Christine Salkin Davis (Focail do a Chara)

Originally Posted 1/11/2018 Lament of Injustice (Haibun) In the boxing ring of life, the haters just won a major decision, a low blow, sucker punch thrown, flurry of troubles distracting the attention, short count fight, can she recover, awful injustice, overlooked, underestimated, undervalued, unfairness eats at the gut, suffocating anger, this is so very wrong, abuse of power. Who is in charge of this world anyway? Spirit of holy, wisdom and word, love of the ages, your children aren't feeling it, bullied and blamed, evil proliferates in the guise of self-righteous--greed, in- justice, takers and haters, liars and snakes. Please protect your people, fight for the downtrodden, stepped upon, put down, shut out, paid less, worth less, voiceless, defenseless, powerless, we are tired and hungry, thirsty, ready, anxiously waiting. We are ready for justice to win a round. Now. © Christine Salkin Davis, 2018

Originally Published 10/25/2017 Hidden Colors (A Haibun) I rush past the black and white world, snapshots and stills holding their breath in their invisible orbs. Rain pelts my umbrella as I struggle to balance my backpack, lunch bag, phone, and life, trying to minimize wet papers and frizzy hair and exhaustion, rushing to my car, feeling the energy of the slug washed up at my feet, first day back energy, blood-red energy, the color of frenetic breath, my heart echoes in emptiness. Make the most of the shift, embrace the busy-ness, activity, movement, the buzz of energy and adrenaline, the return to doing. The time for contemplation has passed, now is the time for action. This is not a week to dive deep, rather glide the surface and hold on. Save the commentary and philosophical ponderings for another day. Today is verdant green, the color of growth and wildness, cover my nakedness with illusionary tactics. Your neat little order is fraying already, outsid

Originally Posted 8/5/2017 Losing the Weight (A Haibun) Weighted down by worries, work, and weariness, I struggle to release the anxious thoughts, monsters in my mind, problems building and consequences looming. Sick dog still, a daily trial for her and us, every day for six weeks now, distress and hope,  I breathe, let the breeze wash over me as I embrace my self today. compassion and caution. Work piling and time ending, summer is almost over--the four saddest words in the English language to a  I honor commitment, the power of the promise, reminders of the road taken, vows made. Let go of more--more things to do, things to have, things to keep. Open your hand. teacher. The muse has left town, she cannot handle the knot in my stomach and ache on my brow. Summer is almost over and I am still carrying the extra 40 pounds, still haven't trained for a triathlon, taken a pottery class, traveled to the islands,  I appreciate courage, willingness to step out and overcome,

Originally Posted 8/1/2017 Courage (A Haibun) I am running, running, late and lost in fog, panicked, heart pounding, too late, too late. I run past door after door after door; none are right; piles of papers and books block my path and I start to slide on an avalanche of paper; I am out of place, out of time, out of breath. Scene change: I stand in front of a classroom, I stammer, forget, my lecture, my point, my name. I hear laughter and realize students are pointing at me. I look down; I have also forgotten my clothes. I sit straight up in bed, my heart pounding. August 1 pops up on my calendar; two weeks until school starts, and I feel the annual anxiety of all the tasks I did not get completed over summer break, the writing, the prepping, the reading, the doing, and the resting. I look around at the piles yet to be sorted, papers unread, folders still in boxes left over from spring. So much I wanted to learn, experience, do, become. The summer illusion of time to be. I

Originally Posted 7/6/2017 Letter to my self upon leaving Ireland Dear Beloved Self, Always remember the feelings of peace and wonder from looking intently at a blade of grass, a dandelion, and a bee, the sense of community of a group of pilgrims, a cafe on a cold rainy day, and a cemetery surrounding monastic ruins. Remember the holy spaces, the thin places, where the sky meets the sea and the earth. Remember the silence and know that you can be a hermit within anytime. Remember that you have something to say that is unique, important, and worthwhile. Remember 3s and 7s, magic numbers, and 13 pilgrims, wonderfully warm, strong, adventurous, and thoughtful. Remember Irish hospitality, beef stew, wool sweaters, and award winning ice cream. Remember the feelings of belonging, the ancestors reaching through time to greet me, saying, "welcome back, we have waited long years for your return!" Remember the fami

