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Category: Poems

Nothing Remains

Nothing Remains

 

Nothing Remains

 

Pictures drifting as before, when frailty roamed with an audible roar

Apparitions lifeless and complete, in precious memories so very sweet

Blink and the fragile forms will change, faces and stories all appearing strange

Set your watch and shed your chains, at long last nothing remains

 

-Lavinia Busch 2019

 

Having just returned to work after a six month sabbatical, I am caught in a fog of “work stuff”. As a librarian in higher education, I have the wonderful opportunity to work with young adults excited about learning and exploring new ideas. By the same token, the culture of busyness and the hierarchical structures of university life have left me conflicted.

 

What I am left with is the idea of impermanence and contribution. Well aware of the fragile nature of life, it is striking how much energy is expended doing things that have nothing to do with permanence. Pepper this with what can be real injustices in the world, and I find myself constantly thinking about an elusive other way forward.

 

“Anyone who has lost something they thought was theirs forever finally comes to realise that nothing really belongs to them.”

― Paulo Coelho

 

As a person attempting to let go of all that weighs heavily, what remains clear is that the practice of minimalism is not just about stuff. Minimalism is what we allow into our lives and what we set free to move along on the rivers of fate. Nothing remains static; no problem, institution, relationship, river or mountain. Everything is in a constant state of change. Stepping away from my workplace for six months really demonstrated this concept for me.

 

When I am gone, my work contribution will remain as if an echo bouncing off the walls of a vast and empty hallway as new voices, ideas and leadership step forth. What then is really important to me? How should I be spending my precious life energy?

 

The answer I always return to is family and writing. Both are extremely important to me and deserving of my very best. Through my family, I leave a bit of myself in all that I do. My children may not grasp the value of this work, but I am convinced my job is only to plant the seeds of hope and inspiration. They must tend their own soil and allow unique flowers to bloom.

By writing, I contribute my voice, my heart, in a format that will far outlast my physical body. It would be lovely if in 100 years, someone picked up one of my poems and felt unfamiliar emotions after reading. To me this would epitomize life energy well spent.

 

“No man ever steps in the same river twice, for it’s not the same river and he’s not the same man.”

― Heraclitus

 

Remembering that nothing remains is also a comfort during times of unease. Everything that confounds me about this life will pass. The discomfort of this physical body, awkward relationships and the many mind numbing tasks that make up a day. In the future, the world will no longer be as I see it now.  A new landscape will emerge as the cycle of life returns and repeats.  Taking this in, my desire to spend more time doing what speaks to my heart is pressing. We must all ask ourselves, if these were our last days on earth, what would we do with the time remaining?

 

 

Gentle Brushstrokes

Gentle Brushstrokes

 

Solitude resides with a peaceful clarity, a sharp

 picture of what is and what might be

Only in this quiet can a heart beat freely, unbound by

the constant blur of thought running errant within

 

In silence, the tsunami of emotions

rubbed raw by the roughness of the day

subsides, leaving a softness, colored by

the gentle brushstrokes of a rolling hillside

 

-Lavinia Busch 2019

 

With the intensity of the lunar eclipse this past weekend and the air as vessel for all that remains, I find myself wishing everything to slow down, lending more time to consider things as they are. So often, when the stakes are high, I get caught up in the swell of emotion as if a leaf in a tsunami. Returning to the work environment has sent a cascade of ever turbulent waves my way and it is taking all that I have to swim rather than sink.

 

Honoring my need for quiet, I spent some time at Vasquez Rocks this weekend. The air was crisp and the hillside called. Acting as if young again, I found myself scrambling up the rocks wishing nothing more than to get to the highest vantage point. Feeling the cool wetness of the rocks against my hands, I climbed and climbed. As I reached the highest point my legs would allow, I took notice of the pools of emotion laid bare on the hillside. The surrounding area looked like a beautiful painting created with gentle brushstrokes rather than the jumble of people I had left on the ground below.  Perspective really is everything.

 

Storms will come and go. It is and has always been my personal work to weather the storms with gentleness and love. At times I fall short and suffer the consequences of reacting in an abrupt or harsh manner. In these moments, it is up to me to forgive myself and reset intentions. If history serves, there will be much more opportunity for forgiveness as I stumble along the turbulent shores of life. My salvation continues to be writing and nature.

