Sometimes it really is all in the family. Today we are pleased to introduce by way of reblog, Beatrice “Bea” Garrard. Bea is a student at Standford University who is now back home in Washington state for the Thanksgiving holiday. She is our own Naomi Baltuck’s daughter. She just started blogging her stories and sketches. Please pop on over, say “hi,” and cheer her on. She’s quite clever. You won’t regret it. Bravo, Bea! Write on … J.D.
Author: The Bardo Group Beguines
The focus of "The BeZine," a publication of The Bardo Group Beguines, is on sacred space (common ground) as it is expressed through the arts. Our work covers a range of topics: spirituality, life, death, personal experience, culture, current events, history, art, and photography and film. We share work here that is representative of universal human values however differently they might be expressed in our varied religions and cultures. We feel that our art and our Internet-facilitated social connection offer a means to see one another in our simple humanity, as brothers and sisters, and not as “other.” This is a space where we hope you’ll delight in learning how much you have in common with “other” peoples. We hope that your visits here will help you to love (respect) not fear. For more see our Info/Mission Statement Page.
Elder Box Elder
Editor’s Note: Terri Stewart’s regular Sunday posts are always a surprise. She doesn’t pop them into the blog until near midnight on Saturday, so we don’t get to see them until Sunday a.m….no editorial sneak-preview. In an interesting coincidence (synchronicity?), Corina L. Ravenscraft popped this one to Bardo before Terri’s post for this Sunday went up. It rather serves to reinforce Terri’s message, which we think makes it synchronicity and not coincidence. Like Terri’s post, it’s richly evocative. Enjoy…
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Gnarled persistence, drove its thick roots down,
Conquered the rocks and divided the dirt.
Spread out its branches, claimed this piece of ground,
When people etched into its bark, it hurt.
.
It survived such scars from their careless blades,
Grew taller, stronger, bore fruit for the birds.
None picnicked beneath to enjoy its shades,
Hard roots ran rampant, to escape the words
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Carved for all time on its beautiful skin.
There, by the cave, it was brave; weathered storms,
Bent branches without and strong spirit within,
The world demands change and the soul transforms.
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Soft spirit deep inside this elder tree,
Expanded, extended life through its roots.
The Native Americans set it free,
And chose its sacred heart wood for their flutes.
– Corina L. Ravenscraft
~ C.L.R. ~ © 2012, photo, poem, essay, All rights reserved
This is a photograph I took some time ago, of a really neat Box Elder tree in the Dunbar Cave Natural Area near my home. This tree has always fascinated me and it makes me sad to see how many people have carved their initials or names into its bark. My friends and I used to call it the “Ringwraith Tree” because it reminded us of the tree where Frodo hid from the Ringwraith, but Box Elders also have a very special place in Native American culture.
The Anasazi flutes were carved from these trees, and the originals were only carved from these trees. It was believed that the tree’s unique, sacred spirit was imparted into each flute carved.
The Anasazi flute is the flute played by Kokopelli, a Native American Indian fertility god. It is also said that the hunch on his back depicted the sacks of seeds and songs he carried. Legend also has it that the flute playing symbolized the transition of winter to spring. Kokopelli’s flute is said to be heard in the spring’s breeze, while bringing warmth. It is also said that he was the source of human conception. Legend has it, everyone in the village would sing and dance throughout the night when they heard Kokopelli play his flute. The next morning, every maiden in the village would be with child.“ For anyone who has never heard the beautiful, haunting sound of this flute, I invite you to watch and listen to the video below. Enjoy!
CORINA L. RAVENSCRAFT (Dragon’s Dreams) ~ is a regular contributor to Into the Bardo. She is a poet and writer, artist and librarian who has been charming us through her blog since 2000, longer than any blogger in our little blogging community.
A DHARMA TALK: Being Present
Gil Fronsdale is a Buddhist who has practiced Soto Zen and Vipassana since 1975, and is currently a Buddhist teacher who lives in the San Francisco Bay Area. Gil was trained as a Vipassana teacher by Jack Kornfield and is part of the Vipassana teachers’ collective at Spirit Rock Meditation Center. He was ordained as a Soto Zen priest at the San Francisco Zen Center in 1982 and was a Theravada monk in Burma in 1985. In 1995 he received Dharma transmission from Mel Weitsman, the abbot of the Berkeley Zen Center.
He is the guiding teacher of the Insight Meditation Center (IMC) of Redwood City, California. He has a PhD inBuddhist Studies from Stanford University. His many dharma talks available online contain basic information on meditation and Buddhism, as well as subtle concepts of Buddhism explained at the level of the lay person.” Wikipedia
Video uploaded to YouTube by insightmed.
Photo credit ~ Insight Meditation Center, Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-No Deriv 3.0 Unported
From Imen with Love
Originally published on Plum Tree Books Facebook Page.
