teapot no. 48

After a walk with Yuki on the coastal path around Lovers Point, we parked on the Asilomar side. There I enjoyed tea on the dash (which I watercolored above) and ate the noodle lunch I had packed. On another walk, in the tide pools at Asilomar, we saw a large duck (or maybe a goose?) walking around on the rocks. I followed him or her until I saw another goose sitting on a nest. I snapped these photos then backed away so as not to disturb them.



















And I saw these flowers:

The Yes Poem

The Yes Poem

Yes!
If the whole world said Yes
Think what could be if Yes
was on the tongue of every woman, child, and man

Yes to all our wishes, dreams, desires
“Yes, I’ll do it,” “Yes, you’re as wonderful as I am” and
“Yes, isn’t it positively yes?”

Yes to naps, passion, roses in winter, butterflies, kites with rainbow tails
stories we create as we stroll through the woods
Yes to clear skies
to fogged-in coastal mornings
We sit by the fire while the calm sea is out there

Yes to wrinkles
Yes to helping ourselves
Yes to the bag lady
to laughter
to juggler, poet, clown
Yes to the mumbling man, to musician
gardener, painter, cook

Yes to clean air, to breath
to up and down
In and out
love and hate
and everything in between the spaces of duality

Oh,

Yes!



~Nicole Raisin Stern
Paris, 1990

News Flash!

News Flash!, originally uploaded by tortuga del desierto.

My new specs are so spectacular we were photographed for the cover of The Spectacle.

* * * * *

The Yuki Story

Thirteen years ago, I met Yuki, a furry little fluff ball of only six weeks. He had sharp pointy white teeth, a very black nose, white eyelashes, black round-almond eyes, a curly tail, the fluffiest whitest, softest fur, and what's most incredible of all--he didn't yet know how to bark! No barking. Not even a peep. Nothing. From the beginning, Yuki only pooped outside; I never had to train him, he just trotted over to the door and waited for me to let him out.

I first saw Yuki on Easter Sunday, 1993. I was walking towards the Modern Languages building on the campus of the University of Arizona, on my way to visit a DJ friend who worked at the classical radio station, KUAT-FM. I was halfway across the mall when I spotted a white furry puppy nestled in the arms of a woman with a toddler in a stroller. I changed course and ran over to see the puppy. Within moments, the woman told me her aunt was the breeder, that they had seven more to give away, and would I like one. Would I like one?

I was going to have a little white furry dog. My first dog. I'd always wanted a dog, but knew I could never buy one (buying and selling beings does not sit well with me). The woman gave me her aunt's pager number, telling me she would return my call within ten minutes. She also asked if I'd prefer a male or a female dog. I didn't have a preference, but asked if there was a difference in behavior. The niece said that the females may be mellower. I decided on a female dog.

The next day I went to my job all excited to tell the residents and my colleagues about the new puppy I would soon have. I worked as an activities coordinator doing art and playing with adults with severe mental illness. I told them all about the cutest little fluff ball puppy I had ever seen and how I'd always wanted a dog. They were excited with me. So, I made the call on Monday morning, and left a message. I didn't get a call back within ten minutes or even in an hour. I tried again and again and again. Nothing. I called everyday, a zillion times a day for almost two full weeks. I wanted that dog.

One afternoon I was up on the roof helping Ray, the maintenance man, install a water pump on one of the swamp coolers. I was telling him how I'd been leaving messages on the breeder woman's pager, but getting no response. Suddenly, Ray's face lit up. Laughing, he said he knew what I'd been doing wrong and that he almost lost a potential job that way. We went inside to the phone, dialed the number and Ray then put in the number of our workplace. Sure enough, within ten minutes, breeder woman was on the phone! I didn't know the pager was a numeric pager, since I had never used one before. I had been leaving voice messages, probably pleadingly near the end (please, all I want is just one little white furry dog with a curly tail...), but the pager could only recognize numeric input. She had one puppy left, the "runt of the litter" she told me on the phone, "and not a female like you wanted." "I don't care, that's fine", I said. "A male puppy is fine."

