Nature

Autumnal Awe

~ teganb ~ Leave a comment

The leaves along the creek have turned a bright lemon yellow and the breeze shakes them from the trees like falling snow. I sometimes forget how much I love the fall. Perhaps because I grew up in a largely coniferous forest the thrill of autumn colours was not ingrained in me like my love of the sweetly warm and fragrant summers of the west coast, and the rare and precious snowfalls that sparkled for a few days, sometimes just hours. Sacred seasons of warm green and diamond white, with flowers and a little orange dabbed here and there on the rainy shoulders of the year, subtler to me somehow. Not until Denmark did I experience the thrill of a deciduous forest lighting up in colours so bright against the dark blue of a fall sky, your breath catches. I was not accustomed to such glory. To be shocked by such beauty left me slightly dazed, and does even now when I think of it. But I still never expect fall splendour and so when it comes I am dazzled beyond words and I go around with my mouth open and cliches upon my lips and my camera poised to try to capture a golden, burning, rusty riot of colour upon the arms of the gentlest living beings, until they softly shed their glorious cloaks and stand naked for months as frost covers their refuse thick up in the ground. Oh the beauty of trees! And the sigh of the wind through their branches. But fall is also the creek winding through the soft carpeted forest floor, and the sun still warm where it shines, and the cool shadow, and the song of the birds, and the brilliance of the stars as the nights grow colder. I love it. What words could ever capture such majesty and such mystery as this living breathing earth. As a living breathing part of this planet I am obsessed with it, and sometimes wish we could live forever, together with our loved ones upon this wild and breathtaking earth. We have our season like the leaves, like the trees. We must live, and love, with just as much colour.

Flow

~ teganb ~ 2 Comments

The hills lie folded softly in the late afternoon glow
The sound of a bell in the distance vibrates
Unseen but felt in the depths of our living bodies
Our unique living bodies
that will not last forever
How to make peace with this fragility?
With the ever-changing flow of life?
Its rise and fall
The great mystery…

Half-light hush
The majesty of life
Whispering in every leaf and blade of grass
Shimmering off the wings of each evening insect
An awe and a wonder
and I just know
Timeless and eternal
Freedom and joy
I just know there is nothing to fear
Love is forever
The heart’s wisdom is to be trusted
The soul’s inspiration to guide us

But sometimes
Uniform grey
Unbroken loneliness
nothing but doubt
Leaden confusion
crushing grief and despair
The mind tries desperately to hold onto something
And clinging to flotsam it seeks to hush the storm by sheer will
looking to make it all okay…
but the storm will run its course

Thoughts forget they are thoughts
Thinking thinks it is reality
missing the wise presence of the heart
the only force that can calm the skies
and let the sun break through the clouds
or perhaps the cold but peaceful stillness of night
The cycle of light and darkness

Ever changing seasons
A thick bloom of lilac fits inside my hand
A loose fist around its plump petals
What a sweet and simple joy
Can I trust the blooming of love within?
The wonder and awe of my soul?
Yes, oh yes!
Something whispers ardently
And I am free
Then my mind tries to build an unsinkable
Ship out of this moment
Please can it be forever this time?
But I cannot hold onto it
It slips away again and again
I am subject to the peaks and to the valleys both
Each time either hoping or fearing it is here to stay
But when I know
I know
A knowledge beyond the mind that I cannot hold onto
But I can trust it when it’s alive in my breast
And flying free on the wings of my spirit
When I contract once more,
I must try to remember this freedom
Have patience
It will come again
Because it is always there

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Photo by Anna Bethune

Poems of Home

~ teganb ~ 6 Comments

I – Reunion

Real July breathes deeply
Dark green forests exhale
Tall majestic conifers
of the Northwest Coast
Growing exquisitely
Right down to the shore
Seagulls above
Big, grey white and brazen
Rich dark blue and soft wave soundwaves
Ocean stretches infinite
Calm as a lake cradled
between hot summer mountains
Colour and gleam
like the pearly lining of an empty mussel shell
like these blue fragments mixed
through the pebbles of the beach

It’s easy to love a sandy beach
The rocky shore requires a different kind of seeing
Sometimes you’re born with it
Sometimes it hits you one misty day
Clouds like dark poems shifting in the sky
sometimes it’s just    Home
The white barnacles keep you company
Each wave sighs a little song
before it slips back into the silver crested sea
Frosted with sunshine
The mountains across the strait painted
Delicate watercolour
They frame the horizon with hazy blue lines
Jagged   smooth   rising   falling

Full round clouds
Float just above the peaks
Besides them
The sky is clear
so clear sight sinks like a pebble
into the deepening hue
And gets lost
Lost in sweet blue space
until the honeyed summer sunshine
pulls us back out
by the corners of our eyes

