Sight Without I’s

The light you see in a child’s eyes is the same light the child sees in everything.

As a child, the world looks ever fresh and vital because that light permeates their experience of life.

The same light exists still, in the same place — only time stands between us.

Time is but the dust of illusion, blowing across the mirror of truth.

The eye that sees — the child’s eye!

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Sky Full Blue and Clear

Who pays the fare for passage?
Who books the travel plan?
Who keeps the maps
and ensures the way is held true?
Who brings the rain and snow,
and who makes fire in the hearth?
Who will cut the chain
just before the tiger leaps?
Who will give speed to the chase?
When grace comes spilling in
like a kingdom of rose petals
                strewn across the lawn,
who stands holding the vessel
                                    of the sky?

-Kevin Trammel
11/26/2020

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Love’s Story

Why these tragic songs of love
that end with sorrows everyone knows?
Love answers all, even the questions
one hasn’t yet learned to ask.

_______________

-kt, 1/2020

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Into the Hearth the Mirror of Time

The Black-eyed Susans wept into the frosty glen
That winter met unvisited, untouched, untrod.
The sunlight caught in a cup of lily
Was drunk only by empty sky,
Which smiling held forth but its cold grace.
O, touch the soft shoulders of these two unknowing lovers
And pull their hair back from their eyes
And gaze into the depths of two souls’ uncast journies!

Away they went, those two, to travel far,
Later well met in wonder: they’d been given wings each.
They gazed one upon another with childlike delight
Moved by a spontaneous song of former warrior lovers.
Marvelous the might of those who walk their path!

The old lullaby of a love song dwindled in the hall…
And the wine! O, pass it round!
Come, let us hear that tune that flies on the air like incense.

 

-Kevin Trammel, January 2020

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Jami and Grace

Beloved
no fear if You break my heart a thousand times
but do not abandon me in contempt because of what I have here become
for in this garden every flower has its roots in dirt

_____________________________________________________
-tr. Vraje Abramian, “This Heavenly Wine”

Jami also says (ibid.) “… our Perfect Friend … has no one’s name in his book of judgement, and crosses out no one’s name in his book of Mercy.”

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Invasion

 

She pours out the
last grains of rice from a clay urn.
Gently she lays the cup inside
and rests the lid back in place —
its faint, empty drumming.
__________________

-KT, 1/27/2020; based on the film, Ip Man

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Blessings

One overcast day she felt sad and drove to the coast. There, six dolphins came in to play among the waves — on a single wave, six dolphins body-surfing!

Leaving, she felt whole again. She knew the dolphins had come for her and her heart sang.

I know a friend whose heart has walked the same path as my own though we’d parted some time ago… hearing of it, my heart sang.

-KT, from an old dusty journal from the Winter of 1987; West Coast memories

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Persimmons Once

I walked down to the orchard  today to see what had become of the few persimmons which we had left on the tree prior to the engaging activities of the holidays. The tree was barren but for the dry and empty “caps” of a number of the fruits that the birds must have devoured. What a delicious mid-winter feast they would have enjoyed. While the cold wind was blowing, while the snow was gathering ice on the branches, they ate of the glowing red fruit of summer that had lingered all the way to solstice. I came for persimmons but there were none to have. Instead, I enjoyed in reflection the delights of winter bearing birds coming to this precious tree for refreshment.

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Robbie – Portrait

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Robbie

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Gus, A Portrait

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A Portrait of Gus

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The Wisdom of “The Fields”

The Fields
by Witter Bynner

Though wisdom underfoot
Dies in the bloody fields,
Slowly the endless root
Gathers again and yields.

In fields where hate has hurled
Its force, where folly rots,
Wisdom shall be unfurled
Small as forget-me-nots.

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Joy in Solstice

Such gleeful delight. What a way to greet Solstice! Thank you, Gus.

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What Comes this Way?

It is now dead midnight.
Cold fearful drops stand on my trembling flesh.
What do I fear? Myself?

-Richard III, Act V, scene v

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How It Seems in the Shadow

To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow,
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day
To the last syllable of recorded time,
And all our yesterdays have lighted fools
The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!
Life’s but a walking shadow, a poor player
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage
And then is heard no more: it is a tale
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,
Signifying nothing.

