Hai ku Some
wOnderings by Armida Nagy Stickney Š 2008
4/26/08
Morning rays warming Black-eyed Susans, 21 3 monarchs visit
3/21/08
March-April days shine Space-sky travel perspective New eyes, new knowledge
3
The Queen of Water At seven I was told I was saved by water From disease, destruction, distractions, division; and now dissatisfaction. Devil did I know who to ask how I was saved. Five times seven I had become the queen of stifled dreams. Not thinking to question authority, that’s what. Grasping the unknown as solid object, My values, my conclusion nothing seemed to work. Tucked away in density, Hidden gifts I was told Not risking the risk it takes to experience That nothing is set in stone. Dogged environment, prison of my view Adversity was the result, not distrust, not apathy. Obliterating the danger of obedience Crying I am necessarily free. Ideas of I am as I am, Shaping my own star. Someone no longer choked by do’s and don’t do; ‘A latitudinarian,’ I say Trapping myself once more in my rightness. Within me I’ll find the receptive quality of water, Queen of Water, unbounded without expectations or exactions: Filling, overflowing, emptying, refilling.
5/9/08 Why reject the man? Be grateful to everyone Befriend even him.
2/10/08 empty clarity all things outside and inside beyond imagination empty clarity beyond imagination all things pure inside
4/11/08 form, sound, thoughts appear structures integrate quickly freed in its own place
2/19/08 gold, red, white, blue, green resting here where self is void thinking mind ceases
2/15/08 21:43 red leaves once trampled silent pockets packed fully emotions quited
2/15/08 21:49 reflection of moon superposition here there observing stillness
2/15/08 21:30 blinded light of sun luminous wilderness wake trackless solitude
3/15/08 22.03 subtle nature’s view probabilities expanding everything and none
3/30/08 complete body sweat gasping breath aches heart and head chills on Sam’s shoulders
4/8/08 spring time is sexy all flora, fauna, and me unabashedly
I Tibet 2008 Nomads trek the land Changing resources fewer Here, there, nothing
II Tibet 2008 The spring of protests Dharmasala to Lhasa Tibetan slaughter
III Tibet 2008 Rock quarry through town Progress electricity End of old, cold days
IV Tibet 2008 Old Lama and sun Medicine and herbs brings No paper money
V Tibet 2008 No summer yak milk One family in valley Tea time to discuss
3/13/08 home, a distant site through woods and over rivers light rests, cradles mind
Dedocated tp All Sentient Beings
Om A Hung
UNDERGRADUATE’S UNCONDITIONING
101 - Distancing Anger rose like a flash within Bottled in a surprising moment No where to go. Feel it. Hold it. In the mindful gap, Look at it From a distance With repeated patience, Like a wave Hitting the beach, Not dragging you. Back away fast, Not confused by its energy.
201 - Seeing Clearly, jealousy must not stay. Seeing it for what it is, its charge, Multiple dots out of focus, focused again. Zoomed back Landscape of a happening— Awareness: No positive result will come from it As an enemy. Immediate, transformed as a support, Rejoice in this good fortune.
301 - Releasing Passion ever strong Knowing its movement source, Raw. That’s all you are.
401 – Just as it is. It just is.
Regina was
out on the dirt afte make it official, at of cabbage and co the hour. It was tim
TORN Sandals, clothing torn Remnant traces of life gone Nothing left to snuff
She walked t trampling. She was her backyard, she pond, she was star quickly drawn to th
She chu a forgotten demon wished, for a split Her body was far f brighter outlook. Regina thought of main attraction. “W rates me from mys
Her eye of light that did no ster, a frog, or the son, herself, in an remaining body, ex
Rorschach's MisMis-measure
She wa hovering above he tion. Everything ha
circle of friends to
Photograph courtesy of Fingercheese of Tailcast.com
deeper to exam
She sat on stemming from often despite he repeated Regina started poundin
totally listless after toiling the exhausted soil. She thought she had taken her anger er pounding the ground repeatedly with her hoe. Hardly any rain fell, causing her to t least in her mind, that the drought was going to last throughout the spring. Her crop ollard greens was disappointing her when she realized dusk would be setting within me to head home.
through the citrus grove, looking at the easily bent blades of grass from her previous s oblivious to the wind that was stirring around her. When she reached the opening to headed towards the bench beside the pond. When she looked at the surface of the rtled by its reflection. Her trained eyes looked first at the negative space but were he inkblot formation in the evening sky.