From Damascus to Istanbul: a child’s memories of a city . . .
From Damascus to Istanbul: a child’s memories of a city . . .
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Dear Yasmin,
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This morning, I saw the first jasmine flowers on our balcony. They reminded me of you. That’s why I decided to write this letter.
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We live in Istanbul now. I have new friends and I am learning Turkish. My parents never changed their habits. My father still smokes his hookah while he reads and my mother plants flowers everywhere to feel like our old house in Damascus.
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Wasn’t it Mahmoud Darwish* who wrote once “Jasmine is a message of longing from nobody to nobody”? They named you after it. Everyone loves the way jasmine clutters like snowflakes at the sides of the road, falling everywhere and scattering scent to greet everyone.
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Every city has its smells. My grandfather told me once that the heart of Jerusalem smells of spices and musk and Jaffa of oranges and the sea. He said smells are nostalgia and memory and the person can never forget them. Damascus alleys and houses smell of jasmine and rose water. It seems like an eternity passed since we left months ago, since I woke up to the sound of Feirouz singing and smells of freshly baked bread and my mother’s early morning ritual of making coffee and watering the garden.
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The day we left, she put her gentle hands on my shoulders and gazed at me. Her hazel eyes were full of tears and she said: “Habibi, we have to leave. Go pack your things”. War already broke with news of bombed neighborhoods and dying people reached us daily. My parents tried to keep me away from its ugliness, to cocoon me in a world of poetry and flowers, but the war reached our little world and destroyed it.
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The war brought death and fear. Houses were ruined. Most people fled. I always ask my mother about you. She said that you left with your family to go Jordan and that you would write to me soon.
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When we arrived in Istanbul I was angry and my mother silent. We packed what we could take with us; some clothes and family albums, some poetry books my father used to read, a silver ornate dagger that belonged to my grandfather. I took a picture of us together, feeding pigeons in the square of the Umayyad mosque.
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Istanbul is not so strange, Yasmine, they have bread sellers in the streets, big Bazaars and very old houses of wood, and a long bridge I can see from the window of my auntie’s house. The Adan comes from different places. There are pigeons in squares too. It is a big busy sleepless city. I love my auntie’s studio. It is full of paintings and its windows are always open to let light through. Stillm I felt lonely at the beginning because children did not understand me.
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I miss Damascus, the clean cats of our neighborhood and my school friends; I miss our trips to Quassioun and watching people dancing dabkah at weddings. I am still waiting for your letter, but now I will send you mine with the first flowers.
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Didn’t you always love when I told you stories?
.
Firas
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* Mahmoud Darwish ~ Regarded as the national poet of Palestine, he focused on the universal experiences of loss, exile, and identity.
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Translations:
-Yasmin: a female Arabic name “jasmine”
-Firas: a male Arabic name “perspicacity”
-Feirouz: a very famous Lebanese singer
-Adan: prayer call
-Habibi: “my darling” in Arabic
-Dabkah: a Middle Eastern dance
-Quassioun: a mountain in Damascus
-Yasmin: a female Arabic name “jasmine”
-Firas: a male Arabic name “perspicacity”
-Feirouz: a very famous Lebanese singer
-Adan: prayer call
-Habibi: “my darling” in Arabic
-Dabkah: a Middle Eastern dance
-Quassioun: a mountain in Damascus
©2013, letter and photograph, Imen Benyoub, All rights reserved
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IMEN BENYOUB ~ is a miltilingual, multi-talented writer, poet, and artist living in Guelma, Algeria. She is a regular contributor to Into the Bardo and to On the Plum Tree and Plum Tree Books Facebook page.
From Weaponry to Livingry
Hunger kills more people every year than AIDS, malaria and tuberculosis combined.
The following statistics are courtesy of the United Nations World Food Programme.
* 842 million people in the world do not have enough to eat. This number has fallen by 156 million since 1990.
* The vast majority of hungry people (827 million) live in developing countries, where 14.3 percent of the population is undernourished.
* Asia has the largest share of the world’s hungry people (some 552 million) but the trend is downward.
* If women farmers had the same access to resources as men, the number of hungry in the world could be reduced by up to 150 million.
* Poor nutrition causes nearly half (45%) of deaths in children under five – 3.1 million children each year.
* One out of six children — roughly 100 million — in developing countries is underweight.
* One in four of the world’s children are stunted. In developing countries the proportion can rise to one in three.
* 80 percent of the world’s stunted children live in just 20 countries.
* 66 million primary school-age children attend classes hungry across the developing world, with 23 million in Africa alone.
* WFP calculates that US$3.2 billion is needed per year to reach all 66 million hungry school-age children.
“God is a verb not a noun.” Buckminster Fuller
May our compassion have legs.
