-

Guardian of my Entrance Door

For a few weeks now, my Fairy Wand plant has been luxuriously spreading out her many arms adorned with magenta bells. This year further and wider than ever, taking over, guarding the entrance to the patio and to my front door in turquoise. Visitors exclaim: wow, who is this? Her being is generous in nature, flamboyant, delightful, playful, magical. Bees of all kind are extremely attracted to her, buzzing busily in and out of those bells all day.  


The other day, I sit at my threshold under Fairy Wand’s arches, when a hummingbird approaches, checking me out close-up, four inches from my face, and then sits on one of Fairy Wand’s arms three feet away, resting her tiny body, gently bouncing in the breeze on the arched thin stalk… Time is disappearing… Hummingbird, Wind, Fairy Wand and me, we are breathing in unison, embraced in a cosmic song… with this gesture we become the world, inhabiting each other, our souls intermingle in this shimmering eternal field… for a long, long time… like in a fairy tale with no ending, where we live happily forever… 


Recalling this I can still taste the distinct fragrance and aroma of these shapeshifting minutes… 


Last year same time in August, I wrote Ode to Fairy Wand 


and only in a second entry – an Afterword to my Ode – did I introduce a photo of her 

 

Comments

  1. Alex KAugust 6, 2022 at 2:26 PM

    I am coming to believe that is in moments like you describe that one can find the nourishment to be more fully in the world (alive to one's heart and the surrounding hearts) as its falling and rising.

    ReplyDelete

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

-
Image
  Immigration On Friday morning of September 20, I am spending a couple of hours for my naturalization interview in the federal building  on 630 Sansome Street in San Francisco  that houses the U.S. Citizenship and Immigration Services. Then later at 1 pm, in the oath ceremony, I am reciting the Pledge of Allegiance. Standing, holding up my right hand like everyone else, repeating the words after our master of ceremonies, I am engulfed in a chorus of immigrants’ voices from all over the world. Out of maybe 80, only two are Caucasian. The man leading us through the 20 minutes ceremony, is most likely a judge, but without his robe. He is an elegant, kind, and personable elder. We can hear the genuineness in his voice, and we are genuine, too. As we pledge allegiance to this country, the English sentences might ring slightly different for each of us. In another minute we will be citizens of the United States. Something in me is expanding. I am swearing to be a responsible an...
Read more
-
Image
  Last Dance with Uncle Oak This time, to honor the loss of another member of my ancient live oaks, I want to climb into the tree. Like I used to do 32 years ago, move, touch, feel – suspended in the air, resting on bark, sensations to be remembered. Perhaps documenting it? I ask around last minute, and find a good match in photographer  Rebecca Weinstein  to take stills of my last dance with old Uncle Oak. Once my naked feet touch the rough bark, a dynamic joy starts spreading through my body and limbs. The surprising urge to elongate myself within the safety of his sturdy arms. Next morning in a different light, I dress for another chance of closeness, envisioning my smallness to be captured. The freedom to grow into a tree, become tree , get an oak’s view, blend well, and disappear eventually. Uncle Oak, has been leaning for decades, growing northward horizontally, reaching far over into the neighbor’s yard. Now that Mama Oak has left, his malaise is more apparent...
Read more
-
Image
  Looking at you… f aintly the handwriting reads:    Karina & Bob, Here’s looking at you in 1994 With best regards, Howard   Back when he studied T’ai Chi with me for a few years, Howard was already older, a fine, eccentric gentleman. And a very good and well-known artist. With a deeply philosophical side to him which made him enjoy my way of teaching the Art and Principles of this ancient practice. He’d have questions, comments, always delighted by insights, his or mine.   In the hallway I often pass his small watercolor, with its (faded by now) inscription to Bob and me. Bob’s birthday will be in three days on May 18.  If alive, my late husband – who died in October of 2016 – would turn ninety-five this year. Suddenly I feel the presence of time in my heart, swirling about back and forth, swooshing from chamber to chamber, expanding. Howard’s greeting from 1994 – thirty years later, I am now seventy, about the age he was back then.  Suddenly I am...
Read more