uckled at the prospects that another person would have projected a menacing skull of n. There was hardly any reason for her to believe she was experiencing a vision. She second, however, that it would have been a pure vision of a heightened experience. from being relaxed because her despondency was distracting her from having a
her evening plan to join her friends at the drumming circle. The full moon was the What can I gain by sailing to the moon tonight if I cannot cross the abyss that sepaself?” she wondered.
es still on the sky, she began to see an entity in lotus position, flanked by bright orbs ot reflect on a sea of black space—like an abyss. Below she saw three images—a lobface of a garuda—bowing before the buddha form above. The final image was a perinverted position; the clouds above the horizon, her flattened pillow. Any trace of her xcept for her shoulders, was lost in the black abyss.
as smiling at the sign of self discovery: don’t give up. The apparition of a buddha was er heart chakra, she noted. The Rorschach-like sky had put her in a state of contemplaad become an illusion of her mind. She sensed it was not essential to meet up with her
o dance before the Moon Lady. It was a time for her to incubate, to go
mine her shifting mood.
the floor, focused on her heart center to become aware of her breathe that area. Word association became her tool. The word ‘peace’ came up er sense of difficult times. “I want peace and love for myself and others,” a, followed by her direct healing method to improve her T-cell count. She ng her chest to stimulate her thymus gland.
Oily Business Long, tepid shoreline A languid, lingering spill Oiled fowl, sad site
The Socorro of the Sandhill Crane
The sandhill crane flies over my dwelling this morning, loudly calling socorro, So the sound seems. The bird heads on a southwesterly path. Does it know w Is the bird calling out to its mate?
Socorro is a sound I have not heard much over my 20-year migration to and sound has become a chilling call. It’s more of a cry stating that their once-kn changing. The sandy pastures where cows use to graze are gone, where they s offspring. I’m convinced it’s the crane’s sad song. Known in North America and Siberia, with the longest fossil history of any extant species. Grus canadensis pratensis of Florida must act fast to survive. Does it know to join the migration flight through Nebraska or go to Cuba or seek Mississippi? This fellow was flying towards the Gulf of Mexico to Yucatan. Is it one of the migratory subspecies of sandhill cranes? Never have I heard the trumpeting call of the sandhill crane as now. It’s happening with a frequency, as I said, that warns us. They are losing their grounds where they once gave birth to one or two colts a year. If you have ever witnessed their presence in the pastures, you will have seen at least three in the spring horizon. Rarely was there ever one.
Am I to experience more mourning, trumpeting sounds of socorro, socorro, soc sapiens sprawl unnatural structures where the cranes once nurtured their br them their lunch of rodents, too?
socorro, socorro. where it’s going?
from Florida. Its nown habitat was safely hatched their
corro? As homo sapiens rood, will we deny
The Florida sandhill crane has become somewhat domesticated, walking across lawns and parking lots. Ponds, too, but they are drying up. I was in my car once, three feet away from a crane who simply stared at me in its stately stance. I drove slowly away after imprinting on my mind its yellow, crystal-like eyes and red crown. Will the sandhill crane of Florida join the endangered list with its cousins, the Cuban nesiostis and the Mississippi pula? The silent flight of the pair is no longer a soothing sight, for it has become rare. As satisfied dwellers of the once virgin fields, no one is crying the sandhill cranes are dying. They’re simply satisfied with the cranes’ recent antic of parading singularly across their yards. Can’t they hear their cry, socorro, socorro, socorro? We must stop our mindless madness of careless concrete corridors by giving them aid. Socorro after all means aid in Spanish just as Florida means Flowery Easter. You see, it’s still believed these spring-loving pairs mate for life. We haven’t gone there yet, but they’re flesh is considered one of the better-tasting wild fowl.
NEEDLE AND
SCISSORS NEEDLES & SCISSORS
He knew the best time to teach me a lesson. “How does it feel to be beat-up, Jacob?” he asked. “Not so good, Dad.” I was just six and a half, and I already had my first black eye and swollen nose. My best friend, Johnny, didn’t like that we both liked the same girl. I was crazy about Mary to whom I took daisies I gathered from my walk to school. Mom was sitting in front of the TV with her sewing kit and my torn trousers. “It’s better to be the needle to bring things together than to cut things apart with the scissors.” “Son, I want you to listen well. I’m going to teach you how to fight. But first, I must tell you that you have to learn when to run and when to fight. You’ll have other times when you’re going to have to make a split decision. Understand, son?” I was all ears. “Did you have to fight? Or could you have walked away? “Dad, I had to fight back. Mary saw him grab the daises out of my hands before I could give them to her.” “Your friend, Johnny, is beginning to show behavioral problems that his parents need to address quickly; or it will be too late for him.” “You don’t think I should play with him anymore?” “That’s going to be your decision, Jake. He may never do this again. But then again he just may. It’s for you to take note of how he acts. I would say to you to keep your distance so that you can take a close look at him.”
