Tag: Life

ANY NUMBER OF WAYS

~ Jnana Hodson ~ Leave a comment

he could die now
flattened by wheels
electrocuted, biting a live wire
poisoned
or simple disease
or drown

all the complications, amassed

*   *   *

somewhere, in the limbs
what had riled him so early?
Blue Jay
squawking
could be confused
for squirrels

(What was the opera, anyway? Certainly not Cinderella
with her matching fur slippers)

unlike Cardinal
or those who keep a steady pace
each sunrise

each species      how much     bite off and chew
bury the rest     now     in a fury     neighbors     gain consciousness
take aim     if they can     brush the turret

*   *   *

Was she more rabbit or possum?
“Oh, but possums are meaner – they have more teeth
and they’re sharp” – well matched, in the end

*   *   *

knowing all the same          they’ll be back
dawning alarm not of squirrels but outraged jays
surround a marauding crow

every jay within a mile or two assembles for attack
one after another, they dart at a wincing intruder
that finally departs, offended

already crows lay siege to a mockingbird nest
they pestered before destruction
try as you will, you can’ prevent much

even when striving for balance
still, you undertake what you can
alarmed, yes, and full of frustration,
load and fire the kid’s super-saturation water gun

startle a few squirrels raiding the bird feeder
knowing, all the same, they’ll be back
yet hoping he can prevent them

*   *   *

stripping the black walnut tree
after the strawberries and blueberries
all in their brief season

*   *   *

from the instrument he carries across thin snow
duty said nothing     children, you know

domestic matters and adventures
of mice and squirrels and the manor

gingerbread, the squirrels and rabbits love to nibble

*   *   *

before the endless domestic encounters

Snakes in the basement.
Bees streaming
from the barn’s
loose siding.

I’ve lived many places:
I’ve lived nowhere
but the wind
or the workplace
until now.

*   *   *

keep the shell healthy     for all within
he once thought, ignoring     the empty fruit basket

he would learn there are jobs a man does
as if that, in itself, is sufficient qualification

what does he know     now the world’s shrinking
save for trash removal?     tell him, then, the eternity of hell

is different from the eternity of paradise
one just won’t end     the other seems a flash

it’s no different than becoming conscious

abed they listen     in winter night scratching inside old house walls

all the same      she rolls toward him

he could depart as an old man     baffled by suspenders to his pants
while his wife’s away     having her hair styled

all along, his lady has been a holy terror     as much as any
holy mother     even so, they always get envelopes in the mail

*   *   *

he could be the squirrel at the bay window
or that whistle

Poem copyright 2015 by Jnana Hodson
To read the full set of squirrelly poems, click here.

FAMILY VALUES

~ Jnana Hodson ~ Leave a comment

Mrs. Richardson had been yelling at the kid
the fifth-grade girl who came around to our door
begging money to pay the babysitter

Mrs. Richardson yelled at the grandchild
for three days, and spanked her

then they were crying, in different parts of the building
all the while, their phonograph repeated
“the angels sing, glory to the newborn king”

~*~

Mrs. Richardson was pale as death
her face, hollow as a skull; hair, powder gray
her lips were chalky, and the eyes barely moved
she was thin as a broomstick

her son returned, with a cardboard suitcase
and cowboy boots
he wouldn’t stay long, if he could help it

To continue, click here.
Copyright 2015

 

APPREHENDING

~ Jnana Hodson ~ Leave a comment

gratitude
for minutia and large
flowing creation

and homing
family, mystery within walls
around our bedding

wealth beyond cash
and clutter
overabundance of opportunities
to engage

any strength generously

distinguishing between gifts
and hard-earned wealth
and everything seized from others

remembering greed
bondage and
warfare
gluttony all entangle
lust

yet if we love liberally
this sojourn
exposing each deception
in relentless light

reunion .  reconciliation
uttered utterly
forgives . accepts
corrects . and gives again

Poem copyright 2016 by Jnana Hodson
To see the full set, click here.

IN THE STARS, MEANING MOSTLY PLANETS

~ Jnana Hodson ~ 2 Comments

I used to get quite annoyed at those at the ashram who were so deeply into the astrology, into charting every minuscule bit of mathematics (and do they ever get into the calculations! hour after hour). And the following is all very tentative, superficial scratching especially when the serious astrologer is looking over our shoulders. But then they look to see what seems to fit and what doesn’t from their findings.