 

To that end, a random flock of birds caught my attention while walking on a busy street in my neighborhood. The birds looked to be rehearsing a ballet with sharp changes of direction and shape. The whole spectacular took my breath away and for a brief time, the waves of turmoil quieted. Stopping to feel the calming heartbeat in all things has become my hope and aspiration. No matter the circumstance, beauty can be found in a morning sunrise, the whip of the wind or the quiet of a winter night. These gentle brushstrokes allow for a respite from the hardships of this flawed life and a reminder of the universal breath in the most honest of ways.

 

Castle Up In the Air

Castle Up In the Air

 

Living in my castle up in the air

Floating softly without a care

Clouds as pillows, stars as light

Nothing but beauty both day and night

 

Tranquil sounds fill the sky

Symphonies of angels passing by

Oh how I miss this ancient lullaby

Rocking me gently way up high

 

The ground is rigid as hardship looms

Soaking in regret, resting in tombs

You shall find me light and fair

Forever in my castle up in the air

 

-Lavinia Busch 2019

 

Bird On A Wire

Bird On A Wire

 

 

Just a bird on a wire hanging on decision

Minding the sky no matter the condition

High above the distorted slums of fate

Somewhere between love and hate

 

From this perch clarity should prevail

A crewless ship minding the sails

Which way will the hidden tempest cry

Gusting upheaval from the sky

 

Very soon I must leave this temporary stage

Skirting along the propensity for age

For now I remain, divided among

Love still humming on a silenced tongue.

 

-Lavinia Busch 2019

 

Stardust

Stardust

 

The light is blinding, with foreign sounds, loud harassments

Coldness attacks and a feeling of isolation lingers in the dark corners of this space

Just as I hesitate to breathe in life, warmth encircles seeding my fire.

 

Shivers run across my scalp, as the body shudders in agreement

How small and unseen I feel, a ghost among those walking but no longer alive

Looking towards the clouds I am sure the lion flies above

I wonder if I am the lamb on this hard and rugged plain

 

The spirit objects wishing for acknowledgement among giants

Everything fades, even stardust as I crave forgotten shadows roaming the universe

Fingers seared by tenderness explore this atmosphere, foreign elements assault and permeate the skin

Downcast orbs conceal confusion behind lashed shields, guarding against the rain

 

Finally, I welcome disbelief and disorientation as lifelong friends

Shedding all that weighed heavily I become soft, light as a wandering feather

Warmth returns in a fury of homecoming as legs stretch from sand to forever

Flirting with the sky, I see the trail of stardust in my wake and willingly become the mystery.

 

 

-Lavinia Busch 2018

 

 
Sway

Sway

 

 

I have no idea why I felt compelled to write a meditation today. The idea of swaying as a comfort is on my mind along with the use of breath to facilitate this comfort. As one that does not meditate routinely, I find reading these words deeply relaxing.

Intuitively, the tension of the holiday season is upon us and a palpable unease of obligation is in the air. Take just one short moment to center yourself each day and remember we are a part of something so much greater than we can comprehend. Let the small things go and know all will be well.

 

Sway, gently… back and forth

Deep breath in, deep breath out

Close your eyes and feel lightness

Let your chest expand and contract

 

Sway, gently…back and forth

Deep breath in, deep breath out

Notice your thoughts and set them free

Release all that binds your heart

 

Sway, gently…back and forth

Deep breath in, deep breath out

Settle into this space between

This warm and welcoming unknown

 

Sway, gently…back and forth

Deep breath in, deep breath out

Rest in this space for as long as you wish

Disregard obligations and pretense…just be

 

Sway, gently…back and forth

Deep breath in, deep breath out

Unfold and unwind, release all tension

Allow light to permeate every cell, every space

 

Sway, gently…back and forth

Deep breath in, deep breath out

Sense possibility, know it is for you

Embrace all of it, as if a loved one

 

Sway, gently…back and forth

Deep breath in, deep breath out

Fly now, do not look back,

Soar and gaze upon mountain peaks

 

Sway, gently…back and forth

Deep breath in, deep breath out

Let the wind lift you, higher and higher

Soak in the warmth of the universe

 

Sway, gently…back and forth

Deep breath in, deep breath out

Continue above the farthest spaces

Seek the nearest star and make it home

 

Sway, gently…back and forth

Deep breath in, deep breath out

Now slowly allow the spirit to return

Gently unwrap the layers of protective energy

 

Sway, gently…back and forth

Deep breath in, deep breath out

Gravity leads and your feet touch the earth

Ground yourself and feel the life in the soil

 

Sway, gently…back and forth

Deep breath in, deep breath out

Know the stardust and soil are one in the same

You are here, you are everywhere, all is well.

