Grounded In Stillness

Sitting Still, Lotus Pads in Lankester Botanical Gardens, Cartago, Costa Rica photo by Melanie Lee



 The Art of Stillness
by Pico Iyer

 At some point, all the horizontal
trips in the world stop compensating 
for the need to go deep, into 
somewhere challenging and 
unexpected; movement makes most
 sense when grounded in stillness.

In an age of speed, I began to think,
nothing could be more invigorating
than going slow. In an age of
distraction, nothing could feel more
luxurious than paying attention. And in
an age of constant movement, nothing
is more urgent than sitting still. 

 --from The Art of Stillness: 
Adventures In Going Nowhere

a TED book (small books, big ideas)
 by essayist/travel writer Pico Iyer

Passage To Summerland

Passage To Summerland
17 X 15
Watercolor on Paper by Melanie Lee

                                                                                                                                                                                                                Passage To Summerland                                                     

Our guide was a Trickster

who always smelled skanky

we held our hanky

discreet to nose

 hoping fair winds

would deliver us gladly

from  armpits gone badly.

 Asses in gear sweeties!

Trickster yelled with abandon

Sashay up that hill, 

sidle over those humps.

 I  see ya, I gotcha

    now don't be a goose 
just look out for the bumps.

                                                                           

Darkling lowlands now behind,

ascent ground on blind

through smokey webs and blackened barbed wire.

Came a lonely blue valley with dusty red fire 

hosanna, we  fell on our knees in surrender

 to a large happy lemon

                                                       oozing hope from a blender.                                                                                                                                                                                

 Noon blazed high

when the end burst in sight,

 resurrection stood by

 Trickster shone in the light.

Fresh shirt, sweet pits

 cleaned up right smart as 

 lilacs from heaven bloomed out his heart.

                                                          Let go of my hand dears

he said with a wink

 I know what you think 

but I'm merely a link.

  That yellow? That mirth?

Pay homage to Summerland,

you're now guests on earth.

.

 

In Liminal Time

 

  Liminality  Acrylic (detail)  by Louis Michalski

In Liminal Time
by Melanie Lee

She rode in on an indigo dream

 all divine madness 

and sweet melancholy,
a cackling Crone in liminal time 
whose shadowed brilliance

promised voice and valor
speaking truth to power.

               Her wrinkled face of textured lines
held nubbin teeth in a Revlon Red mouth
 smiling blue rain and purple rivers,

  spurting wild ecstatic knowings
bleeding crimson hot and hard
 molten drops of
 apples, rubies, iron.

          It is when we are not sure 

that we are most alive.

How did she know what she knew?

                And why did she say what she said?
Her red lips opened wider now,
 our frightened ears came alive
Thus she spake to show us how
to tell the truth,
to learn to thrive.
       

                                            What do you count on to have a voice?

                                                      Something to say,

                                                    Someone to speak to,

                                                     Someone to listen.

 Too late now to turn back truth

 body hugged soul, we opened our hearts,
  our minds unchained, we watched her mouth. 

Out walked courage

followed by anger

surrounded by love
wrapped in light.

On Terra Nova

Grace (Pastel) by Melanie Lee

  The Graces smiled
as we approached, 
casting blue light
on places green and gold.

 Introductions not needed

 we knew who they were. 

Beauty, Creativity, Wisdom

sang their siren song that night,

insistent, raucous

hooting, tooting, rooting,

 loud enough to wake the roosters,

 sweet enough to turn the tides. 

  Polite but pointed we asked outright

Can you tell us where we're at?

Creativity shrugged. Beauty blushed. 
A sidelong glance as Wisdom sat.

 Be  here now, they said, 
simple as that.



Surrender, they urged,
Butter melts best in a warm oven.
Sit here a spell, call this home.

 Too tired now to roam again
wondering if this truth
 lay too far beyond our ken. 


The indigo night's embrace
tempered our fears so
  we laid our bodies down
like pats of butter on the ground.
Surrender now, we may be home
 Tomorrow, we said, then we'll know.

.

 

Hearts Left Behind

Hearts Left Behind (watercolor/charcoal) M. Lee

We traveled a purple road

just to behold
 blooming exotics

on crooked trees,

  lying in wait where

juicy red hearts

shouted pick me pronto.

La Magica took
one  look,
eyeing fat blossoms 

nestled in thorns.
"Get out of there right now,"
she screeched
"they're on to you!"

Scrambling then, and I mean quick,
no time to gawk or fret
gotta go, gotta get.
I'd learned to trust her
she-who-must-be-obeyed
"Listen up old sweetie,
surrender now or don't get paid."

Didn't know, didn't care,
what it all meant still up in the air
running fast now on my toes.
Look out! hearts shrieking in glee
 so close I could see
they ran redder than blood,
 flinging poo at me.

I turned then, faced them down
"Let me take your photo?"
 Startled they agreed, ogling, smirking
at the sight. Then
shocked at their thorns, they offered
apologies...so sorry, didn't know,
we'll leave you alone, we'll let you go.



Turning their backs they slithered away
   I cut up their pictures,
gave as good as I got.
"Be still," Magica spoke wise,
"forgive and forget
for they know now what they ought."
Pacem in Terris.













 

The Enchanted Forest

The Enchanted Forest ( (mixed media)
by Melanie Lee

In the forest live beings of mystery

existing in shadows
 speaking in sighs
murmuring softly so we can hear,
knocking loudly
when we don't.


An odd bird roams here
 beset with curious whimsies
 raucous and restless
scanning for prey
he speaks aloud,
spitting out truth.


He asked me to listen,
 share his secrets piece by piece.
Just a matter of disclosing the night,
 he winked smartly
preparing to conjure light.
 No truth too hard he swore.


Yes, I have time I told him,
averting my eyes just in case,
fearless but knowing full well
what calamity might happen next.
"Go 'head on man, you tell me straight
what matters most?"



Pop, Shazam and Bippity Boppity Boo,
 he sang out loud, Open Sesame
 I love you!

Dumbstruck, I swooned
enchanted, now free.
Oh honey, I whispered,
 come home with me.

                                                  


 

Our Wild Hearts

Our Wild Hearts
mixed media & poem by Melanie Lee

Our Wild Hearts

We set out searching into the  wild
 in the Year of Unknowing.

 Dark nights, weird noises, frightful wonders, 
We fell in deep,
over our heads, heads over heels. 

Someone  wonderful was watching.

Quite a job it was, blithe spirits we were.
Could we bring it safely home?
"Not to be known!" thundered Someone,
this author of our souls, delivering

 smart raps on the knuckles.
Bruised and broken we strode on.

 Peering deeper into the jungle
a clearing came to view
Cloud up there? Like a heart, we said.
Someone smiled at that
and clapped 
the sound of one hand.

Emergence came on winter's heels
springtime rolled round again.

The road ahead said follow me,
 air sweet, birds a'winging 
Someone laughing
Someone singing...

"You're out of the woods
You're out of the dark
You're out of the night
Step into the sun
Step into the light."

("OptimisticVoices" song
 lyrics by E.Y. Harburg)