Okay. This post was supposed to be a continuation of yesterday’s musings about the art of preparing for something you really, really want.
About the Playground — my new baby that is not a baby, and some of the things I’m doing, working on, thinking about and imagining, in the context of creating safety for this tiny, sweet thing. And fun-brewing.
So I was writing. And at a certain point, it morphed into a poem and surprised the hell out of me.
And became the second time I’ve written an accidental poem on the blog.
There are footnotes at the end, to clear up some parts that might not make sense. And if it still doesn’t make sense, my wish is that it sets off something hopeful in you.
Start with the first circle.
Starting with the first circle.
The giant ship’s wheel on the wall.
Direction and steadiness. Setting a course. Marking a path.
A trajectory of intention. Change. Possibility.
Fortuna, the pirate ship, the chakras. The frame. Of course. It’s the frame of the Nataraj.
You can’t get away from the dance.
Then the mezuzah.
It says remember.
It says I remember.
It says wholeness. It says entry. It says you are safe.
It says with your whole heart and your whole soul and your whole being-ness.
It says when you lie down and when you rise up.
It says on your gates.
It whispers safe passage in all transitions.
A hand.
That’s the hamsa. A shield with an eye.
Another way in.
Eye of the storm.
Another place of stillness in chaos.
New beginnings.
Ganesh swings from the chandelier by his elephant trunk, the god of new things and new beginnings.
Careless, carefree, sweet. Keep watch. For the moment when playful swinging reveals patterns and spirals.
A piece of memory:
My father putting a piece of the afikoman above the door to ward off evil spirits.
It keeps away the demons. That we don’t believe in.
Exactly.
Sound.
I sound the bell. A ringing so round and complete that everything stops.
The sound rises in circles. Like a perfect tornado funnel.
Yeats in the corner, with his gyres. Scribbling furiously. Taking notes.
Then there’s that sound that comes after the sound. The other vortex. The wishing well.
Another sign.
When I couldn’t find my way, I asked for a sign.
Prompting lengthy and complex internal discussion.
I don’t believe in signs. But I wanted one. But I wanted to not believe in it. But I wanted it to be so clear that there was no doubt it was speaking to me. But I needed to know that the process was internal, not external. But I needed faith.
But.
And then there it was.
The small, tilted wishing well.
The one from the drawing. The one I’d already chosen to be the sign before I knew there was going to be a sign.
A wooden bowl full of monsters.
We collect them.
So we can practice the art of not being scared by them.
We talk to them. We practice wishing them well.
And it’s back to the dance.
Spiraling movements of deconstruction and creation.
Everything comes apart apart into its essence. Every pattern into a new one.
Smashing dancing. Soothing dancing. Whirling dancing. Wishing dancing.
Bringing new unheard of things into form. Stepping right into the chaos.
Eye of the storm.
Watching the pieces coming together, re-form themselves. New air.
Disappearing into the dance of anger that is also the dance of joy that is also the dance of everything that is possible.
The most gorgeous falling apart there is.
Under the wheel.
It’s a wheel. A sign. A hand. A new beginning.
The shield. The bell.
The funnel. The well.
Guardians of the gate. Eye of the storm.
It wishes me well.
Assorted footnotes and some Useful Links:
Because it seemed kind of weird to put links in a poem but I figured there might be stuff you’d want references for.
- The pirate ship is my business and I am the Pirate Queen.
- The nataraj is dancing Shiva.
- The dance is Dance of Shiva, the cosmic dance of creation and destruction.
- A mezuzah is what we place in our entryways.
- A hamsa is an amulet for protection.
- The afikoman is the last thing you eat at the seder.
- Ganesh is a Hindu deity: lord of new beginnings and remover of obstacles.
- And the monsters are everywhere we internalize criticism.
And comment zen for today.
Part of the joy of having a blog is that it’s — gott sei dank — not a literary criticism class.
So no advice on my poetry non-career, please. I’m not leaving my day job. Wait, this is my day job. Never mind.
Also: a symbol is a symbol is a symbol. A metaphor is a metaphor is a metaphor. Symbols and metaphors are not avodah zara. They are symbols and metaphors.
You’re welcome to share excitement and wonder. And to be happy for me and my Playground in our time of craziness and fun-brewing.
And if I am not the only one whose writing sometimes becomes poetry, that would be a lovely, reassuring thing to know.
Follow
I once made up a recipe for pea-and-lettuce soup because of the abundance in my garden. The recipe became a poem, as well as a bowl of chilled fresh pea soup. with mint.
Some things are so sacred that they must become poetry. That’s just the way it is.
.-= Kylie´s last post … spring has sprung =-.
Just need to say thank heavens for posts that turn into poems that inspire and deepen and dance and sparkle. Havi spirals into song and I rock to the rhythm!
Love,
Oh, I feel all sparkley!
The poetry and metaphors just explained something that may have taken you a zillion boring, plan, not-poetic words to explain.
I can see the space now, the symbols, the signs.
Excitement!
.-= Tara´s last post … Not on a Monday =-.
