Richard's Wabi Sabi World
The blog I maintained from 2002 to 2006
Tuesday, May 23, 2006
I water his bonsai –
the trees
whisper
posted by Richard Powell at 12:14 AM
Monday, May 22, 2006
son’s paper route
the same child's marbles
on five different driveways
posted by Richard Powell at 1:41 AM
Saturday, May 13, 2006
the littlest guppy
finally
finds the food
posted by Richard Powell at 10:11 AM
Saturday, May 06, 2006
after cutting the grass
I hear the neighbour -
cut his
posted by Richard Powell at 12:27 AM
Tuesday, May 02, 2006
holding her hand -
dark sky over black water
all those years ago
posted by Richard Powell at 12:09 AM
Sunday, April 30, 2006
Beyond the gate
his school path
blurs with growth
posted by Richard Powell at 1:11 PM
Friday, April 28, 2006
alone on the bench
but eventually
a Towhee
posted by Richard Powell at 8:35 AM
Sunday, April 23, 2006
fifth week of rain
still when I mop it
the floor dries
posted by Richard Powell at 9:42 AM
Saturday, April 22, 2006
dried paint on my hands
green spring leaves
already open
posted by Richard Powell at 10:06 AM
Friday, June 24, 2005
spring breeze
the climbing rose
does Tai Chi
posted by Richard Powell at 8:34 AM
Wednesday, May 11, 2005
the alley narrows
squeal of thorns
against the truck
posted by Richard Powell at 9:02 AM
Thursday, April 28, 2005
the winch on their PC
yet soft words
these female police officers
posted by Richard Powell at 9:03 AM
Thursday, April 07, 2005
bright green leaves of spring
again
posted by Richard Powell at 8:07 PM
Monday, February 28, 2005
on the dying alder tree
old initials
new catkins
posted by Richard Powell at 7:32 PM
carpenter - silent on the roof
points his hammer
at the sunset
posted by Richard Powell at 5:28 PM
Wednesday, February 23, 2005
right into her hand
the stick
the dog brings
posted by Richard Powell at 8:50 AM
Thursday, February 03, 2005
from frozen forest soil
an ember
with wings
posted by Richard Powell at 8:55 AM
Saturday, January 22, 2005
heavy rain
even the fog
has trouble rising
posted by Richard Powell at 1:15 AM
Sunday, January 09, 2005
first snowfall
the pleasure of seeing
my footprints
posted by Richard Powell at 2:44 PM
News Flash: Wabi Sabi Simple Published. Regular readers of Richard Wabi Sabi World will be pleased to know that my long anticipated book, Wabi Sabi Simple released in December and is selling well. The book is a practical and inspiring guide to incorporating the beauty and wisdom of wabi sabi into daily life. For an introduction to the book visit www.stillinthestream.com and the book's description page listed there.