 

Passing Importance

Passing Importance

 

Art-Ines Honfi

One on the slow road, the other the fast,

Improbable two should every pass.

Yet within this complex and twisted world,

An intersection of light begins to whirl.

 

Life as we know it bends and breaks

Energy between vibrates and shakes.

Two hearts and minds influence the end

The passing importance must defend.

 

Everything is different, now as before,

Two walking by, one through the door.

Connectivity grinds, no matter the pace,

Ushering the new, face to face.

-Lavinia Busch, 2018

 

If These Hills Could Speak

If These Hills Could Speak

 

 

Last night above the hills you crept

Rain caressing the mesa as you wept

Tears of all who walked this way

Shadows of souls still wandering today

 

Listen, If only these hills could speak

Wind boisterous and bold but never meek

Land with voice, stripped raw and naked

Holding bones of the many sacred

 

Tell me who you were, what happened here

I feel your presence, strong and clear

In the still of night you visited my room

Memories of your life weaving a mystical loom

 

Speak soft and quietly if you must

I hear your whisper between grains of dust

Heat of daylight silencing the bustling squalls

As the final moment encroaches, inscribing the wall.

-Lavinia Busch, 2018

 

Depth Of New

Depth Of New

 

It is quiet now, a womb of new, washing

away all that came before. The trail,

is empty, blank slate to pen.

No footsteps, only water against sand.

Flow in the way you are meant to be.

Show me the invisible path,

or let me be.

 

Empty as it was before,

A desert flower in forever darkness,

blooms while quietly painting

the vibrant oneness.

Together grains of sand persist, each drop

etching away the old, gently soaking

into the depth of new.

 

Deeper runs this vein of new, crushing

the oldest pictures of,

an ancient sea- browns, reds and blue,

hovering above, awaiting the forever sky.

Liquid labors, birthing the next

breath of quiet reveals a pathless view.

-Lavinia Busch, 2018

Broken Glass

Broken Glass

Art-Dhira Lawrence

 

Shards and pieces fill the floor,

Emotions trampled as before.

Watch your step, this glass cuts

Its best to keep things tightly shut.

 

Tempers flare and shouts persist

The allure of anger hard to resist

Careful now, handle with care

Sharp as a knife, better beware

 

Be gentle now, glass does break

All it takes is one strong shake

Softer words and kinder touch

Broken glass hurts far too much

-Lavinia Busch, 2018

 

Broken glass is an eclectic collection of what was once a whole, yet each piece is still able to shine separate from this whole. Think of a stained-glass window. These inspiring works of art are comprised of broken pieces of glass, each able to stand alone in specific brilliance. In totality, the stained-glass window shines like a sunbeam, sending colorful light in all directions. The beauty of this whole does not negate how special each individual piece of glass is. Removing even one piece would change the stained-glass window completely.

 

How easy it is to forget what makes each of us as individuals shine. We define ourselves by family, friends, job and relationships. It is so easy to forget who we are and what we contribute to the whole. Losing self in another is a slippery slope and the treacherous fall that may occur is not one to be taken lightly.

 

For empathetic people, this is especially difficult to navigate. We pride ourselves in being helpful, selfless and putting the needs of all others before our own. While this may seem to be a service-oriented way to move about the world, the exclusion of self in all matters is neither healthy are wise. Without goals, creative energy and spirit it becomes impossible to have a voice in any partnership. Each person should intend to uplift the other while gently encouraging their partner to stretch and grow. Without this space one will inevitably become stagnant, a shard of glass crushed by the weight of insecurity.

 

 

“Don’t tell me the moon is shining; show me the glint of light on broken glass.”

― Anton Chekhov

 

No one should dim their light for the benefit of another. Each one of us has the opportunity to shine in our own way. The color of the glass we use is up to us as is the manner in which we create our window. As the artist, we have a choice and a voice. It is incumbent on us to not lose sight of our precious light.

 

Continue to love those in your life. Lend an ear when necessary. Offer a helping hand and gentle encouragement but never compromise who you are and what is important. Shine as brightly as you are meant, dimming no amount of self for the benefit of others discomfort. You will find as you gain confidence, that your stained-glass window is more representative of your shining spirit and gentle heart.