Related articles:
* 2013 World Hunger and Poverty Facts and Statistics by World Hunger Education Service
* An End to World Hunger, Hope for the Future
* How to Help Typhoon Haiyan Survivors
Illustration ~ most likely thelivingmoon.com or, if it’s yours, let us know and we will credit you or take it down.
– compiled by Jamie Dedes
Catching Particles
splintered wood from
a lightning struck tree
catching particles
of afternoon sun
like reflections
of another self
transformed in
Alice’s looking-glass
catching particles
of colored prisms
the waterfall dances
over time’s precipice
& the dragonfly is seen
catching particles
of each ray of sun
season of summer done
– Renee Espriu
© 2013, poem, Renee, Espriu, All rights reserved
Photo credit ~ the original work of rshmd via PBase
RENEE ESPRIU ~ is a creative prose writer and poet. She began delighting us with her work at Turtle Flight, My Muse & Angels in March 2011. The work she shares with us there includes short stories. Renee is a daughter, mother, grandmother, and seeker of spiritual peace and soul-filled freedom. She’s studied at the graduate level and has attended seminary. She describes her belief system as eclectic, encompassing many faiths. She believes “Nature is the basis of everything that is and everything that is also a part of Nature.”
On a rainy day …
Rain brings an unexpected peace to central Athens where protests are a regular thing. Here Bulgarian linguist, poet and photographer, Blaga Todorova, captures a certain beauty. J.D.
Between the Shadows and the Soul
“Some people walk in the rain, others just get wet.” ― Roger Miller
We have been having couple of days with a very heavy rain and in one of those days I happened to be out with my camera. I didn’t take all the pictures I wanted to, my camera has very limited options when it comes to photographing rain, and I came back home completely wet, but it was exciting and refreshing to walk in the rain, it had this mysteriously sweet taste of something majestic ruling the atmosphere …
The reason why the roads in a very busy town like Athens are completely empty it is not because people here are afraid from the rain, but because that day there was a demonstration taking place. And when we have one of those demonstrations the center of Athens is closed and isolated. I’m not sure how much I approve of…
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Life, Death, and Poetry
the mindful peace of the cypress beckons,
she bows in the wind but doesn’t break,
she knows well the moments, but nothing of time
her poetry is written in presence, not words
in this business of life, of death and of poetry
today is, i think, best forgotten ~
just a figment, after all, an old locked-room mystery,
stored among a million neurons, a trillion connections,
soundproof, but for the occasional cerebral accident
with its quick crack of a gunshot fading into a yellow eye,
watching with an understandable fatalism
life, as it turns out, is a matter of imagination,
or folly, nurturing the seesaw of grief and joy,
the contrapuntal pulls of yin and yang
we can reframe, but we can’t rewrite
there are no encores
this business of life, of death and of poetry is what it is
and the past is not a salve nor the future a savior,
the same sun that warms words poemed into life
will dry our skin to leather and weld it to bone ~
moss, says the poet, will cover up our names*
it’s best then, i think, to mimic the cypress
to let go the days, the clutter and the noise,
to bow – but not snap – in the wind,
to know well the moments, but nothing of time
– Jamie Dedes
* I Died for Beauty (“Until the moss had reached our lips,/And covered up our names.”), Emily Dickinson
© 2013, poem , Jamie Dedes, All rights reserved
Photo credit ~ Amadscientist via Wikipedia under the Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 3.0 Unported license
JAMIE DEDES ~ My worldly tags are poet and writer. For the past five years I’ve blogged at The Poet by Day,the journey in poem, formerly titled Musing by Moonlight. Through the gift of poetry (mine and that of others), I enter sacred space.
The Thing About Love …
We humans labor under the conceit that we are the only animals that grieve and have an impluse to be protective. Similar outcomes as those described above resulted from experiments performed on rats. See our feature The Rate Race by J.D. Galleger.
- Thanks to Turning Points in Compassion for the monkey photograph with its embeded commentary.
- Study published in the American Journal of Psychiatry Vol 121 Dec. 1964. 584-585 Titled “Altruistic” Behaviour in Rhesus Monkeys! Jules H Masserman, M.D.; Stanley Wechkin, PH.D., and William Terris, M.S
- Thanks to PETA United Airlines Will No Longer Fly Monkeys For Use In Lab Experiments; Under Pressure from PETA, United Airlines Bans Shipping Primates to Labratories
On the upside: Monkey Trek: A Rescue … Smile! 🙂 It’s about love …
– compiled by Jamie Dedes
sacred buffalo
Here we have Gretchen del Rio’s delightful watercolor painting of Sacred Buffalo. Gretchen created it for a women’s collective – the International Council of Thirteen Indigenous Grandmothers – an organized movement to affirm the human connection to this beautiful Earth of ours and an alliance to protect our resources. You can read more about the painting and the group by following the link to Gretchen’s blog. J.D.