posted by Richard Powell at 1:59 PM
Sunday, December 19, 2004
pause in the Christmas rush
a fisherman
his long slow cast
posted by Richard Powell at 3:57 PM
Friday, November 19, 2004
see our breath
yellow leaves strike the concrete
punctuation
posted by Richard Powell at 1:09 AM
Sunday, September 19, 2004
the old fear
retired immigrant harvests
more beans than he can eat
posted by Richard Powell at 10:03 PM
Thursday, August 26, 2004
door held open by the wind
styrofoam cup
clops across the parking lot
posted by Richard Powell at 2:00 PM
Saturday, August 07, 2004
half asleep
mystery scents from the flowered cuff
of mothers party dress
posted by Richard Powell at 12:55 PM
Thursday, July 22, 2004
mother's nurse
high school friend
I didn’t recognize
posted by Richard Powell at 12:27 AM
Monday, June 21, 2004
first day of summer
clouds the shape of jelly fish
sting the sky
posted by Richard Powell at 11:11 PM
Wednesday, June 16, 2004
waiting in the bank
the rubber foot on her cane
compresses
posted by Richard Powell at 8:58 AM
Monday, May 24, 2004
three neighbourhood girls
run down the lane
inside a hula-hoop
posted by Richard Powell at 11:15 PM
Thursday, May 06, 2004
smiles at everyone in line
on her finger
sparkling new ring
posted by Richard Powell at 9:02 AM
Friday, March 19, 2004
morning wind
finch stops among plumb blossoms
to eat one white petal
posted by Richard Powell at 10:26 PM
Thursday, March 04, 2004
at the stop light
in the car in front of me
little dog’s head still bobs
posted by Richard Powell at 11:08 AM
Wednesday, February 25, 2004
noticeable bump in the tightly cropped hedge
undisturbed bird’s nest
posted by Richard Powell at 12:19 PM
Tuesday, February 10, 2004
theological debate
very telling
which side listens
posted by Richard Powell at 6:02 PM
Wednesday, February 04, 2004
frosty morning
hanging from the school yard fence
a lavender bra
posted by Richard Powell at 11:15 AM
Thursday, January 29, 2004
click after click
face after face
the train passes
posted by Richard Powell at 11:51 PM
Friday, January 23, 2004
giant snowballs rolled together
melt in the rain
to a ring of leaves
posted by Richard Powell at 11:11 PM
Thursday, January 08, 2004
in the wind
one leaf
my son
posted by Richard Powell at 11:55 AM
Tuesday, January 06, 2004
clinging to the spiders web
needle snowflakes
posted by Richard Powell at 4:40 PM
Sunday, December 28, 2003
under the memorial bench
in the cracks between the stones
wet leaves
posted by Richard Powell at 11:45 PM
Christmas
inside the aquarium
guppy lights
posted by Richard Powell at 11:39 PM
Saturday, December 27, 2003
My Teapot
posted by Richard Powell at 12:03 AM
Thursday, December 11, 2003
quiet house
children sick in bed
wrong kind of silence
posted by Richard Powell at 4:08 PM
Monday, December 01, 2003
he waves at the pretty receptionist
with his cane
posted by Richard Powell at 10:51 PM
I thank the volunteer
she thanks me
twice
posted by Richard Powell at 10:48 PM
morning
light frost light
posted by Richard Powell at 10:38 PM
Tuesday, November 11, 2003
Cenotaph wind
in a woman’s black hair
dry brown leaf
posted by Richard Powell at 11:46 PM
Sunday, November 02, 2003
between the office computers
white clean safe
Halloween spider’s web
posted by Richard Powell at 11:43 PM
Thursday, October 23, 2003
getting wet
the girl beside the bus stop
in the shelter, two boys
posted by Richard Powell at 8:34 PM
Monday, October 06, 2003
on the coleslaw bag
my writing deadline
the expiry date
posted by Richard Powell at 5:26 PM
Friday, September 26, 2003
to keep a promise
as well as the sun
rises
posted by Richard Powell at 9:58 AM
turning to face me
as I stoop to face her
jumping spider
posted by Richard Powell at 9:57 AM
Thursday, September 25, 2003
in the library
watching people
read
posted by Richard Powell at 12:45 AM
in the second hand bookstore window
my old book
posted by Richard Powell at 12:44 AM
Tuesday, September 09, 2003
Working Definition: Wabi Sabi is a way of life that appreciates natural beauty, values simplicity, and nurtures an authentic self. It acknowledges that nothing lasts, nothing’s finished, nothing’s perfect, including you, but affirms that contentment is possible when you accept genuine unvarnished existence, with clarity and grace.
posted by Richard Powell at 11:27 PM
Friday, August 29, 2003
lost in talk
outside the tea shop window
son silently mouths, “lets go.”
