tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-49845401291017565162024-03-08T14:35:22.816+00:00Petals on the WindKuvalayahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00453406623861007744noreply@blogger.comBlogger143125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4984540129101756516.post-4443585339685265372012-07-16T21:39:00.000+01:002012-07-16T21:39:04.901+01:00silencefor so long<br />
only emptiness<br />
<br />
where have all my words gone?Kuvalayahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00453406623861007744noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4984540129101756516.post-13888238926138419152012-01-17T09:09:00.002+00:002012-01-17T09:09:29.203+00:00yearning for springpurple and pink, four tulips stand up straight in the stone vase. a fifth stretches its head towards the lacy curtain.Kuvalayahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00453406623861007744noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4984540129101756516.post-78132445766015572462012-01-16T09:33:00.000+00:002012-01-16T09:33:18.914+00:00gray blue mist hovers under smoldering sunset. a single frosted tree in the middle of an empty field.Kuvalayahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00453406623861007744noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4984540129101756516.post-79823062608343673732012-01-15T06:00:00.000+00:002012-01-15T06:00:07.685+00:00come look!morning sun catches the blue glass vase on the shelf, sending a variegated strip of blue light down the corridor.<br />
it's nice to notice these things, it's also nice to be shown them.Kuvalayahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00453406623861007744noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4984540129101756516.post-7579854779324021622012-01-14T11:06:00.003+00:002012-01-14T11:06:50.175+00:00waiting for the night busmoonlit frost on glass<br />
shadow branches on frost<br />
etchings on etchings<br />
<br />Kuvalayahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00453406623861007744noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4984540129101756516.post-33088860037361981882012-01-13T14:04:00.005+00:002012-01-13T14:04:41.220+00:00not paying attentiona handful of chocolates<br />
gone<br />
I didn't even taste themKuvalayahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00453406623861007744noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4984540129101756516.post-40455580934489396752012-01-12T14:33:00.000+00:002012-01-12T14:33:05.483+00:00breakfastwooden spoon glides through creamy white porridgeKuvalayahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00453406623861007744noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4984540129101756516.post-38072000803433000512012-01-11T11:34:00.003+00:002012-01-11T11:35:27.658+00:00after midnightBright pink gloves<br />
green sponge<br />
soapy bubbles<br />
<br />
<br />
I unwind after a long day<br />
<br />
washing up<br />
only washing up<br />
nothing more<br />Kuvalayahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00453406623861007744noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4984540129101756516.post-33884457854220486392012-01-09T13:13:00.001+00:002012-01-09T13:13:37.418+00:00choresdead coriander plant<br />
unwashed dishes<br />
dripping tap.<br />
so many things to do!<br />
what a joy<br />
to be here<br />
and be able to.Kuvalayahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00453406623861007744noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4984540129101756516.post-1483899148275202982012-01-02T14:22:00.000+00:002012-01-02T14:22:13.946+00:00My word for 2012Happy New Year.<br />
<br />
5....4....3....2....1! We all counted down the final remaining seconds of 2011 and took our first breath of 2012. New Year is a funny thing for me. Part of me finds it a forced celebration. I always find that there's some sort of social pressure to be "where it's at" and "with the right person" as the clock strikes 12 on the 31st. And then there's lots of hype around the end of the year, the start of the new one, fresh starts and changes. When I peel those two things back a bit and look under the surface, it seems to me that we're looking for inspiration or meaning and then direction. We're looking to put ourselves in a situation and with company (or not with company) which will bring us happiness and will inspire us. Inspire us to live our lives in a meaningful way.<br />
<br />
And that, certainly, is what I'm interested in. <br />
<br />
<br />
In my own bit of reflection and search for inspiration, I looked back on my <a href="http://bluelotuspetals.blogspot.com/2011/01/happy-new-year-life-gardens-and-river.html" target="_blank">New Year's Post</a> from last year. Last year I wished for a "fresh mindfulness" and to "try to drag myself out of my own preoccupied head a bit more and, in doing so, be a bit more engaged with the people around me, love a bit better, forgive a bit more."<br />
<br />
Well, the preoccupied head bit definitely was a theme during the year. Reflecting back on the year and just knowing what's in my head now helps me come up with a fairly comprehensive list of where I stumbled and fell, but I can also see how just being aware of this goal helped me <a href="http://bluelotuspetals.blogspot.com/2011/09/i-started-writing-this-as-response-to.html" target="_blank">call myself </a>on getting too stuck back in my head. 2011 was a lot of things, but mostly it was what it was and I made of it what I could with the inspiration of a goal and the support of loved ones.<br />
<br />