The idea of celestial influences on our lives can be seen in as a dimension of Seasons of Spirit. Sometimes conditions are more favorable than others. Sometimes things go more smoothly than others. The Biblical counsel, however, is to stay faithful in one’s practice. Make no excuses. Be ready.

Those of a more scientific bent can point instead to the precision of celestial calculations. The annual sequence of heavenly turning, the appearance of various meteor showers (with their own unpredictable volume and visibility), is complicated by the individual calculations for moons and planets.

From either perspective, we watch. Two or three planets approach in the evening sky, moving through the night, to reenact an ancient mythological tale.

~*~

For more Seasons of the Spirit, click here.

SO THIS IS THE GOOD LIFE?

~ Jnana Hodson ~ Leave a comment

Why wait for the dust to settle? Here are 10 bullets from my end.

~*~

  1. Is anything more relaxing than sitting in front of a wood fire? Even when it means sitting on the floor?
  2. Gift-buying husbands? Just look! As she says, they’re subjected to indentured shop-itude.
  3. First day of winter and the flannel sheets should be on the bed by now, if not earlier. Flip the mattress and rotate, too.
  4. Our traditional Christmas dinner includes fresh homegrown Brussels sprouts, which means I’m out in the garden harvesting – sometimes in several feet of snow. Likewise with kale and chard: frost improves the flavor.
  5. Let me suggest Mary, as the mother of the church … a slightly different twist on the Nativity story.
  6. For someone who’s lived under relentless deadlines, Christmas itself can be seen as another damn deadline. Or series of deadlines. This year, I think I’m ahead.
  7. Still, I’m deeply grateful for the sense of release – notes, poems, correspondence … the logjam broken … now that the poems and novels are available.
  8. Grandfathers have grandfathers too. In case you’re in one of those inner-child perspectives.
  9. What are the theological dimensions of Alzheimer’s or dimentia? Where are the connections – the response ability – when your story gets so fragmented you’re no longer connected to anything you encounter?
  10. Tell me something true.

~*~

Our own holly, in front of the house.
Our own holly, in front of the house.

WHAT HAPPENS WHEN THE QUOTATIONS BLUR?

~ Jnana Hodson ~ Leave a comment

When someone speaks of an event while quoting someone else, how accurate is that quotation? How much is a recasting by the teller, perhaps years after the event being related?

In drafting my newest novel, as I turned to a first-person narrative by someone who never even met many of the characters she’s telling about, I realized that her quoting them was actually a filtering through her own voice. In other words, the precision of their voice was in question. Would it be right to put their input in quotations marks? Or eliminate the quotation marks and let the telling float in and out of some recollection?

I’ve opted for the latter. Will it work for the reader, though? We’ll see.

THE PRIEST’S WIFE

~ Jnana Hodson ~ 3 Comments

The celibacy expectation for their priests and monastics leaves many Roman Catholics perplexed when they hear of the married ministers of their Protestant and Anglican/Episcopalian neighbors. Sometimes this is seen as a question of whether a pastor is able to focus all of his attention on the work of the church without the distractions of family life – or, on the other hand, the ways that family service enriches his ability to understand and counsel the members of his congregation.

(Yes, I’m aware of the male pronoun there – we haven’t touched on the matter of the ordination of women in many of those Protestant and Anglican/Episcopal churches, contrary to Roman Catholic strictures.)

While the focus is usually on the pastors, the condition of their spouses is typically overlooked. Are they fully members of the congregation or are they somehow set apart? They’re definitely in a spotlight and held to a higher standard than the rest of those in the pews. In addition, many congregations assume the spouse – usually the wife – will function as an enthusiastic unpaid full-time employee of the church, either as an unofficial co-pastor, minister of music, choir director, secretary, or some other visible role. Whatever the ultimate definition, it’s a high-stress situation to fill. Not all marriages survive. As one former pastor told me, “My wife said she married me, not the church.” For him, to take another pastorate would have led to divorce.

To add insult to injury, they’re rarely accorded any open recognition of the duties they fulfill, much less given a place of honor. Their husbands are typically addressed as “Reverend,” for starters. As for the wives, though? Only Mrs.

In contrast, the Eastern Orthodox introduce a fascinating alternative. While the priesthood is reserved for males only, they are allowed to marry – if they do it before ordination. The last year of seminary, according to the story, is a time of intense courtship. (Otherwise, it’s celibacy.)

As for the wife? In Greek circles, she’s accorded the title presbytera in English, drawn from priest or elder. Among other Orthodox, similar titles from their native tongues.

Of course, now I’m wondering how it plays out in practice.