posted by Richard Powell at 4:36 PM
Wednesday, August 27, 2003
putting on sweat pants
the luxury of coming home
posted by Richard Powell at 12:10 AM
Monday, August 25, 2003
not home til midnight
the northern lights
kept distracting us
posted by Richard Powell at 12:04 AM
his heels flat
I hold the ruler level
pencil in the date
posted by Richard Powell at 12:03 AM
Sunday, August 24, 2003
Son’s bike
The right socket still on the wrench
posted by Richard Powell at 12:27 AM
proudly shows me
the skateboard
his bleeding leg
posted by Richard Powell at 12:27 AM
children’s hushed voices
discuss best ways to avoid
being over heard
posted by Richard Powell at 12:24 AM
Friday, August 22, 2003
evading our paddles
grey feather the heron dropped
posted by Richard Powell at 10:31 PM
Monday, August 18, 2003
The pen in open
The sky in skylight
The wind in my window
posted by Richard Powell at 10:21 PM
Distant street lights wink
dark trees sway and sound like surf
through open windows
posted by Richard Powell at 10:20 PM
"Teaism is a cult founded on the adoration of the beautiful among the sordid facts of everyday existence."
"When we consider how small after all the cup of human enjoyment is, how soon overflowed with tears, how easily drained to the dregs is our quenchless thirst for infinity, we shall not blame ourselves for making so much of the tea cup."
Okakura Kakuzo - The Book of Tea
posted by Richard Powell at 12:08 AM
Wednesday, August 13, 2003
Smoke
posted by Richard Powell at 11:49 PM
Monday, August 11, 2003
flat shelves of shale
the dwindled august river
water shoe highway
posted by Richard Powell at 10:28 AM
ribbed stone cup
in the river smooth stone
ammonite, gone
posted by Richard Powell at 10:27 AM
Monday, August 04, 2003
blond brittle grass
lights this summer evening dusk
dry as fire
posted by Richard Powell at 8:53 PM
De Courcy Island - July 2003
posted by Richard Powell at 1:44 PM
Sunday, July 27, 2003
friends in lawn chairs
hillside graveyard
fireworks
posted by Richard Powell at 10:03 PM
blackberry bushes
elderly man in a straw hat
lips purple
posted by Richard Powell at 9:31 PM
Wabi Sabi Forum, Moderated by Richard, now available at Delphi:
posted by Richard Powell at 8:33 PM
Sunday, July 20, 2003
to watch the birds
slow cat maneuvers herself
a gap in the thorns
posted by Richard Powell at 12:10 PM
Saturday, July 12, 2003
black asphalt path
a trail of wet paw prints
and the place the dog shook
posted by Richard Powell at 11:00 AM
Sunday, June 29, 2003
communion service
pastor talks, mother and baby
nurse
posted by Richard Powell at 11:50 AM
Saturday, June 28, 2003
wave undulates along the curve of stone
reveals, then hides
starfish
posted by Richard Powell at 1:26 AM
Wednesday, June 04, 2003
silver trout scales
stuck on the hood of my truck
hear his laugh again
posted by Richard Powell at 10:05 AM
Wednesday, May 21, 2003
spring walk in the woods
clinging to his dark blue sleeve
bleached leaf skeleton
posted by Richard Powell at 6:35 PM
Tuesday, May 20, 2003
Mother's Day
my neighbor
talks through the lilac branches
our winter broken
posted by Richard Powell at 12:05 AM
Saturday, May 03, 2003
That Old Ace in the Hole
Lovers of Wabi Sabi probably already know about Annie Proulx. Her book, The Shipping News, is filled with textured and aged Newfoundland images. Sven Birkerts, writing in the Jan/Feb 2003 issue of Book magazine says of Annie’s new book, “The prose may be slow and demand care from the reader, but Proulx repays our attention with a thousand shocks of charged recognition.” And isn’t that what we all want in a Wabi Sabi novel?
