As you may know, Wallace’s Line is the line which (in terms of flora and fauna) separates Java, Bali, Sumatra, and Borneo and their outlying islands from Sulawesi, Nusa Tenggara, Timor, and the Moluccas. West of the line we visited Sumatra, Java, and Bali. Here are photos from that segment of our trip.
drinking the Kool Aid
after months of being careful
the boys froze
as I took water from the priest’s bowl
and brought it to my lips
I nodded to them
it’s okay
they hesitated
then did the same
why? they asked later
it’s Besakih, the Mother Temple
the blessing’s worth the risk
today floating in the bottle green depths
of the pelucid Pelorus
that once held dwarves afloat
they asked me
can we drink it?
here we were
in a space sacred to them
I hesitated then nodded
just a little I said
and we all took a bit of magical river
into our very selves
Owen took these photos.
Jalak Bali
until I saw it
against sky
I thought its whiteness a liability
its blue face gaudy
but up in the canopy
it dissolves into air
insubstantial as cloud
as embedded in the
broad blue canvas
as leafbird is to tree
disappearing like
siang supplants pagi
and sore whisks away siang
you never know
who beauty might save
on inadvertently failing to write
the * in the record book
imperfection makes us real
fallible human distracted
why is it that I
didn’t sing the day last night?
so many reasons
with so little merit
it is what it is
keep calm and
as Cedar would say
be awesome
thank you for prayers answered
my life like every other
one string of miracles awaiting notice
my genesis two unlikely souls entangling
my first heartbeat echoing
her warm thrum of love
that has borne me through all my days
the luck of having a sister
of being not-alone growing up
growing older
the two loving grandfathers
who saw me whole
and hugged me at every chance
the teachers who cared for me
who made my wandering path seem
a matter of course
the creek and lake and ocean water
that dissolved any bits of world-weariness
my high school friends who claimed me gladly
innocently swinging under a circle of moon
my college friends
who I didn’t need to explain myself to
the kind of people I had hoped existed
especially that tall skinny boy with steady hands
calm competence
flashing mischievous eyes
and a romantic calculator
who pulled me close
and hung on through everything
through uneventful years
and life-altering moments
for the soft warm fur of a clever loyal dog
and the home I always dreamed of
lace curtains books on shelves and peace
and the children I couldn’t have dreamed up
so their own incomparable souls
and I so lucky to live beside them
for my friends today
these real raw devoted fierce compassionate endlessly-giving
beings I trust and turn to and emulate
for the luxury of time to be not do
the great joy of purpose and belonging to all that is
the unasked for beauty strewn about us all everyday
and, today, our son’s sweet journal
with its sincere silly sketches
and inscribed delible memories
returned to him by a kind stranger’s hand
for all these gifts seen and unseen
Lord, I am not worthy to receive them
but only say the word
and I shall be healed.
Plea for Saved Memories
Dear Saint Anthony
Saint Francis de Sales
Our Lady of Perpetual Help:
let the little notebook
of earnest words
the cheerful sketches
of intrepid animals
visiting unthinkable actual places
the carefully curved letters
and the ones scratched in an angry rush
the endless synonyms
hand-spun for awesome
the good days and bad
sunrises lions waterfalls pufferfish sunsets
be found
and if it be not found
let all those days sights feelings smells hopes dreams
settle in deeply
to the heart-home that gathered them
and let him bring them out
when they are needed
for he worked so very hard
to note the magic as it was made
Prayer to End Bickering
3 ways to hurt:
silence
ridicule
selfishness
3 ways to heal:
communication
kindness
generosity
Our Father
who art I-know-not-where
hallowed be all your manifestations
o place within my fumbling grasp
the sword of wisdom
and guide my hand
to carve peace
in our little 4-roomed home
in the 4 chambers of our hearts
in our 4 doubting minds
so that we each
first do no (more) harm
volcano
we land creatures
move our eyes
across the earth’s
folds and dimples
taking in texture
thinking we know
where we are
meanwhile
its ponderous girth
squats sumo-style;
a loincloth of
white cloud severs
the cone from
our lived world
it’s only when
we remember and
look up beyond
where we expected
that we see
moving on
old grey pixelated photos
line up against today’s backdrop
same person? same place?
smoking grey coconut hulls
shower us with magic, danger
either way, too close
red lines barely tie these islands together
and dollar signs drift in and out of focus:
how to get to point B when point A resists?
all I want to do is sleep now to the echo of gamelan
but we must keep moving on