‘When one sits in the hoop of the People, one must be responsible because all of creation is related and the hurt of one is the hurt of all and the honor of one is the honor of all.’
‘White Buffalo Calf Woman’
I was asked to create this painting for a collective of women coming together to support/embody the energy of white buffalo calf woman. I am very excited about what is happening here. ‘This is a calling of women of peace from all walks of life to join hands and come together as a collective to support a humble movement of the Original People of the world.’
THE MOMENT IS NOW
“When the council of original seed issued by the Mother called upon the four elements ~ air, water, earth and fire ~ to Unity ~ life came to be on planet Earth. Now today, the Mother is…
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very private thoughts
My first memory of art was in a dictionary, when I used to gaze dreamily at a portrait by Johannes Vermeer, The Milkmaid, a woman wearing a white cap, standing by a table covered with a blue cloth pouring milk…I was so fascinated by the painting, by the humble tranquil atmosphere and the basket of bread that resembled ours…and the dancing light on the maid’s face and arm. I knew nothing about this Vermeer but the few lines in the dictionary that never satisfied my curiosity: “a Dutch painter, born in Delft, his paintings, mostly about everyday life and domestic scenes were characterized by use of subtle light ”
Johannes Vermeer was my first inspiration, even his name had poetry or so I thought. After The Milkmaid I started a notebook and wrote about every painter I discovered. I made sure I kept it well hidden from my family.
My mother never understood why I spent most of my day holding that heavy dictionary just staring at paintings, I was a mercurial child and a picture could easily define and change my mood!! So my discoveries continued with Dutch art, some paintings by a mysterious looking guy called Rembrandt and another with an ironic look called Van Gogh.
My friends outside were so far from my world as a million star years. I remember their looks, half sarcastic half pitiful on a girl always lost in reverie, befriending ghostly figures in a dictionary and talking about places they never heard of.
I was always asking: how can this famous Van Gogh paint such a naïve painting like les douze tournesols? I can do it better!! What was le jeune homme au gilet rouge of Cézanne thinking?
Of course my childish mind always separated and catalogued them: the cheerful ones like the only painting by Rénoir that made me so fond of Paris le Moulin de la galette and those beautiful ballerinas in la classe de dance by Degas. The sad ones like femmes de Tahiti by Gauguin. Eespite the suggestive earthy colours of those exotic women I couldn’t miss the touch of melancholy on their faces. Géricault frightened me with his méduse so did the painting of Goya el tres de Mai that reminded me of my history classes about the Algerian revolution. Les mendiants made me cry and have nightmares (with all respect to Bruegel l’ancien). I hated the dismembered people and the cruelty of the act, but those who evoked me the most were those that made my fertile imagination drift even more.
When I walk back home from school I close my eyes and imagine myself walking with the couple in la route de Louveciennes despite the difference between Pissaro’s perfect painting and my village disappointed me, it gave me extreme pleasure, only equaled by floating with Chagal.’s women in autour d’elle a name I found extremely romantic. Nothing matched that serene blue bathed in moonlight and those strange looking women I wanted so bad to look like.
I loved the fantasy in autour d’elle but another painting made me laugh and cemented the impression that this Picasso used squares and triangles only!! Because I always loved the light sprinkled on Rénoir’s canvas…Musiciens aux masques was as funny as humorous, because I never knew any instrument but the guitar, or who those three men were and never saw the dog under the table until recently.
I was drowning bit-by-bit in this world of colours, I knew Kandinsky, Caravaggio, Durer and Poussin and their names had a sensual sonority for my Arabic ear, not that I could pronounce them correctly because I could only manage the French ones. I continued to dream about the Louvre and cities I can visit when I become older. I continued to have my nocturnal conversations with Vermeer, Cézanne and Rénoir and make my own versions of la route de louveciennes and
Vlaminck’s nature morte, this widened the gap between me and my friends who thought that I was weird and treated me suspiciously, my mother still couldn’t understand my attachment to this dictionary I wasn’t using to explain difficult words.
These memories came rushing back the moment I finished reading Tracy Chevalier’s novel Girl With a Pearl Earing, a gift from my beloved uncle who lives in Italy.I am still faithful to my Vermeer but through another equally mesmerizing painting la Joconde du Nord, and I know more about the art world now, my childish impressions and convictions are dramatically changed now. I can pronounce those names perfectly and I have wonderful friends who share my enthusiasm and passion.
But…despite internet and the thick art catalogues of le Figaro in my aunt’s library, despite the documentaries, TV shows and the long biographies I can read for hours, that dictionary still has the favour and a dear place in my heart, heavy, torn in places with its red cover and a single Arabic word written in black…
… that was my first art class.
