Following the Fingerprints

Posted by karynhenleyauthor

A morning shower has cocooned us
in clouds of soft silver gray,
embroidering our window screens
with seed pearls of glinting, dewy
droplets.
I am warming myself with hot coffee,
not in my usual smoothly curved,
factory-fashioned white cup
but in a handmade pottery mug
ringed by ridges
formed by the potter’s fingers
deftly pinching and pulling the clay
as it whirled on a wheel somewhere.
This mug is glazed shiny brown on the outside,
light pink-lavender within,
though the pink is now halfway hidden
by steaming coffee.
As I sip, I notice the potter’s thumbprint,
a dip pressed with purpose
exactly at the point
where the handle meets the mug’s rim,
a place where my thumb also rests
to hold the mug.
It’s a tiny, thoughtful gift
from someone I’ll never meet.
My right hand fingers hug the handle,
and my thumb rests in the thumbprint.
My left-hand fingers curve around the mug,
finding and following the fingerprints of the potter.
As I hold this mug,
I hold the potter’s hand, and
even though I’ll never know the potter,
I feel a genuine gesture of generosity,
a connection of kindness,
of comfort,
of kinship.
I’m grateful for this unknown potter
whose presence in this present moment
is bringing warmth and goodness
to the start of a soft,
silver gray day.
-kh-

Nurture peace, cultivate kindness, and carry the calm.

Nature of the week:

Shadow of the week:

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The Word that Waved

Posted by karynhenleyauthor

Has a word ever waved to you
from something you were reading,
like a kid in school, hand held high,
Me! Me! Choose me!
“Expansive.”
The word waved to me,
sat up and saluted,
highlighted itself,
and I paused,
right then,
right there,
hooked and held.
Expansive.
The word unfolds
like opening hands,
arms swinging out,
stretching,
reaching beyond.
Expansive
raises my head,
puts a smile on my face
fills me with a feeling of all’s well.
Expansive says,
“Here is the gift,
sun warming your face,
breath of air flicking your hair,
call-and-response, bird to bird,
scent of blooming and greening things,
the embrace of invisible strands
of love and goodness
weaving through the universe,
vining and twining and blooming
in small acts of generous grace
or large acts of courage and kindness.
Expansive says
there is room—
room for you,
room for me,
room for all of us
in this universe of abundant,
all-embracing
love and goodness
that flow freely
like light seeping through cracks,
like springwater bubbling up through rocks,
like breezes drifting through open windows.
Love and goodness
find their way,
refuse to be bound,
refuse to be hoarded,
grow and overflow.
They wave—“Choose me”—
for love and goodness
are forever and always
expansive.
-kh-

Nurture peace, cultivate kindness, and carry the calm.

Nature of the week:

Shadow of the week:

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Except for the Violets

Posted by karynhenleyauthor

“Everything is terrible,” she said,
“except for daffodils.”
I nodded.
Everything seems so, so terrible—
except the daffodils are blooming.
And the lenten roses.
And forsythia and saucer magnolias.
Cherry blossoms tumble in the breeze
like spring snow.
Everything is terrible—
except for the violets scattered across the lawn
and the purple-red blossoms on the redbuds.
The hyacinths’ perfume smells heavenly.
Newborn leaves, feather-fine
sprout on the tulip poplar.
The whole treescape wears a green sheen.
Bluebirds are moving into the birdhouse.
Doves, cardinals, chickadees, sparrows
sing welcome to the warmth of spring,
Children run and play, smile and laugh.
I hold out both of my hands, palms up.
In one, I feel the weight of everything terrible,
in the other, the fullness of everything good,
for goodness and beauty have weight too.
I try to find the balance.
I wish all people,
everyone everywhere,
could hold only goodness, kindness, beauty.
But life has never been that way.
Maybe someday?
For now, I close my hand around the terrible,
feel it as a hard, jagged rock.
I cannot let it go, for it is real and demanding,
and I cry for it,
for I know that it does not have to be.
But then there is my other hand,
my always open hand,
holding the weight of goodness,
which is surprisingly firm and powerful
even as it sits soft as a butterfly in my hand.
Goodness, kindness, beauty—
in this hand is life,
creating and recreating,
loving and laughing,
always growing like spring.
This open hand is for sharing,
especially when it seems that everything is terrible.
Yes, there is this hard, jagged, hurtful rock,
but look—
see?
There is also a butterfly.
-kh-

Nurture peace, cultivate kindness, and carry the calm.

Nature of the week:

Shadow of the week:

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Who Knew?

Posted by karynhenleyauthor

“There was an old woman tossed up in a basket,
Nineteen times as high as the moon;
And where she was going, I couldn’t but ask it,
For in her hand she carried a broom.

“‘Old woman, old woman, old woman,’ said I,
O whither, O whither, O whither so high?’
‘To sweep the cobwebs out of the sky!’
‘Shall I go with you?’ ‘Aye, by and by.’”