And the rest is history. This little puppy bounded into my house, smelling fresh, so white and furry, and so-o cute. He was about 6 weeks old then. That night I lay awake thinking up names for my new puppy: Kyoto.... maybe, Nieve.... maybe, Yuki (snow) ..... hmmm. That was it! Yuki! I fell asleep with Yuki nipping at my toes with his sharp little needle teeth, with Yuki curled up at the bottom of my futon. For thirteen years, Yuki. Yuke-ster. My furry white fluff ball.

teapot no. 46

See the whole set here.

Birthday Pot

I used these two photos as the model for my teapot no. 45. Interestingly, the watercolor looks more like my mom, I think, than it does me.

If your parents are no longer living or you live far from them or you were adopted, all you have to do is look at your own body: look at your face or the palm of your hand, and you will surely see your parent is with you all the time.

This is teapot no. 45 of 100 teapots, in celebration of my 45th birthday on Sunday.

Lust & Love Have a Coversation in the Park

Lust: "You have to be careful, don't just give yourself to anyone--that's my job."

Love: "I flow through all receptacles with equal grace and speed."

Lust: "I'd like to try it out sometime—it seems so soft and kind."

Love: "My grandma always told me, 'darling, take your time.'"

Lust: "Mmm-hmmm, what a body! So luscious and round, she makes me want to fly!"

Love: "Have a piece of this stuff, Lust, it'll cool you down. But, remember--pass it out freely to everyone."



Nicole Raisin Stern
Boston, 1990

* * * *

[Sixteen years later, I don't see things in quite the same dualistic way....]

Coffee Sutra

COFFEE SUTRA

I enter the cafe like it is a sacred temple gate in Japan. Entering gives sense of place, a transformation into a fresh new world.

Scent of coffee instead of incense. Cafe goers seated at tables, some reading the morning paper, others chatting, still others writing and gazing through windows open to the day. There are no bells here, no hands clasped together in prayer to Kwan Yin or Avalokitesvara, no blow from a wooden stick to wake you up. Cafe walls are not decorated with thousands of small white paper prayers twisted on pine boughs around which an altar of wafting incense, weathered bronze bell, stacked barrels of sake, fragrant mandarin oranges, and small gold bowls of uncooked rice are found.

Here, secular art adorns each wall. Opera, rap, rock, and jazz add to the pulse of coffee beans grinding, laughter, baby crying, steaming whirr of espresso machine, dish atop dish, metal spoon against china cup stirring. Strains of shakuhachi are not heard.

No orange koi in the pond. There is no pond. No lotus leaves floating gently upon dark water. No pine-green mossy shade. No gray robed monk raking gravel into circular patterns around great gray stones. No tatami coolness to step onto barefoot, leaving sandals behind on smooth wooden platform.

Here I write, sip coffee, sip tea, eat a salad, taste sweetness of chocolate morsels. Here I chat with friends who are my friends only inside these cafe walls. We inhale the creamy, earthy, warmth rising from our cups. Our memory is jarred upon seeing these words: Tipping is not a city in China. Clank of coin in glass jar is said to bring great merit. We give thanks for this: our spiritual home away from home.

Ninety-five cents is not a steep price to pay for a cup of small cherries hand-picked ripe from the bush then placed under the sun where they dry a matte green in tropical highland air. Roasted and ground, infused with boiling water, this magical blend becomes an elixir.

Behind the counter, coffee house priestess and priest serve my every need. I chant the sacred syllables: decaf latte, cappuccino with cocoa, iced mocha to go.

Steam, whirr, clank, slurp.... O, sutra for all seasons, may your bittersweet essence lead me to rhythmical creations of poetic splendor for the benefit of all sentient beings.

OM MANI PADME HUM

Nicole Raisin Stern
Tucson, 1995

* * * * * * *

Inspired by one of my flickr.com artist friends (plein air artist and film maker, Laurie), this is another in a series of my art and photos paired with my poetry. As you can see from the poem, the price of a "cup of cherries" has increased quite a bit since 1995 when I wrote this piece. The photo is of the epic cafe scene in Tucson, Arizona; September 2005.

Tuning

Tuning

There are a lot of things that one can be atuned to
It's a matter of tuning
being tuned into
what matters to you

What matters to you?
Pops out at you
Is fire for you
Is breath for you
From inside of you

What do you do?
And is it right—to tune into what matters to you?

What do you tune into
When you're turned on?
What turns you on?
How do you know?