posted by Richard Powell at 11:12 AM
Monday, April 28, 2003
business meeting
outside the window two sparrows
mating
posted by Richard Powell at 10:47 PM
Monday, April 07, 2003
In Love with Meaning
prickle of rust set in dust
lips as dry
as iron
rustle of flight inside words
out of their mouths
birds
light of a fire of silence and sound
echoes of flames between teeth
rains of age on garden throats
gargling crops of pain
alone on the field of memory
hoeing the weed-eating words
stone full of water
spit full of clay
cracker dry speaking
feather tongue squeaking
words are birds
posted by Richard Powell at 11:45 PM
Friday, April 04, 2003
finding the store closed
spilled across the floor at home
the last of the nutmeg
posted by Richard Powell at 9:32 AM
Sunday, March 23, 2003
holding open the wind
I prick my finger on brown
sparrows wing
posted by Richard Powell at 11:11 PM
Monday, March 17, 2003
polished white mustang
glints in the driveway
of the delapidated house
posted by Richard Powell at 10:55 PM
beside the swollen Chase River
smelling and then finding
violets
posted by Richard Powell at 10:53 PM
Saturday, March 15, 2003
from the house I watch
one son’s elaborate gestures
other son sits on the ball
posted by Richard Powell at 1:01 PM
March snow melts in rain
lift the white bucket cover
bonsai's new leaves
posted by Richard Powell at 12:46 PM
Monday, March 10, 2003
Hope of spring blurs
White plumb blossoms
disappearing in falling snow
posted by Richard Powell at 8:49 AM
Thursday, February 27, 2003
An Unlikely Hero
Fred Rogers died today. I remember being 17 at Matthew Farris’ house listening to a record by a group of comedians that made fun of the Desiderata and Fred Rogers, among other things. For teenage boys the sappy sentiment of Desiderata and the effeminate way that Rogers talked were funny in themselves but the spoofs by the comedians had us reeling with laughter. 20 years later I started to revise my opinion of both. I read the Desiderata with renewed interest, surprised to find that I no longer found it trite and wishy washy but rather melancholy and stoic. I had been watching Fred, too, and found in him now a strange sort of hero. Here was a man who had convictions and education and who quietly implemented a way of relating to children that was radically different, and from all reports, effective. I researched his life and found that he had touched many people profoundly and actually shaped our culture. I am sad that he has died, but glad that he lived and had the courage to be a very different kind of man; the kind of man I hope and pray the world sees more of. Well done Fred!
posted by Richard Powell at 9:37 AM
Monday, February 24, 2003
Fat black dog chases seagulls
Short legs and tail
blur
posted by Richard Powell at 4:23 PM
Thursday, February 06, 2003
night scents the dark street
someone baking, someone bathing
dryer going
posted by Richard Powell at 9:29 AM
Friday, January 31, 2003
mother and daughter
browse greeting cards together
same smile lines
posted by Richard Powell at 11:23 PM
man skates lazy circles
round and round
his 4 year old
posted by Richard Powell at 6:33 PM
here on the frozen lake
I remember
paddling our yellow canoe
posted by Richard Powell at 6:32 PM
where have all the pens gone?
cat sleeping happily.
posted by Richard Powell at 6:30 PM
Thursday, January 30, 2003
Just read that Blogger has over a million people using their service. I guess that makes me one in a million.
posted by Richard Powell at 9:55 AM
outside the theatre
two men smoking
no guns
posted by Richard Powell at 9:21 AM
on the frozen pond
last summer’s water bugs
now skate and spin
posted by Richard Powell at 9:20 AM
Wednesday, January 01, 2003
The Art of Humility
My son has a penchant for both humor and self-deprecation. The combination of the two was delightfully exhibited last night while we were playing Balderdash around the kitchen table waiting for the new year to arrive. Graham was in last place and feeling pretty bad about it. He started saying, “I’m the worst, I’m so dumb,” and other negative things. Finally he got up from the table with a sigh and sought solace with the cat who was sitting on the living room floor. Matthew seeing an opportunity to cheer up his brother calculated the last round and artificially inflated Graham’s score. “Look Graham,” he said, moving Graham’s game piece to second place, “Your in second place.”