So this year, inspired by <a href="http://www.shewrites.com/profiles/blogs/looking-back-looking-forwards-by-fiona-robyn" target="_blank">Fiona's example</a>, I'm choosing a word for 2012 to give me a goal and direction for the year. I was all set and already writing this post for my word to be "kindness", in continuing with a <a href="http://bluelotuspetals.blogspot.com/2011/12/more-kindness.html" target="_blank">theme</a> that has been running in my life recently. Kindness to others, kindness to myself. But then, the crisp morning sun through the window brought me a different word:<i> play</i>. <br />
<br />
My first response was "but that's not a very <i>responsible</i> word for 2012". <br />
<br />
Precisely. For that reason and many others that will come to me this year as I reflect upon and try to put this word into action in my life, I think <i>play</i> is exactly the right word for me this year. You'll hear more about it as the year goes on, but for now I think that it's good to recognise that <i>playing</i> is something that I don't do very well and doesn't come naturally to me. I think it will have a lot to teach me. <br />
<br />
Laugh. Enjoy. Relax. Balance.<br />
<br />
Happy New Year, may it be a <i>playful</i> one.<br />
<br />Kuvalayahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00453406623861007744noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4984540129101756516.post-77595172259701588322012-01-02T12:00:00.000+00:002012-01-02T12:00:19.000+00:00washing upfrost filters the morning sun<br />
cluster of yellow petals<br />
- carnations bought before Christmas -<br />
glow gently in a white window pane frameKuvalayahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00453406623861007744noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4984540129101756516.post-46326068218777464362011-12-18T02:24:00.000+00:002011-12-18T02:24:15.422+00:00patronaher umbrella protected me from the drops that fell from the sky<br />
but not from her eyesKuvalayahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00453406623861007744noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4984540129101756516.post-50691237079927370082011-12-13T02:06:00.000+00:002011-12-13T02:47:04.245+00:00come on in, the water is fine!If you have spent even 5 seconds on this blog, you'll know that a lot of it is dedicated to writing <i>small stones.* </i>This all started earlier this year when I took the challenge to participate in Fiona and Kaspa's <i>River of Stones</i> in January. I got the email from them sometime in the Autumn last year and read it, thought "hmm, that's interesting", and then starred it in my inbox but hadn't really thought to follow through and participate. Then for the next few weeks (or however long it was) a little voice popped up in my mind everytime I opened my inbox: "<i>you should sign up for this"</i> Me: "shush you, I'm too busy". The battle went on in my head until eventually, I'm not actually sure why, I emailed them and told them to put me on the list, that I was taking the plunge and participating in the January <i>River of Stones. </i><br />
<br />
Even so, I was still pretty sure that I was going to A) suck and B) not have the discipline to follow through with this.<br />
<i> </i><br />
Whatever. I was committed now!<br />
<br />
January came and, I have to say, I was so surprised by what participating in the <i>River of Stones</i> brought into my life. I didn't have to write anything "good", I just had to pay attention and write about that. I didn't travel to some sort of exotic place. I didn't have to make witty observations about my surroundings. I didn't have to make some sort of cultural commentary. In fact, I didn't do anything differently than before and absolutely nothing changed in my day to day life except that I was paying closer attention to it than before. And then trying to capture it. And as I tried to capture it, I saw myself looking at everything more closely, in more detail. It seemed to me that I heard more, felt more, saw more. Somewhere, hidden under all the mundane, everyday, I've-seen-and-heard-it-before-sameness, was a rich world that I had never appreciated before. <a href="http://bluelotuspetals.blogspot.com/2011/01/unseasonal-chorus.html" target="_blank">Birdsong</a>, <a href="http://bluelotuspetals.blogspot.com/2011/01/saturday-morning.html" target="_blank">sunrise</a>, <a href="http://bluelotuspetals.blogspot.com/2011/01/monday.html" target="_blank">matchlight</a>, <a href="http://bluelotuspetals.blogspot.com/2011/01/at-bus-stop.html" target="_blank">a stranger's smile</a>, <a href="http://bluelotuspetals.blogspot.com/2011/01/east-clock.html" target="_blank">my walk to work</a>, <a href="http://bluelotuspetals.blogspot.com/2011/01/grief.html" target="_blank">grief</a>, all came to life in a new way.<br />
<br />
And if all that wasn't enough, there was a bonus that I had never even thought of: reading other small stones and connecting with their writers! (and being inspired by them and trying not to be jealous of their gorgeous pebbles!)<br />
<br />
So with all that said, I'm very excited to see that Fiona and Kaspa will be lifting the floodgates again this January and the <i>River of Stones</i> will soon be overflowing its banks and splashing out of a blog near you (this one, in fact). <br />
<br />
Now the question is: will you be joining me?<br />
<br />
Learn all about writing <i>small stones </i><a href="http://www.writingourwayhome.com/p/river-jan-12.html" target="_blank">here</a> and then come on in, really, the water is fine. More than fine, in fact. <br />
<br />
*(writing experience not required)Kuvalayahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00453406623861007744noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4984540129101756516.post-33356260531573376312011-12-07T03:30:00.000+00:002011-12-07T03:30:48.266+00:00sometimes the sleeping breath of a loved one<br />