Here's a clue:
Is the tune you atune to
What you like and what likes you?
Who do you tune out and tune into?
Does starlight swirl out from inside of you
When you've tuned into the one that you turn to

And, is it fun?



Nicole Raisin Stern
Paris, 1990

The Rise and Fall of a Dream Called Love

A recognition sweetly full of madness
The poet’s heart knows joy as well as sadness

Dreamt I was a flower giving pleasure
To golden bees who sought my tasty treasure

I turned into a playful dolphin calling,
“In love why do we always talk of falling?”

I float, I fly, I leap, I run, it’s funny,
A bee transforms her nectar into honey

So, here I sit composing words to rhyme
The way I feel this moment, space, and time

Awakened on a coastal fog-filled island
Whose yellow desert valleys lulled me under
And blue-green skies spelled clarity with thunder

Birds were calling, “come, the storm’s approaching,
build your nest away from hunters’ poaching”

O, heed the call of distance, not of flame,
“Tis but a spinning, yearning maya game

However, if thirst should drive you further up that hill
Recall the ocean’s waters are not still

From fish to bird I flew across the sky
Far from my love and now I wonder why
Illusions are not made to fit the eye

The rise and fall of a dream called love



~Nicole Raisin Stern
Paris, 1991

JU to you and you

The calligraphed piece below represents 100 characters for JU, longevity in Japanese/Chinese, and is a gift I made for a friend's 84th birthday present. The idea comes from Hakuin, the zen Buddhist monk-poet whose piece I looked at in a book. Each character looks different, each being composed of distinct strokes. However, they say the same thing: JU. I used Windsor Newton Payne's Grey watercolor on Arches cold-pressed paper. The envelope (bottom photo) is made out of construction paper and sewn with embroidery thread. The design is the Buddhist endless knot, which I cut out with my sharp utility blade atop a cutting mat.

China to Tibet

I.
Sky blue jacket is quilted silk
worn by woman nyuren
She wears it
and black cloth slippers worn down at the heel
silk clouds on jacket
no storm
grey hair worn down

Above blue sky
Below cement sidewalk

Perserverance furthers one to cross the great waters

Sand water blood jade oil brush newspaper maggots rice ocean
seaweed fungus bamboo
monkey brains in bottle the color of forest where mushrooms grow
and salt rubs her flood worn thighs

In Zhong guo water flows
stones are mountains are crows
are rice fields
young tea
stars in sky
pink morning yellow afternoon sweet sweat

Weddings are red, gold, and black
there are mouths, a house, and rice
that's lucky



II.
Red hat Yellow hat
big orange lama waits for ride on roadside
Old woman, hair shorn
tightly matted
wears woolen gown

Dust in sun, dog on roof
wooden chairs
a table
creases on our eyes

I am barking for food
curling up to sleep
searching for water

There's dried hard peaches
oily flat bread and yak butter tea
faces looking at me through hole in wall
window size no glass many eyes
some kind of meat I eat
seated on chair
spit bones to mud floor
hard-packed and greasy
heavy wooden door
many eyes watching me

My hair is long
braided down my back
hands are strong wielding chopsticks
and soupy bowl of meat
maybe it's sheep
tastes good
many bones



III.
Khampa herdsman on road to Batang
leads a mule loaded with things
I touch his braid, red thread and turquoise 'round his head
Our language
a road, turquoise stone, my fingers on thread
whites of our eyes, leather pouch, mountains high above our heads

"Wo dao Lhasa"
"I'm going to Lhasa", I chant
no stove no hurry
look for water
socha, chang I taste

Liquid rivers say my name
hers I chant to the wind

~Nicole Raisin Stern
written in Boston, 1990
about my solo bicycle trip in China and Tibet, summer 1986.

Keeper of Stars

In a different galaxy
many light years away

there lives an old man
from the Milky Way.

He's the Keeper of Stars,
in charge of their glow,

he turns on their lights
and gives us a show.

Each night before dark,
he wakes each one,

saying, "it's your turn, now,"
as he waves to the sun.

Placing them carefully,
he makes a creation

of beautiful stars
we call constellations.