There was a small silence and then we heard from the living room floor Graham’s despondent voice, “Yeah, I’m in second place if everyone is on the same square.”
posted by Richard Powell at 11:49 AM
Saturday, December 07, 2002
winter ironwood
one solitary brown leaf
soft as a cat’s chin
posted by Richard Powell at 12:19 AM
Friday, November 29, 2002
sun behind cracked clouds
on this cool winter morning
I think of china
posted by Richard Powell at 11:31 PM
In line at the bank
little girl jumps with both feet
over a bug
posted by Richard Powell at 11:28 PM
Sunday, November 24, 2002
teenage boy walks down the hill
at the corner
meets my neighbor’s daughter
posted by Richard Powell at 9:03 PM
Saturday, November 23, 2002
smelling the rosemary
hours later
on my hands
posted by Richard Powell at 11:24 PM
someone else’s pen mark
by a poem
I don’t like
posted by Richard Powell at 11:24 PM
Monday, November 18, 2002
winter rains
strip the trees
of blazing autumn leaves
posted by Richard Powell at 11:48 PM
waiting for my children
fir needles on the windshield
redirect the November rain
posted by Richard Powell at 11:40 PM
first sip of the Kenyan tea
so bitter!
hours after, wanting more
posted by Richard Powell at 11:39 PM
Laying in bed half asleep
My toe keeps beat
To my wife’s printer
posted by Richard Powell at 11:37 PM
to keep pace with her friend
on each second push
she drags one skate blade
posted by Richard Powell at 11:31 PM
Tuesday, November 12, 2002
watching the gerbil
eat the November raisin
my son eats one too
posted by Richard Powell at 10:57 PM
Cenotaph on Remembrance Day
war planes fly low
then two seagulls
posted by Richard Powell at 10:01 PM
Sunday, November 03, 2002
ambling autumn walk
looking up at yellow leaves
he misses the turn
posted by Richard Powell at 5:25 PM
Sunday, October 27, 2002
in fallen yellow leaves
he pilfers old fence boards
for his plum tree fort
posted by Richard Powell at 10:35 PM
Friday, September 13, 2002
Getting my keys out
Under the buzzing porch light
Gentle moth thumps me
posted by Richard Powell at 4:55 PM
Heather
Hot September afternoon, I’ve just backed into my parking spot at home, opened the door, and stepped out onto the dusty gravel. I’ve just moved the seat forward and am reaching in the back seat to get my brief case.
“Guess what?” a voice says. It is a high, excited, little girl’s voice.
“What?” I say lifting out my brief case and turning around.
“I’m in school.” The voice says.
There is a circle of little girls on the grass under a tree on the neighbor’s lawn, and detaching herself from the rest is one of the youngest of the group. “I have homework,” she says holding up a pad of paper in the shape of a book of tickets. She is beaming.
I take the book from her to look at it. It is 5 layers of tracing paper stapled to a piece of cardboard on which, in large careful schoolteacher printing is the word, Heather.
I look down at Heather and say, “oh, this is for you to practice writing your name?” and she nods. It is an excessive nod. The kind of nod that looks like it might hurt it is so big and jerky.
But Heather is still beaming. “My teacher gave it to me.” There is something in the way she says it, something in the way she emphasizes the word “my” that makes me realize that this is not a chore, not a burden to be rid of so that other things can be done, like playing with Barbie’s or talking with her friends. This is a badge. Heather owns this task, she is proud of it. She wants to write her name on a piece of paper until it is as neat as her teacher’s example.
One of the other girls is standing beside Heather now and holds up a piece of tracing paper that appears to have been torn from the others. This is Hannah, one of the older girls. “See,” Hannah says, “she gave us one.” And Hannah emphasizes the word “Us.” I look back and forth between the two girls. I am glad they picked me. They are sharing their life with me. They don’t know this, of course. But I do. I tell Heather that it looks like she was very careful when she wrote out her name. And she just nods that big nod and returns to her friends.
