I hope you're tall

I hope you're tall.
At least taller than I --
a girl likes to wear heels.

I hope you know
that candles and flowers
do not always equal romance --
that sometimes it is as simple as
surprising me with jars of my favorite apricot jam
bought because you knew I was running out.

I hope you don't wake easily
because I twitch in my sleep
and fear rousing you
from pleasant slumber.

I hope you'll give facial hair a try
'cause I'd like to see you with a beard.
Just, please, no "soul patch"
you are over 40, you know.

I hope you realize that I will never
ever
ever
ride a roller coaster again.

I hope you have been hurt
because it can bestow grace
and
patience.

I hope you know that I have made mistakes
placed a ring on the wrong finger
and though leaving was called for
guilt leaves a film
like soap.

I hope you know
that I am afraid
and wary
and likely to mistrust your initial interest.

Mostly,
I hope you are soon
because winter keeps getting longer
and I've no one to help with the Christmas decorations
a solemn chore performed alone.

Yes, mostly
I hope you are soon.

Various and sundry...

First, a poem. One of my all time favorites by Mary Oliver:

Wild Geese

You do not have to be good.
You do not have to walk on your knees
for a hundred miles through the desert repenting.
You only have to let the soft animal of your body
love what it loves.
Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.
Meanwhile the world goes on.
Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain
are moving across the landscapes,
over the prairies and the deep trees,
the mountains and the rivers.
Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,
are heading home again.
Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,
the world offers itself to your imagination,
calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting —
over and over announcing your place
in the family of things.


Beautiful, no?

Next, a discovery:

Omphalokepsis. Know what it is?

Contemplation of one's navel as an aid to meditation.

How great is that? Who on earth came up with that one? Someone was contemplating his or her belly-button one day and decided said action needed its own word! Hilarious.

The waters are pressing mightily

The following is a poem by Yehuda Amachai that I first read in The New Yorker a few years ago. It has been on my mind lately, mostly due to the latest Israel/Gaza mess.

Now, when the waters are pressing mightily
on the walls of the dams,
now, when the white storks, returning,
are transformed in the middle of the firmament
into fleets of jet planes,
we will feel again how strong are the ribs
and how vigorous is the warm air in the lungs
and how much daring is needed to love on the exposed plain,
when the great dangers are arched above,
and how much love is required
to fill all the empty vessels
and the watches that stopped telling time,
and how much breath,
a whirlwind of breath,
to sing the small song of spring.

One line in particular "... and how much daring is needed to love on the exposed plain..." takes my breath away. I realize it is trite, and an oversimplification of the events surrounding this latest battle in the seemingly never-ending war between the Israelis and the Palestinians, but how I wish that both sides would dare to remember their common humanity.

It is all too easy lay blame, to take refuge in outrage. Forgiveness, compassion, love -- these are infinitely harder to sustain. Love - that word that gets tossed around and abused with stunning frequency - is a radical and indeed "daring" action in our fractured, dangerous, anxious world. I forget all the time. Forget to love my enemies, practice compassion, see the humanity in those whom I either dislike or simply feel indifferent towards. And then, I recall this poem, and remind myself again to dare.