~Nicole Raisin Stern, 1977

teapot no. 44

Point Lobos

My friend, Saeko, and I walked all around Point Lobos, on the bluffs above the water and through wooded marshy areas. We saw seals, deer, many kinds of birds, a monarch butterfly, and inchworms. Point Lobos is my new favorite hiking area--the trails are easy and the views spectacular. One of the most wonderful things there was the birdsong: the joyful sound of birds singing. My other favorite hiking area is here all the time: it's the ordinary street, the beach, the desert, or the mountains, wherever I am. The big sky is everywhere, air to breathe is everywhere, there are so many wonderful things to delight in, to see, to touch, and to listen to, and the earth is under my feet wherever I go.

* * * * * *

This is the unicorn we saw:













Some of the trees looked orange:












Here's why:

"The surfaces of the trees closest to the direct salt spray are often covered with a bright orange growth. This is Trentepohlia aurea v. polycarpa, a green alga which is rich in beta carotene, giving it a bright orange color. It...is nonparasitic and can be found growing on rocks and downed wood along the trail."

A wild iris seen along the trail:






Saeko saw many karasu. I saw karasu, too, but I thought of them first as crows, then karasu.

Morning, desk!

Healing energy

Dolphins know how to live. They play and stand up on their tails and smile the day away.

Reggae with a twist

Have you heard the one about the Hassidic Jew? His name is Matisyahu and he's a rising reggae-rap star. Yes, it's true... I read it on Yahoo!

New flower in the house

Here's our new flower.

Arizona Declares Sun Official Energy Source

It's only a ballot measure, but still.... it is like AZ declaring the Sun is its official energy source. Here's the latest in the language war news from the state of Arizona (copied from the Stephen Krashen list serve):

Friday, March 24, 2006

Official-English measure gets House approval
Tucson Citizen

The Arizona House approved a proposed ballot measure
that would make English the state's official language
and require government functions be conducted in
English.


A similar proposal made it through the Republican-led
Legislature last year, but was vetoed by Democratic
Gov. Janet Napolitano. She said she believed
non-English speakers should be encouraged to learn the
language, but the vetoed bill did nothing toward that
end.

The House's 34-22 vote yesterday sent the resolution
to the Senate. If approved by the full Legislature,
this year's proposal would bypass the governor and be
decided by voters in December.

A similar voter-approved law making English the
state's official language was overturned in 1998. The
law, approved in 1988, was declared unconstitutional
by the state Supreme Court, which ruled the change
violated free-speech rights.

* * *

And here's Stephen Krashen's letter sent to sent to the Tucson Citizen, March 25

The Arizona House has approved a ballot measure to
make English the stateís official language
(Official-English measure gets House approval, March
24).

As Cartoonist Tommy Tomorrow once pointed out, making
English our official language makes as much sense as
declaring the sun our official source of energy.
English already is the de facto official language of
every state in the United States, and nearly all
immigrants are highly motivated to acquire and improve
their English. According to the 2000 Census, only one
percent of the US population cannot speak English. (In
1890, 3.6 percent of the population could not speak
English.)

Politicians should spend their time with legislation
that actually serves the public interest, not with
"feel-good" proposals that do nothing.

Stephen Krashen

teapot no. 43

teapot no. 42

I quickly sketched teapot no. 42 in the inside of my notebook while waiting for my mapo tofu to arrive at Full Moon restaurant on Alvarado in Monterey.














When I finished my meal, the server brought me an unusually yellow fortune cookie (FDC yellow no. something) with this fortune inside:

Don't be afraid to take that big step.

Eli, Eli

Today's post is for India photographer extraordinaire, elishams, and for everyone/anyone, really.
I love both the lyrics and the melody of this Hebrew song, Eli, Eli. It was written by Hana Senesh.


Eli, Eli (Halicha L'Kesariya)

Eli, Eli, shelo yigamer l'olam
ha-chol v'hayam, rish-rush
shel ha-mayim
B-rak hasha mayim t'filat ha-adam

Ha-chol v'hayam rish-rush
shel ha-mayim
b'rak hasha mayim t'filat ha-adam

O, Lord my God,
I pray that these may never end:
The sand and the sea
the rush of the waters
the thrash of the heavens,
the prayer of the heart

The sand and the sea
the rush of the waters
the thresh of the heavens,
the prayer of the heart.