– Imen Benyoub
© 2013, essay and photograph(below), Imen Benyoub, All rights reserved
Illustrations courtesy of Imen Benyoub
IMEN BENYOUB ~ is a milti-lingual, multi-talented essayist, poet, and artist living in Guelma, Algeria. She is a regular contributor to Into the Bardo.
My Wish for Peace
I write late
and for nothing
for no reason other than my love for writing
and my wish for peace
and no war
I write thinking of the pride of the young
when they become soldiers
Everybody loves a soldier
Then comes the call
Mankind let us fight only in games
and on virtual screens
Let us kill each other only in 3D, if need be
if violence must be and mayhem and carnage
Dissolve the armies
but I know no one will heed
my call for peace
As long as man exists
there will be soldiers, wars and armies
weapons and battles
and poets mourning these
We cannot live without our warrior half, our dark brother
The only way out is to be at war with oneself
– Ampat Koshy
© 2013, poem and portrait (below), A.V. Koshy, All rights reserved
Photo credit ~ Jean-Pol GRANDMONT under CC Attribution License 3.0 unported
A.V. KOSHY ~ a teacher of some merit, is presently Assistant Professor, in the Dept of English, Faculty of Arts (Girls), Academic College, Jazan University, Kingdom of Saudi Arabia. Before this he has also worked as Head of the Liberal Arts Department in Srishti School of Art, Design and Technology, Bangalore, Associate Professor in Teacher Training College, Dept of English, in Al Khooms University, Libya, Assistant Professor in King Abdul Aziz University, Jeddah, Saudi Arabia, Head of the Dept, of English, Mallya Aditi International School, Bangalore and Senior Lecturer, Dept of English, Fatima College, University of Kerala.
He has published several books, both poetry collections and treatises on poetry. He has also written ciriticism, short story, research and research papers. He was nominated for the Pushcart Prise. He is also a regular columnist for newsloop.in and contributor to Destiny Poets, UK. His greatest desire is to build a village for people having autism where all their needs are met. He runs an NGO called “Autism for Help Village Project” with his wife for this dream to come true.
LISTEN and LOVE: Working with At-Risk Youth
Listen, Listen, Love, Love: Working with At-Risk Youth, an open letter from our own Rev. Terri Stewart. I appreciate what she’s doing – I’ve worked with at-risk youth too – so I wanted to share this with everyone. J.D.
Hi! I’m Terri Stewart, the founder of the YOUTH CHAPLAINCY COALITION, Seattle, Washington. I work with youth who are affected by incarceration. That can be youth who are in prison, youth who have left prison, or youth whose parents have been or are in prison. There is a consistent theme – prison.
“Then the righteous will answer him, ‘Lord, when was it that we saw you hungry and gave you food, or thirsty and gave you something to drink? 38 And when was it that we saw you a stranger and welcomed you, or naked and gave you clothing? 39 And when was it that we saw you sick or in prison and visited you?’ 40 And the king will answer them, ‘Truly I tell you, just as you did it to one of the least of these who are members of my family, you did it to me.’”(Matthew 25:37-40)
I love working with these youth and their families. My typical week is filled with driving from Woodinville to Seattle to Snoqualmie to Kirkland to Yakima and back home again. At least it isn’t all in one day!
Why do I do this crazy amount of driving? Because we practice what I call Extreme Accompaniment ministry. An Accompaniment ministry is when you walk with someone listening and loving. You don’t walk in front, leading them. You don’t walk behind, pushing them. You walk with them, wherever their path leads. Sometimes that path starts at King County Youth Detention Center and leads to Echo Glen Children’s Home in Snoqualmie and then to the Ridgeview Girl’s Group Home in Yakima! It can be a circuitous route! But Extreme Accompaniment has the possibility to cause restoration, transformation, and healing unlike any other method.
The difficulty of this method lies in its intensity and commitment. There are few called to travel with a marginalized youth for 12 months or more. But that is what makes it Extreme! And it is extremely fun! Extremely fulfilling! Extremely challenging! And Extremely transformative!
Right now, the ministry has 3 needs: volunteers, donations, and committed, daily prayer warriors.
Prayer Warriors: I always lecture the volunteers that work for me that their spiritual grounding comes first—without great spiritual practices of Bible reading, prayer, and accountability groups, they will not be able to maintain a healthy ministry. Given that, I list prayer warriors as the #1 priority! The spiritual grounding of the chaplaincy comes first.
Volunteers: We need people to join in the task of Extreme Accompaniment. If you feel called to a 12 month commitment of one-on-one relationship with a youth affected by incarceration, we need to talk!
There are three exciting ways this can be experienced:
Neighborhood Youth Mission Team: This is the Extreme Accompaniment of following a youth from incarceration at King County Youth Detention Center to wherever that youth’s path may go.