A soft breeze
The salty smell of the sea
Wise and wild geese in Vs
who know where to go
Every stone sits perfectly
Home in time
For this perfect moment
Brought to me by the scent of hot seaweed
and the flash of glass green
just before the breaking waves bow forward
into frothy white
Dry cedars and firs behind me
And drops of sunshine
On my toes

II – Distracted

Hoary grey rock strong beside me
Mother Earth whispers on the breeze
at last I stop to listen
She sees how weary I am feeling
hugs me ever so gently
brushing my temples with her soft summer breath
Let go my dearest
She invites me to slip out of my heavy thoughts
into the light freedom of her perfect day
Her nurturing sunshine
late afternoon softness
Bright green leaves full of life
Feather touch of the zephyr upon my brow
Nectar gleam to the light

I want to
I think I don’t know how
My chest feels tight and heavy
Who am I anyway
Can I dare trust that
I belong
She stays with me anyway
Makes the leaves sashay and twirl
I am tired but I am not a lost cause
I know I can find my way home

III – Reverence

On the beach and the evening Sun
Mm
Exquisite rolling wave
Crash
Because of the wind
But here      just here
It blows lightly
So blessed
I am
Kissed by the rich low rays
Here
Well
An ease within
this place
That holds me

The crashing seashell song
surprises me
Tucked away in the trees
I could not tell
Reed grass ripples
Fly away leaves
Dry seaweed
Strands of hair dancing about
ticklish
dark waves     dark water
Blue mountains     blue sea
Infinite skies     Blue    blue    blue
And the ocean too
Beloved blue earth

And beloved the green beneath that cold surface sheen
The path of hot white to the late afternoon sun
Feet at the end of lazy legs crossed one over the other
Did they ever look so right?

So right
White veils atop the swells
Blown over by hearty gusts
Hazy golden dream air
Hugging me so close
Something has bitten my ankle
It itches ferociously
My joy    gentle joy
Laughs with delight

Like the fire in the sky that warms us
Seaweed-spangled rocks and
sand fleas and crabs
awaiting high tide……….
Is there anything like a crab?
Water   air   soft   hard
We used to catch them and turn them over
to see if they were girls or boy
Underbellies with ridges like ripples in the sand
At low tide

Yellow flowing spark evening
Hot glow of it in my eyes
Close them. Feel it.
The shapes that dance in that
substanceless red
While wrapped in the blue coast air

Sea mountain sentinels
Sacred watch
Sky and earth
Family of treasure
Where does this come from,
This enthusiasmus
Specks of glitter in a big black round stone
A flicker of something good
Fairy dust from the days of open magic
no doubt
and right here and now
Glittering with Quality
in the brown algae pockets
and the mineral flecks
alike

This is my homage
so that I might not be driven mad
with love
Crash    swish     sigh
Shimmer    burn     glow
Whisper soft breeze and salt
Water spray
Let us love together

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Love Poems for Fools

~ teganb ~ 7 Comments

“I must learn to love the fool in me–the one who feels too much, talks too much, takes too many chances, wins sometimes and loses often, lacks self-control, loves and hates, hurts and gets hurt, promises and breaks promises, laughs and cries. It alone protects me against that utterly self-controlled, masterful tyrant whom I also harbor and who would rob me of my human aliveness, humility, and dignity but for my Fool.”

― Theodore Isaac Rubin


Love Poem I

I love your big heart
your gentleness
your imagination and resourcefulness
your earth-loving awe
your perennial hope
I love you as you are

I love your anxiety
your inertia
your subtle and wily self-sabotage
your repetitive, neurotic thoughts
your helpless rage
I love you as you are

I love you when you’re laughing
when you’re moved to tears
when you can’t let go
I love you when you ache
for the sunset
for the forest
for the perfection of moonlight
sliding across the ocean all the way
to the foot of the mountains
across the strait

I love you when you’re crying
so hard you can’t breathe
when you’re screaming silently to yourself
you can’t take it anymore
and you wonder if you’ll feel good
ever again
I love you in the stillness of candlelight
when you’re curled up in the quilts
breathing softly
watching the world in the hush of the wee hours
in the incredible calm after the storm
when for a moment
your mind is still

I love you when you just can’t wait
late night surges of energy
baking cake at midnight
I love you when you crash
when you wipe flour off counters
in a daze
waiting for your ill-timed project
to bake

I love you when your heart fills up
like bright green moss after a summer rain
so warm and full
that you know
everything will be all right
and always was

I love you when  your heart breaks
when it shrinks in fear and pain
dreading that you have been forgotten
abandoned
fearing nothing will be all right
and maybe never was

