Cover image: “Axes” by M. Kaat Toy
Ripples on the Pond:
Meditation
“Meditation is about seeing clearly the body that we have, the mind that we have, the domestic situation that we have, the job that we have, and the people who are in our lives. It’s about seeing how we react to all these things. It’s seeing our emotions and thoughts just as they are right now, in this very moment, in this very room, on this very seat. It’s about not trying to make them go away, not trying to become better than we are, but just seeing clearly with precision and gentleness.”
Pema Chödrön, in The Wisdom of No Escape
Below, we have featured a small selection of work from the issue. The full issue is available for online viewing with the link above.
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Featured Selections
Michael Grimwood
Nuit
There is a patient and secret love,
In this vacant, most empty space.
Where an angel lacquered in black,
Beckons with a shadowed glove;
Come, bless the secret of my face.
She follows wedded to my feet,
Murmurs silent, behind my back.
And hides at noon without a trace,
Until we behind closed eyes meet.
Come, see what light does lack.
Beyond the garish of temple glass,
Within the flesh orrery of your eye.
Come, for I am sanctum from the Sun.
Where immortal soul loses her mass,
Discalced of form; beauty’s disguise.
Let us bless her depths of Mystery.
It is of here, the mystics have sung.
And of this truth the world does lie.
So may we dilate the pupil to see,
Then speak with wordless tongues:
Come, let us in this darkness, Be.
William Masters
Pat Phillips West
Laced with Honey
This is a day to savor the deep bowl
of morning out my window.
To eat the light, drink it through
my skin. Over to the east there’s
scarlet clashing with fuchsia,
tangerine with rose.
Colors more necessary
during such a long dark
winter, more radiant
during months of stone-gray Seattle skies.
This is a day to immerse myself
in unhurried moments, simply
gaze at the vastness of a sky
ablaze with spun sugar.
To watch the sun backlight an amber
dollop of honey melting
into a cup of steaming ginger tea.
A day to praise the tattered
parts of myself, beleaguered,
hidden, heavy. Praise them
for holding their ground
until I can accept them,
love them. A day to sit
and consider the timelessness
of birdsong, the sweetness
of morning on my tongue.
Ryo Kajitani