the gentle rise and fall of their chest<br />
is the most sincere prayer I can offerKuvalayahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00453406623861007744noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4984540129101756516.post-23853872625111514222011-12-06T06:00:00.000+00:002011-12-06T06:00:02.682+00:00favourite shirtit's not cold, but i'm shivering.<br />
i button up my autumn-hued, checked flannel shirt <br />
closing my eyes, i feel the warmth of home embrace meKuvalayahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00453406623861007744noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4984540129101756516.post-28650307411433950692011-12-05T06:00:00.000+00:002011-12-05T06:00:04.958+00:00rice<div style="text-align: center;">
not too moist</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
not too dry </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
a bowl of perfect<br />
white grains.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
such a basic food</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
that I've eaten</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
prepared</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
seen prepared</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
in so many kitchens</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
in so many countries.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
but today</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
for the first time</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
I feel I can say:</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
I'm nearly 30 years old</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
and I've finally learned<br />
how to prepare<br />
a perfect rice.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>Kuvalayahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00453406623861007744noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4984540129101756516.post-28853831467799946172011-12-05T02:38:00.001+00:002011-12-05T03:02:52.444+00:00more kindnessI posted the poem <i>Kindness</i> on my blog early last year. At the time, my marriage had just started going through the rough patch that would finally end it sometime later and I felt that the future that I had dreamt was slowly crumbling. When I heard this poem read aloud during Sunday Service at the Buddhist House, it brought tears to my eyes. <br />
<br />
There is a truth in this poem that reveals itself to me just a little bit more each time I read it. It has helped me understand that true kindness is an instinctive reaction from the heart. It is not something that can be acted or faked. Only once our barriers have been brought down and our ego reserves depleted, can our hearts be laid bare enough for the skin to be scraped back just that bit more and allow for the true seeds of kindness to be planted within us. Once planted, it's up to us to cultivate these seeds, but I think that the planting of them is something that life must do to us.<br />
<br />
The journey goes on, and the poem continues to teach me. <br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b> Kindness</b><br />
<br />
Before you know what kindness really is<br />
you must lose things,<br />
feel the future dissolve in a moment<br />
like salt in a weakened broth.<br />
What you held in your hand,<br />
what you counted and carefully saved,<br />
all this must go so you know<br />
how desolate the landscape can be<br />
between the regions of kindness.<br />
How you ride and ride<br />
thinking the bus will never stop,<br />
the passengers eating maize and chicken<br />
will stare out the window forever.<br />
<br />
Before you learn the tender gravity of kindness,<br />
you must travel where the Indian in a white poncho<br />
lies dead by the side of the road.<br />
You must see how this could be you,<br />
how he too was someone<br />
who journeyed through the night with plans<br />
and the simple breath that kept him alive.<br />
<br />
Before you know kindness as the deepest thing inside,<br />
you must know sorrow as the other deepest thing.<br />
You must wake up with sorrow.<br />
You must speak to it till your voice<br />
catches the thread of all sorrows<br />
and you see the size of the cloth.<br />
<br />
Then it is only kindness that makes sense anymore,<br />
only kindness that ties your shoes<br />
and sends you out into the day to mail letters and purchase bread,<br />
only kindness that raises its head<br />
from the crowd of the world to say<br />
it is I you have been looking for,<br />
and then goes with you every where<br />
like a shadow or a friend.<br />
<br />
~ Naomi Shihab Nye ~<br />
<br />
(Words From Under the Words: Selected Poems)<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.panhala.net/Archive/Kindness.html" target="_blank">::Link::</a></div>Kuvalayahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00453406623861007744noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4984540129101756516.post-72416959964210785562011-12-04T15:10:00.001+00:002011-12-04T18:31:13.797+00:00I eat my porridge more carefully here<br />
exploring each spoonful to find bits of oat husk with my teeth.<br />
they sit in a little pile<br />
on a scrap of paper<br />