Mentors in Mission: This program works with youth before they are incarcerated who are in the at-risk category—from low-income homes and with incarcerated parents. This is a weekly mentor opportunity/meeting combined with the mission work of creating a community garden for the youth’s family. A ministry two-fer! You help a child and you feed their family!
Kairos Prison Ministry Torch Mentoring: Here, you commit to participating to a spiritual renewal retreat within a detention setting where you will meet a youth and walk beside them for the time after the retreat until they move on to their next steps.
Additionally, we need administrative support to maintain our Facebook, Twitter, and web presence. A data entry specialist to do a few hours of work a week. And traditional chaplain volunteers to enter the detention centers.
Donations: Currently, all the financing comes from what little time I have left over to devote to raising funds. That means not very much! We need donations to buy supplies, pay for gas, buy Bibles, etc.
If you would like more information about any of these items or opportunities, please contact me at YCC-Chaplain@TheChurchCouncil.org or call me at 425-531-1756.
Shalom,
Rev. Terri Stewart
Youth Chaplaincy website
Youth Chaplaincy Facebook Page
Chaplaincy Program Ministers to Some of Seattle’s Most Troubled Youngsters, The Seattle Times
REV. TERRI STEWART is Into the Bardo’s Sunday chaplain, senior content editor, and site co-administrator. She comes from an eclectic background and considers herself to be grounded in contemplation and justice. She is the Director and Founder of the Youth Chaplaincy Coalition that serves youth affected by the justice system. As a graduate of Seattle University’s School of Theology and Ministry, she earned her Master’s of Divinity and a Post-Master’s Certificate in Spiritual Direction. She is a contributing author to the Abingdon Worship Annual. (The 2014 issue just released!)
Her online presence is Cloaked Monk. This speaks to her grounding in contemplative arts and the need to live it out in the world. The cloak is the disguise of normalcy as she advocates for justice and peace. You can find her at www.cloakedmonk.com, www.twitter.com/cloakedmonk, and www.facebook.com/cloakedmonk. To reach her for conversation, send a note to cloakedmonk@outlook.com
BARDO NEWS: What Leibniz Never Learned; Paula’s “three minutes” of fame; Niamh’s new FB page; an opportunity for women poets … and more
Via contributing poet and good friend to Bardo, Myra Schneider for Second Light Network of Women Poets: AN INVITATION TO WOMEN POETS TO SUBMIT TO A MAJOR NEW ANTHOLOGY FUNDED BY THE ARTS COUNCIL ENGLAND and open to contributions from any women anywhere in the world …
The Second Light Network of Women Poets have recently received Arts Council funding to bring out an anthology of poetry by women poets. It will be called Wings of Glass. The book will focus on ambitious writing and be published next autumn 2014 and launched at the Second Light Festival in central London in late November. The editors are Penelope Shuttle, Myra Schneider and Dilys Wood. Submissions will be accepted between 15th November and 15th January. Please see full details for submitting : www.secondlightlive.co.uk
Her Wings of Glass (the title a quotation from Sylvia Plath) is to be a 200 page anthology that will complement but not repeat Second Light’s previous anthology (with Arrowhead Books), Images of Women. The focus of this anthology is ‘big issues’, for example the future of the planet, good and evil aspects of our relationship with the natural world and with each other, different aspects of our imaginative understanding of ‘who we are’.
The invitation is for up to six poems per submission, not more than 200 lines in total, with three copies of each poem to Dilys Wood at 3, Springfield Close, East Preston, West Sussex, BN16 2SZ, by January 15th 2014 together with the administrative fee of £5 (Second Light members) or £8 (non-members). Cheques payable to ‘Second Light’ or pay online at the poetry p f (online shop (filter to ‘Wings’). Non-UK submissions may be sent by e-mail as .doc or .pdf attachments, only to Second Light Administrator (poet Anne Stewart. ) Anne Stewart is a fabulous help with your technical questions. [Check out Anne’s poems HERE.]
The adjudicators will advise those selected by 30th June 2014 and those poets whose work is selected will receive a copy of the anthology when published. Submitted poems may be published (details on poem please) or unpublished or otherwise out in submission. Second Light may also publish a short spin-off anthology if funds allow.
FULL SUBMISSIONS GUIDELINES HERE
Editor’s note: Poets of the distaff side, don’t forget Second Light Network of Women Poets as a primary professional association with an excellent bi-annual journal ARTEMISpoetry, which is published in November and in May. Membership in Second Light network is not restricted to residents of England.
REV. TERRI STEWART (Cloaked Monk) is the founder of the Youth Chaplaincy Coalition in Seattle, Washington. Don’t miss tomorrow’s post for details. You will find Terri’s philosophy of Extreme Accompaniment of interest and applicable to the many situations we encounter and have the impulse to heal.