I stand for a moment trying to remember when I was that openly proud, vulnerably unaware of the obviousness of my feelings. I have learned over the years to ration my outbursts, control them, and not give too much away. When, I wonder, will Heather be teased for her exuberance over schoolwork? This blindness to the potential for ridicule worries me. She will be hurt, I think, when someone, probably an older boy, says something, perhaps not even to her, “She wants to do homework, she can’t even write her name yet.” I am thinking of the neighborhood boy most likely to say this. I can see his face, can see his friends laughing, can see Heather’s face dropping. But perhaps Heather will not care; perhaps she is made of stiffer stuff. I hope so, but I doubt it. As I walk into the house, leaving Hannah doing summersaults on the grass and one of the other girls climbing the tree, I say a little prayer, not for Heather, though as I write this I feel guilty that I didn’t. No, all I do is smile to myself and utter the word, “Thank you,” remembering that the world moves fast, and I have felt it stop, if only for a moment.
posted by Richard Powell at 4:32 PM
Thursday, August 22, 2002
On the dry Island
Red rose hips round as marbles
Still warm at moonrise
posted by Richard Powell at 12:16 AM
Wednesday, July 10, 2002
Margins
What is it about the margins that attract us? Not just the margins of pages but all the margins between the cluttered riotous “where its at” and the mute lonely “no mans land”? Think of the Hebrew prophets in their caves, the early Christian monks erecting huts in the desert, the Tibetan Buddhists in their high mountain cities. We as humans, at least some of us, seek out places where life seems the most hard-done-by. Sure the rainforests are beautiful, cities exciting and fun, but barren places seem to speak to us, or open us to that kind of beauty that comes from hardship. For me it was the alpine meadows of Kokanee Glacier Park.
As a young teen I made the journey with my parents and family friends. We all loved the place, its wild rough grass, house size boulders, audacious flowers and miniature trees. We enjoyed the squeaking of the Picas and the calling of the Marmots. Humming birds zoomed around. They seemed much larger in this environment where scale is extreme. Alpine trees take a long time to grow, the alpine growing season is short, and so when the sun is warm every living thing shifts into high gear and the frenzy to store food for the next winter is as earnest as plants and Picas can be. But do I want to live there? I did, for many years, until the hardship of actual survival became less an adventure and more a drudgery. Still the question is valid. What is it about these places, this harsh spare environment, that attracts us?
For me it is this: Life keeps trying.
There is something fundamental in life that attracts me, and while I know that all life is really just a creative use of an ultimately dwindling energy, still what life does, in the raw and merciless zones of desert and mountain, is make an art out of entropy. And that, for me, is something worth learning.
posted by Richard Powell at 8:06 PM
Tuesday, April 30, 2002
car door creaks open
echoes off dark houses
only the moon is still up
posted by Richard Powell at 12:06 AM
Sunday, April 28, 2002
Book Recommendation: Hare Brain, Tortoise Mind: Why intelligence Increases When You Think Less by Guy Claxton, published by Fourth Estate.
The author explores how business centred cultures that value high productivity and fast analysis, foster active thinking that renders the world as problems and solutions.
This is the Hare brain; analyse the problem quickly, prescribe a precise solution. But the actual complexity of life limits the usefulness of conscious, deadline driven ways of thinking. Hare brain solutions and prescriptions work in the short term, sometimes, but often lead to a recurrence of the problem or a manifestation of the problem in other ways. What is really needed is the Tortoise mind.
The Tortoise mind involves mulling, reflection, contemplation, gut feelings and intuition. Given time to work these slower processes offer better solutions to complex problems.
So why is the Tortoise Brain undervalued? Partly because life is viewed as a race, but also because race-conscious individuals now hold the power and control in society.
A more subtle issue has to do with what it means to really understand something.