Accidental poems are the best kind. <3
.-= Chris Anthony´s last post … The Persistence of Memory =-.
My poetry nearly always ends up going Seussical, but that’s just how my brain rolls.
I love love love the symbols and metaphors and it rolls like the ship on the seas, wonderful with each wave a new thought. 🙂
.-= Andi´s last post … Reboot of Doom =-.
smiling.
can totally see your dance, strong, crackling with energy, and for some reason, see your hair all wild and dancing too.
🙂
Ingrid
An afikoman. I wants one above the door to my inner self. But I might change it from warding off evil spirits to announcing my place is a Monster Friendly zoo or playground.
All day yesterday I tried to think of a gift for your new baby. I thought of a pirate’s chest full of magic dust that you can sprinkle whenever you need and so can those who play there. It calms monsters and puts them all in a playful mood where, maybe they won’t talk but they might giggle and mumble freely.
I thought of Pirate’s Shalalee (spelling?)since many pirates were Irish. (I am descended from two lines of real pirates!) So these pirates have the magical shalalee for granting wishes in surprising ways.
And then I simply thought that this would be my gift: A song of welcome, where we whisper and coo: You are welcome. You are safe. And you are loved. And Yes. That is my gift to the new baby.
.-= Wulfie´s last post … The Art of Business: Juggling Marketing and Connection =-.
Love the movement of it all. Thanks for sharing.
.-= Lisa Firke´s last post … VPA* for a home buyer =-.
There’s a whirling. A stirring of time.
The grace of the present keeps me afloat.
My plans are simple: to serve where I am needed. Somebody, out there, likes the idea. He clicks on my PayPal Donate button in the sky.
So I keep my eyes open, heart open, listening to how that payment will be deposited.
A warm meal? A soft bed? A kind smile?
.-= Eric Normand´s last post … I think I’m ready =-.
Ohhh that was lovely.
No poppet you needn’t feel alone in need to express yourself in poetry and the embarrassment to follow. Let me be there with you. In the eeyuuuu and the hmmmm goooood.
I’ve been looking at ways to justify my own need to write altogther myself. But so far in spite of my limitations I can’t come up with a logical one – it’s just what I need to do in spite of my fear. So I’m with ya.
I love it.
Words have energy and vibrations and intention. That’s enough for me. Crazy little thing though aint I/we sometimes?
I throw perfection and the need to be an expert towards the sea and rocks.
woosh woosh woooosh.
do be do be doo doo.
x
.-= Leila Lloyd-Evelyn´s last post … A brief interlude today =-.
Ohhh don’t feel alone in the need to write something poetic. especially since you do it so well.
Although I find it hard, I am trying to trust that the energy and intention of my words vibrate more loudly and clearly when I surrender to the need to express myself – no matter what. I find it hard though. (Great whilst I have so few followers – I am still safe from shoes!)
I throw perfection to the wind, the air, the sea, the sand and hope for something good to come back to me, to confirm that all is right and good. My heart, my body tell me so
Whoosh whoosh whooshhhhh
Your words make for a warm space inside.
thank you.
x
.-= Leila Lloyd-Evelyn´s last post … A brief interlude today =-.
@Merry – pea-and-lettuce soup poem! LOVE.
@Kylie – yes, you are so right. Thank you for the reminder.
@Chris – yay~
@Andi – Seussical! How perfect.
@Ingrid – Oh yes, I was actually picturing you and Tara and everyone in North Carolina, and how amazing it was when we were all dancing together. Awesome.
@Eric – oh that is beautiful. Just beautiful.
@Leila – whooosh! Whooooooooooooshhhhhh!
Poems, whether they explode in the sky above or slip silently through underground passages from their world to ours, are always a surprise.
Thank you for opening the door and letting this gorgeous poem enter!
So much love for you, your great, big, creative heart, and your Baby Goddess Playground.
xo Hiro
.-= Hiro Boga´s last post … Playful Discovery: The Cure for Internet Hangover =-.
I love this poem!
I love that you put Ganesh and afikomen right by each other in a poem!
I didn’t grow up with an idea of the afikomen representing protection in any way, so I am now trying to integrate this new association into my pool. In our family, we hid the afikomen and then I found it and got $5. I was always the one who found it.
If the wheel wishes you well, are you the wheel’s wishing well?
I’m not even sure what you mean when you say “And if I am not the only one whose writing sometimes becomes poetry” because just by listening and seeing there is a poem in everything ever written.
Please just keep being Havi.
Ahhhhhhhhhh
I can’t even tell you why, but I NEEDED this! Got goosebumps reading it. Thank you so much, Havi!!
And about writing becoming poetry — mine used to, and I believe it will again (I got in its way by TRYING to write poetry) – I think there’s something very flow-ish about the process – makes total sense (and beauty/order/gorgeousness) that you’d work that way!!
.-= Square-Peg Karen´s last post … We Interrupt Our Regularly Scheduled Blog Post =-.
Yes. A lot of my writing turns into poetry before I even know it. It happened *just this morning,* in fact.
Love that your baby Playground is throwing off sparks of poetry and delight already.