Originally Published 5/15/2017 My Own Way of Looking at Things I see the beauty in the reds oranges, yellows of a sunrise. I see the faces of leprechauns peering out from grains of wood, as if to say, welcome, and good morning. I see the herd of cows chasing a cat and wonder what the cat said to entrance such a following. I see the glint in the eye and the crinkle at the corners and the hint of a joke forming in the mind before it is words. I see the blade of grass and the buttercup and the bee buzzing around, and the crunch of footstep approaching. I see the deep blue of the sea approaching and beckoning to forever. © Christine Salkin Davis, 2017

Originally Published 11/27/2017 Dance of the Moon The round yellowish moon coquettishly winks from behind an inky gray cloud. She is circled by moonbeams and a night sky hued purple and mauve. The clouds around her form the shape of a giant black lizard-- inching away with purpose and clarity. Your journey is complete here, now, move beyond the hope of yesterday's moon and the darkness of the night shadows. Let go of the old starlight dreams. She is left but not alone, bright and high, a beacon afire with luminescent light. Let the moon's light bathe you-- dance in her warmth, in the wild side of the moon, dance to her invisible charms, dance in joy and possibility, dance to witness, partake in your unfolding life. © Christine Salkin Davis, 2017

Holy flesh, self, becoming, knowing, embodied awareness, feel the way my fingers warm when you softly kiss my lips. Shifting senses, root your soul within, foundational confidence, singing chorus of compassion for the free-falling feeling when you see the ground fading away. Focus on the clouds in your mind, sun in your eyes, see me. © Christine Salkin Davis, 2018

Curly hair and rainy days, vulnerable unruliness -- transgressions and untamed, secrets revealed. Spotlight in the darkness, thoughts exhumed, examined, cares, paralyzing critique, writing blocks. Chill on fingertips, toes, tip of nose, warmer than the cold fright, fear, not-enoughness, child within. Sunlight, late, returns, thaws, random pause, appreciation, flowering petals of mind, blossom, courage of heart. © Christine Salkin Davis, 2018

Domestic sounds and chilly air, and voices calling in the dark, the hazy clears and dreams depart. Boundaries fade and fill despair, hold to the pain, its edges hard, the hazy clears and dreams depart. heart-thumping flush and thud to earth, the hazy clears and dreams depart, sensation stomach-rolling crash, the picture settles in your mind. The hazy clears and dreams depart. The mountain brings the dawn of light, wind rustles in the chilly air, soft sounds of drizzling rain and sad, the tears and blues begin the day. The hazy clears and dreams depart. © Christine Salkin Davis, 2018

Creator of love and light, protect, life, perfect. Searching for answers in shadowlands, unfamiliar terrain, sharp turns and mysterious caves of the mind. Is it courage or cowardice that brings you here? Or are they the same thing? © Christine Salkin Davis, 2018

You can rise above the body blows, but like a yipping dog, they will bite at your heels. Keep rising. Nurture the awakening. Fresh starts and new directions, karmic completions. Cowering in the shadows beneath an avalanche of chaos of hate, anger, fear, I search for the holy materiality, tangible manifestations of the holy. Gratitude for coffee mug, smooth on lip and warm on skin, bitter sweetness on the tongue, do your angels call you blessed? © Christine Salkin Davis, 2018

What is the measure of a beating heart? The world is watching; history will remember these days, hope and courage failing, fears fierce, ripples, horrific hiding from death. Sorrow-laden and numb to the chill. Evil showing off. The golden leaves sway in the wind, supple in their strength. Force-field of light and shadows, float. Hang on to the branch as long as you can and when your grip fails, fall gently to earth. Baby steps--change the world from your place of peace. © Christine Salkin Davis, 2018

Beauty, brilliance, clearing thoughts, blue skies for peace and hope, sorrow-tinged and anger-washed, and blue-tinged tears of love. © Christine Salkin Davis, 2018

Rainy day and cold cloudiness of your soul, senses, wet and gray, wounded stillness; step into your heart, your core of being, warm and loved, beloved, be loved, love. © Christine Salkin Davis, 2018

