Orion Rising

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May 12, 2005

One Hundred Haiku

From this year on
just carousing...
this world of blossoms

Issa

--

May morning
the door opens
before I knock

John Stevenson

--

amidst the deep mountains
on my hat
only the sound of falling leaves

Kikusha-ni

I spent the first part of this week in the woods just southeast of here with seven high school students and Larry, a fellow instructor. Our trip itinerary included rock climbing, hiking, haiku, haibun, and renga poetry, and some discussion and practice of Zen, the later facilitated by Lorianne, who had graciously agreed to join us for our last night and morning.

One of the images I shared with our group, and which I took with me from the trip, came to me during a solo hike on our first day. The steady rain and low temperature had kept the whole group fairly sedate, as though we were simply waiting for the next day and better weather. I walked out in front of the group for several minutes, my ears attuned only to the sound of the river, still swollen with spring snow, and the rolling of gravel underfoot. As, I, too, began to think of reaching the campsite and finding respite from the rain, I caught only the briefest glimpse of a red trillium flower, bent in the cold morning – also waiting for the sun. I carried that intimate moment in my journal and my mind throughout the trip, and, soon, the students added their own moments of personal connection with the world. By the end of the trip, as we packed our things in warm sunshine, the students read the haibun they had written, and their words about our days in the woods together simply left me – uncharacteristically – speechless.

Accompanying Lorianne and her dog Reggie on the four-mile hike in to the campsite, much to everyone’s surprise, were Jen, Orion, and our dogs Pika and Pemi. I was in the midst of describing an activity to the students when, in an unexpected moment, there was my son, smiling on Jen’s back, perhaps wondering where he was, but certainly happy to be outside and among friends.

The warmth of the next morning drew everyone onto our cooking platform. Some of us sore from the previous day’s climbing, some looking forward to the return to school, we learned something also about staying in place. The “pearl” I found in the trillium blossom and the moment I saw Jen and Orion arrive in camp rooted me firmly in place on this trip. As the hiking and climbing become memories, I hope the collection of moments that becomes Orion’s life continues to grow but not outpace his ability to connect with and fully live each day.

I have walked this trail six times this spring, and every time the world seems remade – snow recedes farther upslope, streams “too lofty and original to rage” wend their way alongside the trail, their courses changed as snow melts back. Today, the tight dark green spears of new growth unfurled themselves to declare themselves in the rising chorus of spring’s arrival.

New blossoms in afternoon
pendulous yellow flowers
each day a new season.

--

Who says my poems are poems?
These poems are not poems.
When you can understand this,
then we can begin to speak of poetry.

Taigu Ryokan

Posted by pavel at May 12, 2005 11:14 AM

Comments

Posted by: Gina at May 12, 2005 11:35 AM

Posted by: Lorianne at May 12, 2005 5:58 PM