Something different

I woke up this morning knowing that I'd do something different. I wasn't hungry for my usual Japanese-y breakfast of rice, miso soup, and vegetables with tea. I didn't feel like lingering over my tea with Yuki and Jesse and an educational linguistics book. I didn't have a teapot to draw or paint and I'd already written in my journal. I showered, dressed, and took Yuki outside with me. We started walking down the path towards downtown Monterey. It was 7am. We made a brief stop near the blue heron trees, just long enough to count three herons in two different nests (the other day there were five). And, another stop to watch a snail slowly (snailingly?) scaling a garden wall. Once past the snail, I felt my automated MCFD (Magnetic Café Finder Device) click on and knew I could trust its guidance. Soon, I was crossing onto Alvarado Street, then tying Yuki to a table outside of Café Noir where I ordered a café au lait to go. My MCFD did not steer me wrong. A little sprinkle of chocolate, another of nutmeg, a lid, and I was good to go. But that's not all. In a matter of minutes, I was taking in the curly sculptured goldenrod facade of the California State Theatre, and then opening the door of Red's Donuts. I'd made a mental note to go in there someday to take a photograph of the customers I'd seen through the glass, all of them sitting there with their donuts and coffee, regulars chatting on the swivel stools at the counter, all in a row, steamy warm inside, cold and wet outside. I was inside the door now, actually half inside, because I couldn't bring Yuki in with me. I looked at the donuts in the case. What to order? I don't know the names of donuts; I don't know the language of donuts.... The donut woman must have seen my ignorance, for she offered me several choices, jellies, maple covered, custard-filled.... I picked one that looked good to me, asking for "one of the twisted ones", as a tug from Yuki reminded me he was still on the other end of the leash. So, I paid and left, walking happily on the sunny streets, alternating bites of sweet, oily donut with sips of creamy coffee.
Was it the caffeine that produced the joyful giddiness I felt while walking back home? Was it the sugary donut? Or, was my joy due simply to the refreshment--and my acute awareness--of doing something different?

teapot no. 41 - Peninsula pot

Another left-handed experiment. This time I sketched and painted the whole thing with my non dominant left hand. It's getting easier, but I still want to use my right hand sometimes for more control. As the saying goes, perseverance furthers one to cross the great waters. I think that's from the Tao te ching.

teapot no. 40

teapot no. 39 - Sunflower pot

HapPy International Women's Day, everyone!

Untitled

You can safely assume that you've created God in your own image
when it turns out that God hates all the same people you do.
~Anne Lamott, writer (1954- )

I read this quote in my morning's Word-a-day email and... here it is. Words to ponder.

* * * * * * * *

And, something else from
the Panhala poetry site:

God speaks to each of us as he makes us,
then walks with us silently out of the night.

These are words we dimly hear:

You, sent out beyond your recall,
go to the limits of your longing.
Embody me.

Flare up like flame
and make big shadows I can move in.

Let everything happen to you: beauty and terror.
Just keep going. No feeling is final.
Don't let yourself lose me.

Nearby is the country they call life.
You will know it by its seriousnes.

Give me your hand.


~ Rainer Maria Rilke ~


(Rilke’s Book of Hours: Love Poems to God, translated by Anita Barrows and Joanna Macy)

teapot no. 38

Great Blue Herons, Batman!

This morning I walked with Yuki down the winding footpath past the high school to the gully where the oak trees grow. I always think of Ireland here, and though I've never been to Ireland, I imagine it is like this place: green, moist, and thick with moss. There's a shed with a rusty tin roof here, and a stand of curvy oak trees with a narrow stream of water flowing through.
From the gully, I look up into the tall pines across the road, high up to the nest of the Great Blue Herons. Yesterday, one of the adult herons flew over my head towards the nest with what looked like a giant stick in between her beak. Then I watched as she inserted her long beak into the beak of the baby heron in the nest and shook the stick-like thing into the baby's long throat. The stick might have been a snake or a fish that just looked like a stick.
Today I heard the heron's call, raspy and low. According to my Golden guide to Birds of North America, what I heard was the alarm call, "a series of about 4 hoarse squawks" (p. 94 in my 1966 edition). That's exactly what I heard. Here's the heron page from A Guide to Field Identification: Birds of North America (p. 95) and my photo (sans telephoto lens) of the adult heron I saw today.

ya ma's turquoise soup dream

This watercolor sketch is for my flickr friend ya ma who blogged about her recent turquoise soup dream.

