Open: A sign at the restaurant at the beach in Tulum

The top left part of the symbol on the left is a

Gate, the gate that opens your heart if you let it,

If the waves on the open sea stretching towards an infinite horizon

Cannot do it, perhaps the silky sand under your feet, 

Or the beauty of the carefully prepared fish on your plate,

The heavens loaded in stars and galaxies just waiting for your gaze 

To turn towards them, even unnamed, they are beautiful

And remember that we are all made of star dust.  

The small Japanese book sits at home, on the pink dinette

Where I have watched so many small birds pecking at the feeder,

The book that taught me the symbol for gate, the three alphabets

Necessary to understand Japanese, the words that I will never 

Learn, but will always revel in their magic.

 

Will I ever play like this

I was telling my teacher about the cereal aisle at Safeway 

But that one does have a beginning and an end, and what if it were infinite

And I have to choose a box of cereal, the colors and flavors, the promises of knowledge

And experiences shimmer in front of my eyes, I am paralyzed

By possibility, and so is this my way in life, in music, in French, in

Every step I take forward, or back, yet a paralysis of the boredom from 

The anguish of not/or/and choosing the right notes to go with that backing track.

I could not read his gaze but it scared me.

Oh, the cereal aisle - my daughter insists on GrapeNuts when she visits,

That will do or maybe, or maybe

Or maybe, oh, that one, 

As I dutifully wrote the three exercises for piano that I would dutifully execute

Every day, the Hanon finger exercises and then the CGC sequence in the left hand

At the same time and I won't allow myself that freedom/that curse to decide in each moment

What to do and my nervous system will thank me until I am stronger and 

Then I'll be able to walk some of the cereal aisle of life, feeling the strength of my legs,

The clarity of my eyesight and be secure in this dazzling life

Maybe for the first time.  

 

The landscape of the Mind

My landscape tends to cloudy and morose, facing into the wind

Cheeks chilled by sea spray, the world is mostly grey with skittering clouds.

I stared at this landscape at the museum, immersed in its stark beauty, noting how 

Many shades of grey, of brown, I walked into the frame and stood there next to 

The two women, all three of us still as statues, painted figures in a landscape 

That could easily draw frozen tears or grimaces that we can't see from outside.

Yet, perhaps we are all smiling at the movement of the clouds and the sea, I could 

Not see my own face, curiously, as I walked out of the frame

I turned to my companion and asked her about her mind landscape.

We live in different worlds and I'll have to ask her if she entered a painting 

That afternoon and what she discovered while there.  

There is an opening in that sky.  

 

Going out for a movie in the cold and dark

I didn't want to go, riding my bike the short distance to the theatre,

The cold freezing my exposed cheeks, the snow sparkling on the sidewalks,

Asking myself why I made this mistake again to go out in the evening, on my own,

In the dark and the cold when I just want to stay home.

Until.

Until the screen lit up and there were bees and butterflies flitting about,

Men and women were talking to me, the reluctant gardener, about the importance

Of protecting our insects, the little ones that rule the world.

My anger rose hearing that their populations are down 50, 75% in the last decades,

Then fading into awe and wonder at how beautiful are the eyes of a fly.

I love the previews, where I saw an image of my neighbor, Loren, then a teenager,

Protesting for the rights of Blacks to enjoy Glen Echo Park.

These days he walks slowly through our neighborhood, and I wonder if 

His mind wanders back into those heady days of action.

Action, it is!  I am called, this freezing cold and dark night, to commit

To the pollinators, even in the face of drought and heat.

I'll remember the cold on my cheeks, and the memory will firm my

Resolve.

 

What if

What if everyone woke up to this sunrise

And for a moment, their anger dropped away and they stood

Moonstruck in awe

And what if everyone walked, Moonstruck, downstairs 

In their plaid pajamas with a smile on their face, a kiss

On their lips, looking for the cheek of their loved ones,

And what if someone was awoken by the gentle touch of a kiss

On their cheek and in their surprise, they had a moment of grace,

Of freedom from anger and care, a moment that stretched

Into the day.

What if you were the person who woke to that sunrise, who delivered

That kiss, what if you were the one who recognized 

That we are all made of star dust, how amazing would

That be. 

I am amazed. 

(Ocean Vuong - thank you for that quote.)

 

A picture looking for a poem

We're looking for a poem tonight, one that rhymes with happiness.

He's looking in the same direction as me, on this cold Boulder night,

But we did not find it right away.

Poems are slippery things, unwilling to settle into black and white type,

They don't always want to be written, and we had been reading a story in French,

The wrong language was bouncing in our minds that chilly evening,

And the plot of the story was silly, we agreed on that.

I'm looking for a poem tonight and it's getting late, the baby is sleeping 

And the stars are gazing down at me, waiting for illumination.

I turned to them, reminding them that starlight is their job,

The dog is no help either, her grizzled snout quietly rocking as she snores.

There is no poem tonight for celebration, not even one that rhymes with 

Happiness.

It appears from nowhere.  

 

A model of Peace, gratitude and (not) humility, my words for 2026

Even when snow is on the ground, and the cold stings, she's smiling

I'm thinking it's gratitude for the freedom to do what she wants, regardless of

Parents who may think it's way too cold to be outside this morning in a princess dress

A Short sweater, unbuttoned, walking the old dog, slowly, along icy sidewalks.

There's no anguish in her eyes, no worries for tomorrow, just the peace of being in 

This moment, this cold morning, in the dress she has worn continuously since her 

Opa bought it for her...how many days ago?

Yet I do not find humility in this bundle of energy and confidence, not in this one who claims

To know it all already, from skiing to sewing,

Perhaps it's best to step into the world with confidence, stumble and fall, only to find yourself

Up again on stronger ground, ready to learn what is right in front of you.