He added, “It’s not your job to fix him. Keep that in mind, Jacob. I know how you like to get people to get along. But it’s not good, son, to give strangers your quick smile.” I was thinking of Mom and her needle, sewing a patch on my jeans, making my jeans whole again. “There are men and women who you may think are nice, but they are not. They are unknown unknowns, and you’ll want to keep them that way. You’ll want to stay far away from them. “For example, they will want to give you a comic book, candy sticks, chocolate cigarettes. Don’t take any of it, understand? They want you to feel safe, to feel good. They want you to trust them. “Always take a step or two back. Run if you have to. Break yourself loose. Scream bloody murder.” “Dad, what does this have to do with Johnny?” “Maybe nothing. Maybe some of them were just like Johnny, claiming others for themselves.” He paused. “Jacob, there are people who will hurt you worse than Johnny did today. I mean really hurt you and Mom and me. One of them could, let’s say…, see you walking home from school on a rainy day. ‘Want a ride?’ he’ll say. You don’t think anything of it because you don’t like being wet. The next thing he’ll do is give you some sweets or show some real interest in you, get your mind off of the direction of home. The next thing, you’re in a field….he makes you feel uncomfortable. You yell and then it’s all over. We don’t see you for days, years, maybe never again.” “Dad, I promise. I’ll be careful,” as my mind thought of awful things that could happen to me. “Okay, son. Let’s show you some moves.”
A few days later I heard Mother call Dad to the tube. “Please tell me this isn’t little Johnny?!. Tell me it isn’t. Oh, how terrible. Don’t let Jacob see this.” That day, my stiff back hugging the wall in the hallway, I sobbingly muttered repeatedly, “Needle and scissors, needle and scissors.” Johnny and Mr. Unknown went the way of the scissors.
DO NOT FOLLOW THE THOUGHT Silence in winter Weaving the thread of swift thoughts Slips the finger knot.
My Naked Heart I was having a future thought. You know, the type when you visualize an event. I was seeing myself in a house on top of a very high mountain. All of a sudden, the walls fall off, nowhere to be seen. Nothing was seen. It was all bright. Only naked brightness, too strong to experience. Without warning, my mind called back the silver mirror and the cracked lip. After many years of preparation, I’m still not prepared. But I am prepared to handle this past phenomenon. I was the peacemaker not knowing how to make the peace. At age 14, what can you expect. There was not enough range except that my singular heart felt it was the only way. Only later did I realize it was a compromise without all the facts. There was never a moment she did not find some reason to rant and rave her dissatisfaction. Was she not perfect enough, had she not arrived? Had I not arrived for her? I tried to believe my new life emerged after having been submersed into the Pacific Ocean. Everyone was rejoicing, and I felt pride. I made my declaration to submit to a much higher power than myself and to rectify the disorders that had crept into my life. From it came a high degree of self-discipline, but it was at such a great price. My fresh opportunity to begin again as a holy daughter was short lived. Frankly, I do not remember what the storm was all about. It probably was something I said to establish my individuality. I ran into my sanctuary, my room, my bed. She chased after me with mirror in hand. I folded to protect my face, but a shard managed to cut my knee and upper lip as the mirror smashed. The blood scared her, and I cried in my heart to feel the pain, to extrude the pain, to harden the pain against her and all she stood for that day: Everyone betrayed everything. As they say, time heals all. With me, healing time is about eight hours or less. The sun does not settle; t hat is, my head does not fall on my pillow, entertaining anger—the sediment that shores up and distributes its particles in liquid haste. I let it go because I let it go so many times before. It was a habit, you see. I didn’t hit replay or pause; I survived by playing the future. I’m telling you this to say what? I assure you, there will be no plenary indulgences to explain my mother. She was conflicted. In her own way, she was seeking truth. You know, truth—the supreme reality, ultimate meaning, value of existence. In my naked heart I know her existence was not without merit even though her anger delayed her progress. She had a lot of merit. I returned to my breath.
Stark sunlight moves not Horizons of clouds and ice Induce sleepless path
(Photographer Anonymous (AP))
there are no final words or symbols or sounds made
without cymbals
Armida Nagy Stickney