teapot no. 37 - purple pot

I made this purple pot for Claude Renault, one of the amazing artist/photographers I've met on Flickr.com.

teapot no. 36 - Cha Cha Cha

An impossible question means a journey

I was reminded this morning that I am on a journey. After heating up my breakfast cereal and making some coffee, I decided to open up some dharma. Dharma really isn't anything special; dharma simply means, wisdom you can use. And dharma can be anything that comes to us via our senses, not just books or words. So, I sat down with my breakfast and John Tarrant's Bring Me the Rhinoceros And Other Koans to Bring You Joy, and this is what I read: "An Impossible Question Means A Journey" (p. 11). In a matter of moments, I had my laptop open and began writing this entry.

In contrast, yesterday morning I sat here where I am now, at my little low table in front of a window, eating my breakfast in my pajamas as the sky lightened up. I was happily reading a book on situated language and learning, sticking little pink and yellow post it notes to pages here and there. Later, as I bicycled to school, I wondered if I am not getting nerdy, reading--and even enjoying--an educational linguistics book before 7 o’clock in the morning. Linguistics books, too, can qualify as dharma. The books I most want to read on my educational journey are ones that will help me help my students learn what it means to learn, not only to learn language, but also what it means to be alive in this world today.

What does it mean to be alive? My answer is: ehi passiko, Sinhalese for go see for yourself. We can read all we want in books, hear loads of lectures, get all kinds of information from the Internet, tv, and radio, but in the end, we have to see for ourselves what is true. Koans can guide us towards what's true; we use koans to move from our particular truths to something bigger, unfixed, open--and, back again.

A few words about koans (ko-ahns): the term koan, meaning a riddle or paradox, entered English from Japanese Zen Buddhism via Chinese Ch'an (Zen). Koan literally means public (ko 公) record (an 案); hundreds of the most famous records (or cases) were recorded in China and Japan. In certain Zen schools, these koans are studied and contemplated in a systematized program, which can guide the Zen student to enlightenment. Tarrant writes that koans "encourage you to make an ally of the unpredictability of the mind and to approach life more as a work of art. The surprise they offer is the one that art offers: inside unpredictability you will find not chaos, but beauty" (p. 11).

Koans show you that you can depend on creative moves.
Koans encourage doubt and curiosity.
Koans rely on uncertainty as a path to happiness.
Koans will undermine your reasons and explanations.
Koans lead you to see life as funny rather than tragic.
Koans will change your idea of who you are, and this will require courage.
Koans uncover a hidden kindness in life.

(pp. 12-13, Bring Me The Rhinoceros)

Replace koans with language and culture learning and it still fits. Learning other languages and cultures, like learning koans, requires living the questions, seeing and thinking "outside the box", an ability to open up further and further, to enjoy the process, and to imagine more than you think you can imagine.

What is the best way to learn languages? It might just be, as Jesus advises, to become as little children (actually, the common translation refers to getting into heaven--you won't get there unless you become as little children). Where is there? And, how do we become as little children? I say heaven (there) is here, now, when we are open (as little children are open), when we are not restricted by our personal stories, and when we can see and hear beyond our personal likes and dislikes. I'm rambling and it's time for me to go to school (school being another word for dharma).

teapot no. 35 - Pagoda pot

I had no idea what this teapot was going to be when I took out the construction paper and scissors last night. I just began to snip and paste and this pagoda pot is what came out. A good design for a house, too, I think. Here's the whole set so far.

Other teapot news: Andy Titcomb of Cornwall, England has a teapot blog where he's posted a few of my teapots.

Let's talk turtle - Contest #3

Time for contest #3.

I snipped the words below, Let's talk turtle, from a popular American catalogue. I thought they wanted to ask me something, so I called them up. What's up?, I asked, but they had no idea what I was talking about.
Here's the question: From which American catalogue company did I find those words (see photo below). The winner gets a hand-drawn turtle.





















See first two contests here and here.