Originally Posted: Monday, July 3, 2017 Reflections on Mary Oliver, Every morning so far I am alive What does it mean to be alive this morning, to be rooted in my body? This body with its aches and pains, the sore back, aching neck, and swollen fingers, this body with its too much fat, too short, too frizzy, too flabby, this body which will wear out much too soon, this body is what makes me alive. What if I love my body in all its aliveness? What if I love my hair, each frizzy strand of it? What if I love my stomach, which reminds me of what I ate long after I am done? What if I love my fingers, short, stubby, which hold my favorite pen to write these words? What if I love my feet which ground me in the smooth hard earth and take me miles and miles on adventures and wanderings? My back holds me up to see the green grass blowing in the breeze and the gray skies reaching down to give them a kiss. My too hot body, too vain to remove my new wool sweater, reminds me I am warm and

Originally Posted: Wednesday, June 21, 2017 Focus on What Makes your Heart Beat The world is in chaos, inside your head a jumble and rush. Focus on what makes your heart beat: the pop of poppy-colored rhododendron blossoms outside your kitchen window, the heady feeling when you first embraced, so high you saw the stars in his eyes, the dog, sleeping on your foot until your toes go numb, sighing in dreamy contentment, the words that flow, easily, ready to speak, the sand between your toes and the cold water lapping your feet, the first smell of honeysuckle in the spring. Cocoon. Focus on what makes your heart beat. ©Christine Salkin Davis, 2017

Originally Posted: Tuesday, June 20, 2017 Winter On a day in which snow and ice imprison me in my home, and my todo list consists of revisions, judgments, and critiques, I take a pause to appreciate the long lines of the tree shadows stretching across the silky smooth sheet of white, reminding me that out of my shadows is light overhead. The dog, insistently putting her head in my lap as I try to put pen to paper, insisting on love. The blanket, lovingly knit by a woman I once heard, draped across my lap, warming my legs and my heart. © Christine Salkin Davis, 2017

Originally Posted: Thursday, June 15, 2017 Yes I regret being afraid to say yes. I regret holding tightly to safety and security, to the feel of an old worn shoe, slightly frayed and scuffed on the heel, but comfortable on the toes. I regret clutching onto the day after day comfort cocooning me, suffocating me in its sameness. I regret holding back, holding my breath, holding the exhale, afraid to let my lungs change the air. I regret biting my tongue, misunderstanding the misunderstanding, but too afraid to understand. I regret the what-ifs and the why nots, the worst that can happens and the what can go wrongs and the this has got to hurts. I regret not saying yes. I regret not saying anything at all. I regret not knowing what would have happened if I had said Yes © Christine Salkin Davis, 2017

Originally Posted: Wednesday, June 14, 2017 On the Supermoon Eclipse on a Stormy Night I saw the moon last night, finally, two days late. Bright, large, white, it came from behind the vapor of cloud cover and appeared in a clearing in the sky, as if to say, the clouds will part in their time, and you will see the light in its time. But for now, know I am here shining my moonbeams on your soul. © Christine Salkin Davis, 2017

Originally Posted: Tuesday, June 13, 2017 Autumn A falling leaf floats by my window. I give it attention and a gust of wind blows hundreds more. Then it is calm. One more leaf falls. Stay true in the gusts. We are all heading toward earth. © Christine Salkin Davis, 2017

Originally Posted: Friday, June 9, 2017 Commitment I commit to radiate gold clouds that sparkle and shimmer and hold us all in a heady embrace that is soft as a feather and warms the heart. To radiate blue, true blue, solid as a rock and smooth as a stone, a path straight from stability and order, a path as wide as an ocean but heading toward home. To radiate the color of love, red, for the heart bleeding for those left behind. I commit to radiate blue, true blue, solid as a rock and smooth as a stone, orange for the passion for justice and righteousness, yellow for the dawn of a new day breaking forth, the color of love, red, for the heart bleeding for those left behind, white for the purity that enfolds us all. I commit to radiate orange for the passion for justice and righteousness, yellow for the dawn of a new day breaking forth, a path straight from stability and order, a path as wide as an ocean but heading toward home. white for the purity that enfolds us all. I commit

Originally Posted: Monday, May 29, 2017 Nana te Amo Images of babies. Soft skin, sleepy eyes, smells of powder and poop, sweet earthy smells, chubby cheeks, perfect lips, and tiny tiny fingers and toes. A soft head of dark hair against Carmel skin and deep blue gray eyes. Your weight against my chest as you breathe heavily, deeply, and twitch in your dreams of heaven and earth, secure in your soul's memories, trusting in the life into which you have been placed. I hold you in my arms, my grandson, and give you promises of love, safety, hope, joy, health. Knowing I can guarantee none of these. Te amo, mi Jonah. © Christine Salkin Davis, 2017