I love the way you fall
I love the way you get up again
I love your soaring highs
and plummeting depths
I love your light and I love your darkness
because I am love

I am love
I am not subject to your rules
you may play small
but I never do
and I love
I love you
I love you
Just as you are


Love Poem II

Your heart loves so much
Even you cannot doubt it
With no bounds trust it


Love Poem III

Sunshine melts the snow atop the balcony table
Imperfections in the window pane shimmer in the light
The glass is melting too
Over a million years

Change flows like a river
A stone stuck in the middle thinks it’s going nowhere
As the water shaves shards of rock off
Every moment of every day
Until a smooth hole in the centre
Lets the water flow through
Until the stone has travelled
A million miles
As a million grains of sand

A hot stream of water
Steams up the bathroom mirror
Turns my skin pink
Makes me feel safe
As my skin cells shed and regenerate
As blood pumps vigourously to the tips of my fingers and toes
As water molecules change state
Float up to the ceiling
Run down the drain

One day we go back to the sea
We’re puddles and lakes
Streams and rivers
Trillions of water molecules walking around
Our home rocks us all up and down
On the waves
Never forgetting us
Never losing us
Only changing shape

I’m the foam atop the winter waves
I’m the dancing feet of the old man on his birthday
I’m the fog hugging the city and the forest alike
I’m the soggy cardboard soaked in the recent rain
I’m the sparrow stamping fresh tracks in the snow
I’m the smile catching the salty teardrop in the corner of my mouth

I am life
I am love
With no bounds
Trust me

El Retiro, Madrid

Ready or Not, Here I Come

~ teganb ~ 4 Comments

I’m dreaming of a place I knew
with red arbutus bark cracked and peeling
writing ancient messages with modern pens
imagining the pens were feathers
dipped in ink

I’m remembering a forest I loved
filled with faeries and elves
English-speaking animals who were my friends
trees that spoke softly in my head
in perfect sync

I loved those days
Playing in the waves for hours
Dancing round the living room to the Nutcracker
Dreaming up games with magical powers
I loved those days

I’m thinking of a time I knew
when fear had a shape I could name
the sound of the waves so loud on the beach
it must be dinosaurs on their way
so run and hide

I’m reflecting on a song I loved
that could vanquish almost any fright
warm hands that tucked me safely out of reach
of all glowing eyed monsters and the tricks
they always tried

I loved those days
Imagination gave vivid life to fears
Sometimes they ran wild but they could be healed
With touch and a sweet wash of tears
I loved those days

I’m longing for a time I knew
when life was more simple and free
the days smiled easily both wild and kind
no need to rush off, time was
gentle and slow

I’m wishing for a time I loved
awakening untamed each morning
with no unnamed beast inside my mind
spurring me onward, though where
I never quite know

I loved those days
Joy bloomed unchoked by invasive species
It blossomed at everything and nothing
My self felt whole and not in pieces
I loved those days

Yes I loved those days
when no formless shadows
at the edge of my thoughts
gathered like rainclouds

Better do something

Yes I loved those days
when no tugboat engine
whirring loud and hot
filled me with pressure

Better do something

Do something
get something done
but nothing is ever enough

Be someone
a race to be run
but time is never enough

I’m dreaming of a place I knew
where climbing a tree cracked and peeling
was a matter of deep satisfaction
the thrill of climbing higher over bark
so smooth and rough

I’m remembering a forest I knew
where I danced like the sun through the leaves
to love life was a natural reaction
alone with the beautiful earth, just being me
was enough

I loved those days
The limitlessness of the mind
The heart and body’s love of play
We are earthlings free and wild
We knew this magic as a child
And I will search until I find
The heart-deep urge to say
I love these days
I love these days

Seasons in a Riverside City

~ teganb ~ Leave a comment

A windy day walk on my own, humming softly under my breath. The gusts blow my voice away and make it sound like it is coming from somewhere else, mixing with the percussion of the pampas grass which hisses like wire brushes on a drum. The clouds layered over the sun give the river a dull chrome sheen. Suddenly the sound of the opening song from The Lion King blasts across the water’s surface from the direction of the Triana bridge. “The Circle of Life”, except it’s in Spanish. As the sound grows stronger I see that it is coming from a little sail boat with a Jolly Roger flag flapping at the top of the mast, and a man in full pirate get-up at the rudder. “There’s a pirate ship!” some tourist yells behind me. Yes, obviously. But I find myself enjoying the familiar sound of English above the usual staccato chatter of Spanish background noise. “El ciclo sin fin” fades out of earshot and the pampas grass swishes in my ears again, along with the soft company of a quiet little song I hum into the breeze.