At Asilomar with Yuki

I took Yuki to Asilomar beach this morning. We walked on the sand watching the greenish-blue water. Actually, I don't know if Yuki watches the water or not, but I do. I think he's mostly interested in sniffing those huge mounds of tangled seaweed, just like every dog who runs on the beach. My eyes scan the horizon, watch clouds, catch silvery glints of sunlight on shells. I thought about how to paint the clouds: what I'd do, which colors I'd lay down first. And Yuki, he continues sniffing, fully absorbed; sniffing and trotting, using his selective hearing when I call him, then zooming past me in high gallop smiling, both of us smiling.
The waves were big and choppy, so not many surfers out. I confirmed the choppiness of the surf with a man laying on the beach in his wetsuit. He looked a bit like a beached seal sunning himself, covered with sand, and pudgy in his black and purple rubber wetsuit. Little baby birds with long, thin curved beaks scurried in the low tide trailing after their parents. The babies' feathers are primarily white and lighter shades of tan; the adults have more tan, brown, and grey feathers on their bodies and their beaks are longer and curvier. That was our walk at the ocean today.

Teapot no. 33 & 34

Teapot no. 33 is a Yuki pot with a Jesse cup:














Teapot no. 34 is Red thread pot:

Celebration of Love

My Tucson friend, Bonnie, used to send poems to her friends and family on Valentine's Day to celebrate the many kinds of Love. I've posted a few from her selection. My friend Shirley added the Mary Oliver poem.

* * * * *

LOVE AMONG FRIENDS

From The Essential Rumi
translated by Coleman Barks

Two friends meet every morning
on the riverbank.
They sit in the nook of the earth and talk.
Each morning,
the second they see each other,
they open easily,
telling stories and dreams,
Empty of any fears or suspicious holding back.

One starts laughing out a story
He hasn't thought of in five years,
And the telling might take five years!
There is no blocking the speech-flow
River-running-all-carrying momentum
that true friendship is.
Bitterness doesnπt have a chance
with those two.

* * * * *

THE INNER BELOVED

Lalla, from Naked Song
translated by Coleman Barks

Lalla,
You've wandered so many places
trying to find your husband!
Now at last, inside the walls
of this body-house,
in the heart-shrine,
you discover where he lives

At the end of a crazy-moon night
the love of God rose.
I said, "It's me, Lalla."
The Beloved woke.
We became That,
And the lake is crystal clear.

* * * * *

LONG-TIME LOVE

The Red Kite by Saijo Yasa, translated from the Japanese by Kenneth
Rexroth

My dear, what have you done with our old red kite?
Let's fly it again this evening as high as we can,
Through the driving sleet towards the moon in the sky.

The shore is far away now where we were young together once.
The kite is torn and battered, but maybe it will still fly.

My dear, come, let's fly it wildly, as far out as we can
With all the cords of the heart through the falling sleet
Towards the moon in the sky.

* * * * *

EARTHLY PLEASURES

The Plum Trees, Mary Oliver

Such richness flowing
through the branches of summer and into

the body, carried inward on the five
rivers! Disorder and astonishment

rattle your thoughts and your heart
cries for rest but don't

succumb, there's nothing
so sensible as sensual inundation. Joy.

is a taste before
it's anything else, and the body

can lounge for hours devouring
the important moments. Listen,

the only way
to tempt happiness into your mind is by taking it

into the body first, like small
wild plums.

* * * * *

FELINE LOVE

Ode to Cats, Pablo Neruda

Oh little
emperor without a sphere of influence
conqueror without a country,
smallest living-room tiger, nuptial
sultan of the sky,
of the erotic roof-tiles,
the wind of love
in the storm
you claim
when you pass
and place
four delicate feet
on the ground,
smelling,
distrusting
all that is terrestrial,
because everything
is too unclean
for the immaculate foot of the cat.

* * * * *

LOVE OF YES

From e. e. cummings Complete Poems 1902-1964

i thank You God for most this amazing
day: for the leaping greenly spirits of trees
and a blue true dream of sky; and for everything
which is natural which is infinite which is yes

(i who have died am alive again today,
and this is the sun's birthday; this is the birth
day of life and love and wings: and of the gay
great happening illimitably earth)

how should tasting touching hearing seeing
breathing any-lifted from the no
of all nothing-human merely being
doubt unimaginable You?

(now the ears of my ears awake and
now the eyes of my eyes are opened)

* * * * *

LOVE THAT MAKES YOU DANCE

by Hafiz

I am happy even before I have a reason.
I am full of Light even before the sky
Can greet the sun or the moon.
Dear companion
We have been in love with the Divine
For so very, very long.
What can we now do but Forever Dance!


** HapPy HEART day **