I love this poem. It’s beautiful and creative and it whirls. It has it’s own motion, which isn’t something all poems manage to possess.
“And if I am not the only one whose writing sometimes becomes poetry, that would be a lovely, reassuring thing to know.”
You’re not. My inner poet sometimes fights with my inner author and I’ve written poems 1,000 words long before, without even noticing; let alone meaning too.
Thank you for letting us share your wonder this way. It’s incredibly energising to be a part of your process.
.-= Rose´s last post … Summer =-.
Sometimes, when I am writing fiction, my words become poetry.
Because this is fiction, and the story has to have overriding consideration, sometimes I have to take the poetry out, and re-cast the insight or expression or description into recondite language.
On rarer occasions, it is exactly what the story needs, and can stay right there.
But it shows me that I can write poetry, and that’s enough. It’s there when I need it, and so is that voice which tells me what my ms. needs right now, and which I am working so hard to learn to trust.
That voice seems to remember every single good book I have ever read, and doesn’t let me keep reading bad ones. The number of popular novels I’ve missed over the years is incredible. And I’m free of caring about that.
Because writing well is what I have to do.
Wow. What beautiful words to feel today! Thank you!
For some reason, they seem to fit so well with this other amazing post I read today:
http://www.ronnadetrick.com/faith-the-sacred-feminine-and-lots-of-what-ifs/
I’m seeing the connections. Noting that they are not really dots to connect, but living breathing feelings that need nurturing and sharing to fulfill their destiny.
Their destiny, of course, is to be heard.
As is it is for each of us.
Please continue to write and share your poetry whenever it chooses.
Hugs and butterflies,
~T~
.-= PicsieChick´s last post … Is there room for doubt in gratitude? =-.
Clearly, your Playground has a knack for sparking creativity. I think that’s a pretty wonderful quality for it to have. Thank you for sharing your poem, Havi.
.-= Josiane´s last post … Middle of the night musings =-.
So beautiful! I love prose that shimmers into poetry. It happens to me too, sometimes. I wonder if it’s simply a natural, human response to times of great significance and intense emotion.
You can’t get away from the dance.
I love it.
.-= Kathleen Avins´s last post … When the going gets tough… =-.
Ganesh!
.-= Tami´s last post … Yoga+Music(notquite365) – You Are Free by Cat Power – The Recipe Edition! =-.
How could you not love Ganesh?
New beginnings AND removing obstacles.
How I love Ganesh!
.-= Tami´s last post … Yoga+Music(notquite365) – You Are Free by Cat Power – The Recipe Edition! =-.
Was referred to your post today via PixieChic. So, so grateful. Especially for this:
…Stepping right into the chaos. / Eye of the storm…. /
The most gorgeous falling apart there is.
Indeed, so much deconstruction, reconstruction, and endless, “gorgeous falling apart.” The willingness to let such happen is the key; to willingly step into the chaos and the eye of the storm.
Always easier said than done; today gave me ample/painful opportunity to test these waters. You reminded me that I’m not alone.
Thank you.
.-= Ronna´s last post … Faith, the Sacred Femine, and lots of “what-if’s” =-.
This is absolutely awesome. It’s so to the point it brought tears to my eyes. Now I know it’s actually possible to write accidental, inspired poems that are SO NOT CHEESY! Thanks for the insight.
Pirate wheel = circle of fire and arms that is represented around Shiva. Gorgeous. *slaps forehead* Obvious. Beautiful! So much to unpack!
“my wish is that it sets off something hopeful in you.”
You bet. Thank you thank you thank you!
Makes me want to read poetry again.
(Maybe you could have this poem made into a ketubah? Just a thought…It’s so beautiful!)
The space of your playground takes over above my head whenever I read anything about it.
It’s playing a role in the soft for me – there’s a resonance between your baby and mine (not in terms of the babies themselves, but the *having*, and, as often, permission).
I know I always say thanks, but… thanks.
(Oh, and the sound after the sound… Love that you say that too.)
.-= Andrew Lightheart´s last post … How to present like Hans Rosling =-.
Writing-that-turns-into-poetry-unexpectedly is such a gift. It’s like attending a reading by your favorite author, floating in the happy ocean of gorgeous words in a familiar voice, and then suddenly s/he puts down the book and steps out from behind the lectern and begins to dance: a stunning beautiful thing you didn’t even know could happen.
Thank you for taking my heart dancing today.
.-= Tracy´s last post … Retrospective: Transformed by Touch =-.
Havi, Beautiful. I can see it. Thank you.
.-= Susan´s last post … How Internet Marketing Really Works: A True Story =-.
Havi, Beautiful. This made my day better. Thank you.
.-= Susan´s last post … How Internet Marketing Really Works: A True Story =-.
How surprised and delighted I was to read a reference to my favorite Hindu deity [Ganesh!] plus a snippet from my Torah portion [“…upon thy gates”] in the same poem. Lovely. Delicious. Thanks, Havi!
.-= Sally J.´s last post … The Talismanic Aura of Authenticity (Part 1) =-.