Tuesday, May 23, 2017 Originally Posted: Tuesday, May 23, 2017 Search for the beautiful On this cold, gray day when the dog smells like, well, wet dog, and the news reeks of children bombed and the massacre of safety nets and medical care, the computer digs in its heels and mail brings yet another rejection, and it feels as if goodness has died, do not give in to despair, instead, look hard, no, harder, for the beautiful, the pinprick of blossoms peeking out of their rainlogged hiding place, the leaves, bowing in the wind, forming a pattern that speaks of change blowing through. The heat kicks in and reminds you that you are dry and warm, supported by places and spaces, centuries of writers, poets, and mystics, deep thinkers and carers and lovers, people who searched for the beautiful in the everyday and all too ordinary pain and tragedy and disappointment and loss. Look! The raindrops dance with the leaves. © Christine Salkin Davis, 2017

Originally Posted: Friday, May 19, 2017 Blessing the Darkness Bless the darkness, the forced pauses between here and there, the steps back that cause me to look around and see others who were left behind, the closed doors that seared in my mind the eyes of those forgotten and fearful, the shut fists that tightly hold on to souls in need, the confusing silence that makes me search my heart for answers, the gates that block my way and make me rethink my path, the stony faces that reflect back my own fears and failures, the darkness that forces me inward to find the light deep in my soul. © Christine Salkin Davis, 2017

Originally Posted: Wednesday, May 17, 2017 Upon Returning Home I sit surrounded by the remnants of my half-unpacked suitcase, sending gratitude as I load the wash. I savor each memory: the clothes that covered my vulnerability: the ones that kept me warm in fierce winds, and kept me dry in hail and storm; this one gave me comfort to sit and write; this other eased my walk in contemplation and stillness; this sweater, lovingly knitted by hands that never knew me, brought me home to my body day after day; my favorite shirt lulled me to sleep; and my new knit slippers padded the way to coffee and companionship.  My gloves, my hat, my hiking shoes, went with me in silence to monastic ruins and holy places; and my yoga pants danced with me in embodied prayers. These clothes hold secret longings and discoveries, poems written and yet to write. They hold the love felt deep within my body. They  hold the sky, the sea, the wind, and the earth. I

Originally Posted: Monday, May 15, 2017 My Own Way of Looking at Things I see the beauty in the reds oranges, yellows of a sunrise. I see the faces of leprechauns peering out from grains of wood, as if to say, welcome, and good morning. I see the herd of cows chasing a cat and wonder what the cat said to entrance such a following. I see the glint in the eye and the crinkle at the corners and the hint of a joke forming in the mind before it is words. I see the blade of grass and the buttercup and the bee buzzing around, and the crunch of  footstep approaching. I see the deep blue of the sea approaching and beckoning to forever. © Christine Salkin Davis, 2017

Originally Posted: Friday, May 12, 2017 Sunlight Reflecting off the Wildflowers When you wake up to the sunlight reflecting off the wildflowers swaying in the breeze, and the cows grazing outside your bedroom window, you know it's going to be a good day. My fears had a slumber party in my head last night. Perhaps I will send my fears away for just one day. Or perhaps I will invite them to join me to explore a field of wildflowers or a beach or an ancient fort on top of a mountain. Perhaps they will pick the flowers and frolic in the waves or raise their heads and breathe in the air of eternity. © Christine Salkin Davis, 2017

Originally posted: Tuesday, May 9, 2017 Soup is a Prayer Soup is a prayer when your alarm clock rouses you from a deep slumber and your feet hit the cold floor because you forgot to pack your favorite pair of slippers, you take a pilgrimage to the kitchen and thank God for providing the hot aroma, steam rising from the pot and nourishment from your bowl. Until the end of your life you will be grateful for ice cream, sunsets over the ocean, island time, writing retreats, home, and rhinoceroses. © Christine Salkin Davis, 2017

It hurts my heart to hear the news, bad on bad on bad, communal flow of pain, portals to the unknown, sub-plots, and espionage, lies. Love and anger, fear, competing emotions. Don't know what to do to help, don't know what's going on. Never ending need. Present to the pain. Dread. Waiting for the holy cavalry. © Christine Salkin Davis, 2018