“Knowing emerges from, and is a response to, not-knowing. Learning – the process of coming to know – emerges from uncertainty. Ambivalently, learning seeks to reduce uncertainty, by transmuting the strange into the familiar, but it also needs to tolerate uncertainty, as the seedbed in which ideas germinate and responses form. If either one of these two aspects of learning predominates, then the balance of the mind is disturbed. If passive acceptance of not-knowing overwhelms the active search for meaning and control, then one may fall into fatalism and dependency. While if the need for certainty becomes intemperate, undermining the ability to tolerate confusion, then one may develop a vulnerability to demagoguery and dogma, liable to cling to opinions and beliefs that may not fit the bill, but which do assuage the anxiety.” - From the book.
posted by Richard Powell at 11:42 PM
Friday, April 19, 2002
Swift spring mountain stream:
black rubber boots against legs
pebble sounds below
posted by Richard Powell at 11:17 PM
Sunday, April 07, 2002
Goals
Yesterday Marilyn bought “The Complete Idiot’s Guide to Reaching Your Goals” by Jeff Davidson at Value Village for $2.99. She says it is the best $2.99 she has ever spent. She showed me the various sections she had highlighted and stopped to read a paragraph on how to sort out wishes from goals.
I asked what the different colors of highlighting were for.
“I usually highlight in yellow” she said, “but the person who had the book before me used yellow already.” Then she laughed and held up the book to me saying, “Here is where they stopped highlighting.”
I looked down at page 66, about ¼ of the way into the book, and observed the last highlighting by the anonymous previous owner. To Sleep Per Chance To Function.
It looks like they never got back out of bed, except perhaps, to discard the book in the value village contribution box. I guess setting goals was more of a wish than a goal for that person…
posted by Richard Powell at 1:05 PM
Sunday, March 24, 2002
Tea
done cleaning the fish
dad’s thermos of steaming tea
cup warming my hands
dad likes Orange Pekoe
says mom’s Earl Grey tea tastes like
his childhood hay loft
thinking of parents
I stand in Overwaitea
six long shelves of tea
posted by Richard Powell at 11:43 PM
Saturday, March 16, 2002
Unexpectedly Light
I’m downstairs putting wood on the fire. I pet the cat; ask him if he likes the heat from the stove. He yawns and puts a paw on my hand. I put on my sheep skin slippers and head upstairs. Half way up, the light makes me blink. The room is filled with light from the snowstorm outside. The flakes are rolling round and round in little eddies and the sun is backlighting the clouds. Although I know it is cold, must be because the flakes are so light, the brightness makes it seem like the fog in the bathroom after a shower. Now the flakes are going up, the wind drives them across the field and they arch over the house. Fast, at first, and then back to that soft dance.
It is pleasure profound to see the wind.
posted by Richard Powell at 12:10 PM
Sunday, February 17, 2002
I came across this poem tonight. I have worked on it on and off for over ten years. It belongs here.
Wabi Sabi
Our first fall together
waxwings ate rain
marks as bright as berries
what I looked for I still look for
stretched out across the cooling lake
Our second fall you collected rotten apples behind the grey house
stuck out your tongue at them, rinsing your hands quick
me and the grass laid down by the rain
orange poppy petals
silence about them
that year we had no friends
When we lived on the hill, fall was in the lane
I stood, hands in pockets, in a light rain
while someone else talked,
looked up and saw you in the window, poking floss taut into Aida cloth and the winter white light
your hands quick
the proper tension
Finally we hunched our shoulders
a cat put out in the rain
while the leaves tumbled cold
brown feather caught on Autumn
In Victoria
winter starlings
dappled and hungry
clutch thorns with their toes
Looking out of the St. George House
orange cat in the grass
picks its way through the color
paws coat steps with silence
only eyes quick
How many falls now?
second pregnancy a two story house
In out of the rain, petals under the porch curled dry
Slocan river moves as I think about it
Finally this year, after seeing smoke from our own chimney
I roll my wheelbarrow full of red leaves and two giggling boys
and am able to smile
knowing this cold flame of joy
has a name
posted by Richard Powell at 11:43 PM
Sunday, February 03, 2002
My Mug
This is the mug that is sitting on my desk as I type this. I have had it since I was fifteen, when I first started drinking tea in my room. That was over twenty five year ago. There have been many different desks in many different dwellings but the mug has traveled with me from place to place.
