still, the light weight of an infinite digital universe in my palm took me out of the quiet, the light, and the simple joy. With so much to “do”—I disappeared altogether from the park. 

Then, for some reason, some beckoning from a mysterious somewhere calls and… I looked up. Spinning through the air through the blue through the soft light there, came these two leaves together on one stem. In the park once again. Awake again. My heart beating, once again. I promise to put my phone away and walk over to where the spinning lovers landed. My journey is not solitary. And I collect this little treasure and thank the voices from beyond and my heart is filled again, with quiet with light and with joy. 

two leaves on one stem
suddenly across the sky
spin love into flight