-Macbeth, Shakespeare
Act V, Scene 5
Macbeth on the death of his wife and queen.

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When They Appear

A mote it is to trouble the mind’s eye.
In the most high and palmy state of Rome, 
A little ere the mightiest Julius fell,
The graves stood tenantless, and the sheeted dead
Did squeak and gibber in the Roman streets;
As stars with trains of fire, and dews of blood,
Disasters in the sun; and the moist star 
Upon whose influence Neptune’s empire stands
Was sick almost to doomsday with eclipse.
And even the like precurse of fierce events,
As harbingers preceding still the fates
And prologue to the omen coming on, 
Have heaven and earth together demonstrated
Unto our climature and countrymen.

-Horatio, commenting on the significance of
first seeing the Ghost of the King, Hamlet’s father
Act I, Scene I

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Incantation of Confounding

Up and down, up and down,
I will lead them up and down: 
I am fear’d in field and town:
Goblin, lead them up and down.

-Puck
A Midsummer Night’s Dream
Act III, Scene 2

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The Lifting Shroud

My fairy lord, this must be done with haste,
For night’s swift dragons cut the clouds full fast,
And yonder shines Aurora’s harbinger;
At whose approach, ghosts, wandering here and there,
Troop home to churchyards: damned spirits all,
That in crossways and floods have burial,
Already to their wormy beds are gone;
For fear lest day should look their shames upon,
They willfully themselves exile from light
And must for aye consort with black-brow’d night.

-Puck, Midsummer Night’s Dream, Shakespeare
ACT III., SCENE II.

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Recipe for “Double, Double Toil and Trouble”

A dark Cave. In the middle, a Caldron boiling. Thunder.

Enter the three Witches.

1 WITCH.  Thrice the brinded cat hath mew’d.
2 WITCH.  Thrice and once, the hedge-pig whin’d.
3 WITCH.  Harpier cries:—’tis time! ’tis time!
1 WITCH.  Round about the caldron go;
In the poison’d entrails throw.—
Toad, that under cold stone,
Days and nights has thirty-one;
Swelter’d venom sleeping got,
Boil thou first i’ the charmed pot!
ALL.  Double, double toil and trouble;
Fire burn, and caldron bubble.
2 WITCH.  Fillet of a fenny snake,
In the caldron boil and bake;
Eye of newt, and toe of frog,
Wool of bat, and tongue of dog,
Adder’s fork, and blind-worm’s sting,
Lizard’s leg, and owlet’s wing,—
For a charm of powerful trouble,
Like a hell-broth boil and bubble.
ALL.  Double, double toil and trouble;
Fire burn, and caldron bubble.
3 WITCH.  Scale of dragon; tooth of wolf;
Witches’ mummy; maw and gulf
Of the ravin’d salt-sea shark;
Root of hemlock digg’d i the dark;
Liver of blaspheming Jew;
Gall of goat, and slips of yew
Sliver’d in the moon’s eclipse;
Nose of Turk, and Tartar’s lips;
Finger of birth-strangled babe
Ditch-deliver’d by a drab,—
Make the gruel thick and slab:
Add thereto a tiger’s chaudron,
For the ingrediants of our caldron.
ALL.  Double, double toil and trouble;
Fire burn, and caldron bubble.
2 WITCH.  Cool it with a baboon’s blood,
Then the charm is firm and good.

William Shakespeare (1564-1616)
from Macbeth

 

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Of His Bones

Full fathom five thy father lies;
Of his bones are coral made;
Those are pearls that were his eyes:
Nothing of him that doth fade,
But doth suffer a sea-change
Into something rich and strange.

-Shakespeare
(The Tempest)

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Venus and Luna

This is what Venus and the Moon cooked up last Sunday (July 15) for all to see in the late evening sky. This was taken in Northern California, in the Sierra Foothills.

These two have been performing a marvelous dance all week, with Venus moving off to the south, parallel to the horizon, but not too far away, and then coming back again so that last night she was directly beside the moon across a perpendicular line from the horizon. It’s been beautiful and profound to watch. Sappho would have been giddy with wonder and would have written many poems of two sweet souls at play in the gardens of love.

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