PAULA KUITENBROUWER (Mindful Drawing) was honored by Boeddhistisch Dagblad, the premier Buddhist magazine of the Netherlands, with an interview and photographs … in Paula’s words her “three minutes of fame.” The feature is HERE in Dutch.
NIAMH CLUNE (On the Plum Tree) has set-off a virtual explosion of activity and inspiration on her Plum Tree Books Facebook Page. She is hosting posts by a bevy artists and writers including Shawn MacKenzie (Dragonsnest) with Editor’s Corner and Jamie Dedes (The Poet by Day , the journey in poem). Jamie’s Corner, Soul Speak with Jamie Dedes, is about matters concerned with the inner life.
Niamh’s Plum Tree Books (PTB) is a small book publishing company and will publish material on FB based on the creative collaborations of team members. PTB encourages participation and comment on many subjects from technical advice on how to make a recording, to poetry, social comment, inspirational quotes to inspire your poetry, and how to illustrate children’s books. PTB is always looking for new talent to showcase.
KAREN FAYETH‘s (Oh Fair New Mexico) latest short story What Leibniz Never Learned was published by The Storyteller, a literary magazine of the print variety. Here’s a snippet with a link to the complete story:
“Anton dropped his head into his hands and, with a deep sigh, allowed frustration to wash over him. He had so many things to say, deep, powerful, urgent emotions, and all he could squeeze out on the pages of his quadrille lined laboratory notebook were gibberish lines and jumbled words.
If only expressing words of love was as simple as the calculus that flowed so easily for him. Figuring derivatives of complex equations happened with ease and grace. Math made sense. Feelings did not.
He turned to a clean page and wrote down a problem. He crafted the most difficult math he could think of and then solved the equation without breaking a mental sweat. Math – in particular, calculus – made him feel better.
That’s because: Math = Easy2 + Clean + Pure
Words sucked. They could be misinterpreted and get all jumbled up and used against a guy. Especially with girls.” MORE.
REENA PRASAD (Butterflies of Time, a convas of poety) ~ is an Indian poet, blogger, and blogging-community friend based in Sharjah. She works tirelessly on her poetry and on getting her work published. Congratulations to her on her most recent success, the publication of Seasons on Thanal Online.
CALL FOR SUBMISSIONS: We are delighted to be introducing some new talent into the mix over the next few weeks and we continue to work on the submissions received from the Call for Submissions, which is now closed. If you have not heard from us yet, do not despair. The project is simply taking more time than anticipated.
POETS AGAINST WAR was certainly a successful effort and we continue to receive submissions, which will be posted and then also added to the collection Poets Against War, 2013 collection.
POETS AGAINST WAR, the book: Several among the Core Team members, contributors, readers and friends have indicated an interest in publishing the poems in anthology with the proceeds from sales going to an international charity to be named. We are researching the details on this and will share information and plans as they become clarified. The short-term plan is to host another peace event in September 2014 to include artists, photographers, story-tellers and essayists. It will be implemented in concert with the 2014 global 100,000 Poets for Change. If all works out, we’ll electronically publish the combined collection (2013, 2014) during the first quarter of 2015. If you have suggestions or technical skills to share, please let us know and they will be factored into our considerations and/or into the planning process. Just leave a note in the comments. Thank you!
BLOGGERS IN PLANET LOVE: This is a heads-up on an event in the planning for Valentine’s Day 2014. Details to be determined and announced. Look for more news about this collaborative effort addressing climate and environmental concerns and the meaning of nature in our lives.
NEWS TO SHARE?: Please feel free to do so in the comment section.
– The Bardo Group
I Consider Myself
I consider myself to be
a peaceful person
living in a place
not fraught with war
void of detonating bombs
fragments of life gone
I consider myself but
to no avail
for the rumbling of war
has never been far
as off in the distance
on foreign soils
it creeps very close
to my own back door
I considered myself to be
living my life apart
even during Viet Nam years
seen on broadcast news
of death and others tears
of something I was
unable to touch
I considered myself & then
my son joined in the ranks
of men and women called
to fight in a war fueled
by the inner turmoil
of a people distant
and out of sight
I considered myself to be
untouched by the carnage
the destruction of
people unknown to me
whose lives were
never mentioned
I considered myself & then
you came home & you
seemed different
for you brought the
memories with you
that now touch my life
to forever affect it
with war
I have known many who became soldiers. My own father and his brothers fought in World War II, my brother was in service during Viet Nam but did not see battle. But when my own son went to the Middle East, even though he was fortunate enough not to have had to be in a battle, he saw enough of the aftermath, that it has affected his life in ways I will never be able to understand. For most soldiers do not speak of what they have seen and heard but these things, I know, cannot be erased from memory.