*

A spiderweb glistens in the sun and looks like diamonds strung on a fishing line. The sun sinking beyond the hills looks like a drop of burning red paint, spilled over the canvas and leaking out over the entire sky. We humans try to capture life in art and then use art to describe life, both in the attempt to express that immense Something that we feel. But both are really an attempt at the impossible, trying to bottle the immense beauty of the earth in a jar and make it manageable. Something inside my chest expands like a boiling pot, surging up through the throat with a force too big to ignore. Which is why I am running after the twilight sky with a butterfly net.

*

The boardwalk beside the river, which people stroll, cycle and jog along in droves during the morning and evening, is deserted. The midday air buzzes with stillness and it is the first time in weeks that I have been outdoors and not surrounded by people. I feel as though I am walking on another planet, and am wildly aware of every sensation. My hands and feet pulse with relentless pressure, and I think they look nearly double in size. A thumping begins to rise in my temples and I must slow my pace. When I return to the comparatively cool air of our apartment (thirty degrees), the throbbing in my extremities diminishes slowly and my muscles quiver as though I had just hiked a steep mountain. I feel exhausted but strangely alive, tingling with the surreal experience of walking through a baking hot ghost town. The extreme conditions have shaken me awake and captured my entire attention. Amazing, I whisper to myself. Amazing.

*

Will the leaves turn red? Will the long dry days turn cool and moist? Will we harvest any dreams sown earlier this year? Spanish roles so much easier off the tongue these days, though the accent here still renders the background noise a formless din. If we get in close and sharpen our ears to a conversation, words suddenly rise up like street signs in the fog, and we can usually make sense of them. Young people gather in clusters across the dry grass of the riverside park, cradling one-litre bottles of beer in their laps and playing music on their phones, sometimes on a guitar. Families still push strollers along the streets at 1AM and generations gather at little tables on open patios. The nights are still warm and I do not think the autumn chill will blow through these parts for a while yet. But as we near the year’s later months, I think of my goals in writing, yoga, Spanish, travel, and cultivating presence throughout these journeys… and I cannot say how I will feel about them all by the end of the year, but I have hope for the harvest.

Big Wash

~ teganb ~ 4 Comments

One week remains before I catch the bus to the yoga training retreat . I can hardly believe I am doing this. I feel very nervous… perhaps because of the daunting programme, perhaps from worrying what it will be like and how the people will be, perhaps because it has been quite a while since I studied anything, or perhaps because I have invested much hope in this venture and I fear disappointment. Will it be the transformative experience I desire? Will it be the beginning of a career path? I never imagined it as one until recently,  and it still feels somehow strange to me. Will I be satisfied? Can I really make a living teaching yoga? What other things do I really want to do? How am I going to make the most difference to this world while making the most difference to myself as well? Is it possible to love one’s everyday routine?

Questions have been appearing almost constantly in my head of late, and I weary of them. It is easy to overthink things, which ultimately seems to separate a person from what is actually going on. Then, feeling a bit removed and disconnected, the mind spins even faster, because it is like watching a reflection of life off the mirror of the mind (or through the “vrittis”—whirlpools of the mind, mental activity—according to my yoga text). Well, surely three weeks of early morning meditation will help with that.

My vrittis are in full force these days and I feel easily distracted and often uncertain of what I ought to be doing. Strangely enough, all this whirling activity leaves me feeling like I have nothing much to say this week, and I must admit how challenging it is to maintain a weekly blog. Yes, I knew it would be hard, but contemplating a difficult task is a far cry from actually doing it. The real live act DSCF3164involves a lot more stomach than I expected: a twisty, churning feeling, that physically tightens and agitates the solar plexus as the end of the week approaches.

When the mind’s waters get choppy and the stomach starts doing gymnastics, it generally helps to just start moving—and the most therapeutic method of movement for me is going for a walk. If I don’t feel like going, I know I need it especially. Far away from the forests and shores of home, it is the riverside here that beckons my footsteps.

The charm of stone streets and narrow alleys remains undisputed, but Sevillan architectural beauty would not have quite the same effect if this city were not cloven by the elegant, gently-flowing giant, the river Guadalquivir. Apparently the name comes from Arabic, al-wadi al-kabir, which means either ‘great valley’, ‘big riverbed’ or ‘big wash’. Here in Sevilla, it is wide and calm. It is always peppered with rowers and kayakers, and every hour or so, a pack of tourists on a big oldfashioned-looking riverboat, that broadcasts information about the city over a loudspeaker, echoing in different languages across the water to the runners, cyclists, and walkers on the paved banks.

I find myself somewhere along that waterway almost every day. It feels like a friend, like a steady presence I can count on. I always feel better, at least a little, after a walk by the river.

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