Friday Poetry 15th

Santa Fe, Summer 2005

The street performer/artist matched her palette:
Brown hair
Green shirt
Mauve pants
Bare feet.

Bark
Fresh leaves
Dried roses
Yellow blossoms.

I've seen mandalas, prayer wheels.
Never understood how they could
Be transformative.
They look tedious. Penitential.
But I watched.

She created, slowly and laboriously.
Stepped back to examine from all sides.
Made tiny adjustments:
Barely perceptible flaws corrected,
Beauty enhanced.

Contemplation. Focus. Meditation.

I -- So driven to permanence, memory, lasting-ness --
wanted to scream:
"Don't you see? This won't last.
You're arranging flower petals on a walkway!
Its not enclosed or hermetically sealed.
Anyone can walk through.
A breeze can blow.
A storm IS coming, you know!!"
The wind picked up, as if on cue.

A gust blew through.
She laughed and danced a jig.

Then, I got it.

Another gust, she made adjustments,
As carefully as ever.
Sorted things out, reworked
A new piece with elements of the first.

It's Life.

It's not perfect.
Not sealed.
It won't last unmarred.
Perfection isn't available, and people
Will walk through.

But, beauty is possible.
The process is worthwhile.
Creation and recreation, with
Attention to the details.
Joy, when our 'masterpiece' gets muddled.
In each creation, Emmanuel.
God in each moment.

Contemplation. Focus. Meditation.