– Renee Espiru
© 2013, poem, Renee Espiru, All rights reserved
Photo credit ~ Karen Arnold, Public Domain Pictures.net
RENEE ESPRIU ~ is a creative prose writer and poet. She began delighting us with her work at Turtle Flight, My Muse & Angels in March 2011. The work she shares with us there includes short stories. Renee is a daughter, mother, grandmother, and seeker of spiritual peace and soul-filled freedom. She’s studied at the graduate level and has attended seminary. She describes her belief system as eclectic, encompassing many faiths. She believes “Nature is the basis of everything that is and everything that is also a part of Nature.”
sleeping without walls
My mom died twenty-two years ago this month. She has been much on my mind these past few weeks.
squeezing a penny
my mother never knew the names for things
the trees were just trees, the flowers just flowers,
but she knew life as a sigh and love as a linchpin
and how to get to work and maneuver in the dark,
she could squeeze a penny and was known to force
tired feet into worn shoes, she could make them dance
1950, Brooklyn, NY
sleeping without walls
camp that year taught the art of sleeping outside
sleeping without walls, watching the stars and moon,
gathering dreams from sunsets and morning dew
we slept in bed-rolls configured of old white sheets
and army blankets made of itchy khaki-colored wool
i wondered if my uncles slept on them during the war,
as I wondered about many things, many things …
and that summer held other delights, climbing trees
and eating cherries without washing them, oh!
and there were blueberry bushes and fig trees and
i lined the path to our food hut with odd sunday stones,
my own bare prayer while the big girls were at Mass,
i marveled at my middle-aged mother’s plump knees
and marked her spirit for wearing shorts and for her
joining in children’s games and singing ‘round the fire
now i wonder at summer camp morphing into metaphor ~
all our lives we did those things: gathering dreams,
mom and me, outsider artists sleeping without walls
1980, San Francisco, CA
in the shadow of the moon
like lucid dreaming, like light-infused rain drops and
the untarnished silver stars above country terrain,
my mother calls to me from the shadow of the moon
my father beams his smile at me from the milky way
gone and gone, still their essence scents my nights
– Jamie Dedes
© 2013, poems and family photos, Jamie Dedes, All rights reserved
JAMIE DEDES ~ My worldly tags are poet and writer. For nearly six years I’ve blogged at The Poet by Day,the journey in poem, formerly titled Musing by Moonlight. Through the gift of poetry (mine and that of others), I enter sacred space.
Matastasize, an awkward word
Metastasize;
an awkward word,
vowels lurking with malice
between those rock hard t’s
and stumbling past that sinister s,
into that endless z…
Even educated women know;
the seeds of broken dreams will gather
nearest to the heart
and grow
until the Gardener’s sharpened shears
snip away the wretched, rotted root.
That puckered rose, that brutal scar,
my brave and beautiful friend;
wear it as a medal:
triumphant, survivor, heroine!
– Cindy Taylor
© 2008 – 2011, poem and portrait (below), Cindy Taylor, All rights reserved
Photo credit ~ MesserWoland via Wikipedia under CC BY A-SA 3.0 Unported License
TAKEN TOO YOUNG
Minnie Julia Riperton (1947-1979), American singer-songwriter: In January 1976 Riperton was diagnosed with breast cancer and underwent a modified radical mastectomy. Though she was given just six months to live, she continued recording and touring, and in 1977 she became spokesperson for the American Cancer Society. Riperton was one of the first celebrities to go public with her breast cancer diagnosis, but did not disclose that she was terminally ill. In 1978, Riperton also received the prestigious Society’s Courage Award presented to her at the White House by then-President Jimmy Carter. She died at age 31 on July 12, 1979.
A VOICE SILENCED TOO SOON
Listen:
♥ ♥ ♥ ♥
CINDY TAYLOR ~ originally contributed this piece to us in 2011 for our Perspectives on Cancer series. She is multitalented: a freelance writer, a poet, editor and proofreader. She also has an abiding passion for food and an endearing zeal for life, which she shares with us on her award-winning blog, The Only Cin. Cindy lives in Johannesburg, South Africa.
A Cheeky Spin on Art History by “Hold Your Horses!,” a polyphonic rock band from Paris
A bit of Bardo on the light side. Warning: Artistic nudity.
Video posted to YouTube by logerproduction.
This irreverent music video for 70 Million, the hit song by the Franco-American band, Hold Your Horses!, offers a wink at art history. The inventive seven-member group playfully recreated twenty-five iconic paintings – can you name them all? – from Da Vinci to Andy Warhol. Enjoy!
What follows is a video using the original paintings with the artist’s name on each. If you care to, you can check it out to see if you got all the paintings and artists right when you viewed the first video.
Video posted to YouTube by wselander.
The BeZine 