Day 2, Pattern
This month I’m joining Susannah Conway and many others around the world in the August Break project.
In addition to posting a photo a day, I’ll be sharing a link to the site/blog/portfolio/flickr stream of another photographer whose work I greatly admire and who is inspiring me on my photographic journey. (They may or may not be doing the project too.)
And I’ll be on the lookout for artists who are new to me but grab my attention this month.
Today, I’m excited about discovering Shawna Lemay who blogs at Calm Things. I ran across Shawna’s blog by chance following the links in another blog, as often happens. But when I touched down at Calm Things, I immediately felt both serenity and excitement, for there was poetry there, along with beautiful photography.
And everything resonated with me. Quotes and poetry from my favourite authors, monks and mystics…some I was familiar with, some I wasn’t. And quiet, homely and haunting pictures…What a treasure trove. Sheer bliss.
Shawna is a published poet who loves to make images. She’s a Canadian. Meet Shawna here.
Over the holidays, my hope is that we all make time for more simple and real connection — with our loved ones, our communities, our fellow inhabitants of this unique planet, our natural world and our true selves.
I’ll be back on December 1 to start a practice of simplicity with Kim Manley Ort.
In the morning, everything is new.
The day’s blank slate lies before me,
ready for my writing.
May it be words of beauty I write.
May it be deeds of grace I do.
May it be thoughts of joy I think.
All the holy ones, listen;
this is what I pray.
Great spirits of the four realms,
Holy ones of the realms of minds,
Kindreds of yore,
as I go through the day,
keep my eyes open wide.
May I not miss beauty.
May I not miss joy.
May I not miss wonder.
Keep me awake and aware of the world.
Thanks to Ceisiwr Serith…
Another year gone, leaving everywhere
its rich spiced residues: vines, leaves,
the uneaten fruits crumbling damply
in the shadows, unmattering back
from the particular island
of this summer, this NOW, that now is nowhere
except underfoot, moldering
in that black subterranean castle
of unobservable mysteries – roots and sealed seeds
and the wanderings of water. This
I try to remember when time’s measure
painfully chafes, for instance when autumn
flares out at the last, boisterous and like us longing
to stay – how everything lives, shifting
from one bright vision to another, forever
in these momentary pastures.
Taken en route to the dogsitter’s house around Clayton Lake, Ontario…
NOT KNOWING
how would it be to allow for knowing
and not knowing:
allowing room
for the mystery
of creating
to be able to wonder
softly
without needing to understand everything
to trust in the process
to trust in love
to trust in the mystery and wonder
of the universe
that beats softly wildly
true
all round about us,
that is hidden
in the mists
in the clouds and the rain
in the wind blowing and the rain lashing down on your window,
reminding you
poetically
prosaically
that this is where you are,
on the island,
at the edge,
in a place of finding
and refinding,
and remembering
to remember
the feel of the mist, wind and rain.
Sherrygaley.com 