next to my bowl.Kuvalayahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00453406623861007744noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4984540129101756516.post-21852383671883961232011-12-03T01:20:00.001+00:002011-12-03T01:51:41.036+00:00what is poetry?Not too long ago, I said that "I'll never be a poet because I'm too impatient". I love to capture moments, thoughts, feelings and play with the words until I'm happy with them. But I seem to lack the discipline to turn my hobby into an Art. I've deliberately named the category for my writing on this blog (and the folders on my computer) "scribblings" as I don't see them as poems. Maybe others do, I'm not sure. When I was younger, I was obsessed with writing poems that were metred and rhymed. Because that's what poems do, isn't it? At least, that's what I understood then as poetry. Now I've swung the other way entirely and amuse myself with writing scribblings that "sound right" regardless of metre and rhyme. Sometimes I also want it to "look right", and focus more on the layout and the flow of the lines as the words themselves. I suppose there's a balance to be struck. Maybe from the discipline that I pursued when I was younger, to the freedom I need now, to something else in the future.<br />
<br />
Ever onwards, ever changing. What matters to me is that it is something that speaks to me.<br />
<br />
But what prompted this little reflection was the Guardian's poem of the week from the end of December 2009 (Facebook brings up all sorts of randomness). It struck a chord with me and I found that its rhyme and rhythm enhanced it all the more. So I post it here for you to enjoy <i>The Darkling Thrush </i>by Thomas Hardy<br />
<br />
<b>The Darkling Thrush</b>
<br />
<div style="color: black;">
I leant upon a coppice gate<br />
When Frost was spectre-grey,<br />
And Winter's dregs made desolate<br />
The weakening eye of day.<br />
The tangled bine-stems scored the sky<br />
Like strings of broken lyres,<br />
And all mankind that haunted nigh<br />
Had sought their household fires.</div>
<br />
<div style="color: black;">
The land's sharp features seemed to be<br />
The Century's corpse outleant,<br />
His crypt the cloudy canopy,<br />
The wind his death-lament.<br />
The ancient pulse of germ and birth<br />
Was shrunken hard and dry,<br />
And every spirit upon earth<br />
Seemed fervourless as I.</div>
<div style="color: black;">
<br />
At once a voice arose among<br />
The bleak twigs overhead<br />
In a full-hearted evensong<br />
Of joy illimited;<br />
An aged thrush, frail, gaunt and small,<br />
In blast-beruffled plume,<br />
Had chosen thus to fling his soul<br />
Upon the growing gloom.</div>
<div style="color: black;">
<br />
So little cause for carolings<br />
Of such ecstatic sound<br />
Was written on terrestrial things<br />
Afar or nigh around,<br />
That I could think there trembled through<br />
His happy good-night air<br />
Some blessed Hope, whereof he knew<br />
And I was unaware.</div>Kuvalayahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00453406623861007744noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4984540129101756516.post-24939593662039648302011-11-29T14:29:00.001+00:002011-11-29T14:29:53.281+00:00rain-speckled wind clears the cobwebs<br />
i smile to the sunKuvalayahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00453406623861007744noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4984540129101756516.post-66779468011279753832011-11-22T06:00:00.000+00:002011-11-22T06:00:06.601+00:00<div style="text-align: center;">
everything readjusts to fill the emptiness of time</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
the distractions busy you </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
and allow you to put that which is not in sight</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
slowly out of mind </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
(as the saying goes)</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
the spaces grow smaller </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
the gaps fewer</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
and the distance greater</div>Kuvalayahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00453406623861007744noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4984540129101756516.post-52284009092627421242011-11-21T06:00:00.001+00:002011-11-21T06:00:03.617+00:00pastathe taste of garlic, roasted to perfection by accident, breaks through all the other ingredients to delight my tongue.Kuvalayahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00453406623861007744noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4984540129101756516.post-40790747206354755882011-11-20T17:01:00.001+00:002011-11-20T17:06:34.710+00:00a handful of stonesAm very pleased to say that <a href="http://bluelotuspetals.blogspot.com/2011/10/between-work-and-home-only-dog-that.html">October 15th's</a> <i>small stone</i> appeared in the<a href="http://www.ahandfulofstones.com/" target="_blank"> <i>handful of stones</i></a> blogzine on the 15th of November. (there's a bit of symmetry there that I didn't see until just now!)<br />
<br />
Another one is scheduled for December. :)Kuvalayahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00453406623861007744noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4984540129101756516.post-91893004382418592062011-11-20T16:41:00.001+00:002011-11-20T16:41:58.645+00:00one safe place<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/skMeFXvGvc4" width="420"></iframe><br />
<br />
<br />Kuvalayahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00453406623861007744noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4984540129101756516.post-5454939835857260442011-11-20T06:00:00.000+00:002011-11-20T06:00:03.201+00:00unexpected companyMy luxury for the weekend: a creamy, ripe avocado.<br />
A moment's hesitation before I split it open to share<br />
it won't last as long now<br />
but it will be twice as appreciatedKuvalayahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00453406623861007744noreply@blogger.com0