It came into my possession in my childhood home and no doubt my mother bought it. Perhaps she liked the flower pattern. They remind me of poppies. I like poppies. It seems that my mother and I have the same taste in mugs. On the bottom in black letters is the word, “Japan.”
It has a nice handle. This mug is Wabi Sabi. If I had to run from the house in a fire and the mug was near by I would grab it and when I was sitting in a new house I would set it down and have a mug of tea. Wabi Sabi is this way that things define us. It is the casting back and forward that objects do to us. Old things hold more than new things do. This mug holds more than tea. And it is I who too hold it.
posted by Richard Powell at 9:19 PM
Saturday, January 26, 2002
posted by Richard Powell at 10:56 PM
Wabi Cycle
I’m in the truck waiting at the stop sign for the traffic to clear and I see the bicyclist. First thought, “I’ll have to wait for her, too.” Then, as she passes in front of me I see the shopping bags hanging from her handlebars, I glace up at her face. She is sitting straight peddling with strong strokes, wearing a safety vest with the luminous reflective X on front and back. She has the serene and slightly amused look of someone enjoying a thought. And then she is past and the traffic clears and I head out into the street and I think, “Good on you!”
“And while zero emission electric cars have died in the marketplace, electric bicycle sales, according to Electric Bikes Worldwide, rose sharply to 2.1 million units in 2000. A typical car emits about one pound of carbon dioxide for every mile driven, so every auto outing replaced by a trip on a wto wheeler eliminates a lot of green house gas.” – Sarah C. Greene Discover, August 2001 Vol 22 #8. pg. 11 (By the Numbers)
posted by Richard Powell at 1:46 PM
Monday, January 14, 2002
Stumbling into Wabi Sabi
Such Joy! I got a new book from the library today that I had called for and I started reading it tonight after vacuuming and tidying up. Page 12: “There are two fundamental principles which permeate Chinese and Japanese art and culture: The concepts of “wabi” and “sabi.” Wow, fundamental principles, that’s big! The author goes on to explain:
“Wabi means, quite literally, ‘poverty,’ although this translation does not begin to convey the richness of its true meaning. Poverty, in this sense, means not being dependent on material possessions, rather than simply not having them. A person who is poor in these terms can still be inwardly rich because of the presence of something of higher value than mere possessions. Wabi, therefore, is poverty that surpasses immense riches. In practical terms, wabi is exemplified in the contentment of a family living in very Spartan conditions with simple food and few possessions, but surrounded by and in tune with the events of everyday life. In intellectual and artistic terms, wabi is found in the person who does not indulge in complexity of concept, over-ornate expression, or the pomposity of self-esteem. He, or she is quietly content with the simple things in life, which are the sources of their everyday inspiration.”
“Sabi, on the other hand, denotes ‘loneliness’ or ‘solitude’, although in aesthetic terms, its meaning is much broader. An antique element is also implied, especially if it is combined with a primitive lack of sophistication. The utensils used in the traditional tea ceremony of Japan are a good example of sabi. The essence of sabi, therefore, is gracefulness combined with antiquity.”
“In addition to wabi and sabi, there are seven other characteristics which are regarded as expressive of Zen in a work of art, and which link the concepts of Wabi and Sabi. These are: asymmetry, simplicity, austere sublimity, naturalness, subtle profundity, freedom from attachment, and tranquility.”
Cool. I love this stuff. And it is like this big thing! How come I haven’t heard of it before? I’ve lived on the planet over 40 years and only heard about this idea several months ago. It is introverted, stoic, but balanced and serene. It is where I want to be. Is this what happens when you get older? The question now is, how to accomplish it without getting severe and aloof. Perhaps the Bonsai will help me find that way.
(The book I refer to is: Bonsai Masterclass by Peter Chan)
posted by Richard Powell at 10:07 PM