There was a time,
years and years ago,
when an old woman swept the sky,*
when the moon was the North Wind’s cookie,**
and when Mrs. Peck-Pigeon
went pecking for bread.***
Who knew that such a long ago time
would take root and grow into
a warm, spacious place-of-mind,
a pool of peace,
a cup of all-is-well within me.
Of course, out in the big, wide world,
all is not well
and was not well even then,
but my heart tiptoes back
to this landing place where I can
hold the open hand of hope,
find gentle joy,
and open again and again
the treasure box
of childhood dreams and imagining,
where all things are possible
and the currency of trade is
simple kindness.
Who knew that such a pool
of goodness and trust
would never dry up
but would be there still,
seventy years on and counting.
Who knew that it would call to me
on bright spring days,
that it would be my “land of nod”
on the darkest of nights.
Who could know?
But even now,
the moon is the North Wind’s cookie,
Mrs. Peck Pigeon still peck, peck, pecks,
the old woman still sweeps the sky.
I still ask her, “Shall I go with you?”
And she still replies,
“Aye. By and by.”
-kh

*nursery rhyme **Vachel Lindsay *** Eleanor Farjeon

Nurture peace, cultivate kindness, and carry the calm.

Nature of the week – bluebirds!:

Shadow of the week:

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Ah, the Dahlia

Posted by karynhenleyauthor

In the warming days of spring,

I planted two spidery tubers,

dahlias-to-be.

They soon sent up shoots,

greening, growing,

straight stems,

branching arms,

arrowed, light-veined leaves.

I watched for blooms to form,

for I had forgotten what color

they would be,

and I love the surprise of dahlias.

One bloomed in midsummer,

petals the color of burgundy wine.

The other grew taller,

stretched her leaves,

but gave no sign of blooms.

I made excuses for her.

(I am an expert at excuses,

being a late bloomer myself.)

Maybe it’s the heat, I said.

It’s been awfully hot this summer.

Maybe it’s because she came from

the supermarket, not the nursery.

Maybe I gave her too much water.

Or not enough.

I never know.

The fire-red salvia came and went,

the peppery basil is going to seed,

even the fragrant mint has bloomed.

I began to think this dahlia

would be content to wear green

all her life.

(Late bloomer that I am,

I’ve not outgrown impatience.)

Then, this week,

two blooms uncurled,

unfurled,

creamy peach,

warm blushing joy.

I had forgotten what her name was,

if the package even said.

Some dahlias are named Beauty

or Charlotte

or White Moonlight.

I call this one

Patience,

for that is the wisdom she carries:

Plant beauty, kindness, grace,

she says,

then be at peace,

patient.

-kh-

Nurture peace, cultivate kindness, and carry the calm.

Nature of the week:

Shadow of the Week:

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Where I Grew Up

Posted by karynhenleyauthor

The photograph is square

with scalloped edges,

a black and white picture of

a preschool girl with chubby cheeks

and curly blonde hair—

me hugging a sapling,

probably a mesquite,

for this is West Texas.

This is where I grew up.

_____

Through the window of the jet

I look down on L.A.,

buildings shoulder to shoulder,

crowding the path to the Pacific.

After years away, I’m returning,

feeling again the spark of excitement,

the expansive optimism

where all seems possible.

Here I was a newlywed.

Here I became a mother.

Here I became we instead of me.

This is where I grew up.

_____

At my desk in Nashville,

an email from writer friends

summons a scene:

a snowbound Vermont campus,

a steel-cold January wind,

and warm MFA graduates,

honoring our different ages,

our disparate backgrounds,

our varied beliefs.

Here the we in me opened, expanded.

This is where I grew up.

_____

In the studio,

I pound a fist of paint

onto wall-sized paper,

learn that art has no right, no wrong,

discover the marks of my hands,

the art of my heart,

the kindness and freedom of

non-judgment.

Here I find myself again,

become me instead of we.

This is where I grew up.

_____

In West Texas,

in a back yard of full-grown ash trees,

I climb the redwood fence,

pose for a photo beside my sisters,

the stone house behind us empty,

soon to be sold now that

Dad has died.

Here is where life breaks all bounds,

breaks all hearts.

This is where I grew up.

_____

I suppose that on my own deathbed,

if I’m lucky enough to know my mind,

a bit of a smile will come—

to my lips maybe,

to my heart surely—

and I will think, yes.

Here.

Now.

This.

This

is where I grow up.

-kh-

_____

Nurture peace, cultivate kindness, and carry the calm.

Nature of the week:

Shadow of the week:

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Open-Eyed and Full-Hearted

Posted by karynhenleyauthor

Sometimes all you can do is

hope

that this year will be better.

I’ve long passed the stage of

buying into Jiminy Cricket’s

“If you wish upon a star…”

I’m way past believing

pie-in-the-sky.

I’m beyond thinking that

if I just do everything right,

everything will be all right.

I’m way past all that.

But I’m not past hope.

I’m not past looking the world

full in the face,

eyes open wide,

and knowing life can be better,

even great,

because

I know people who care.

I know love and peace and joy.

I know kindness and goodness

and grace and generosity.

I’m way past closed eyes

and grasping at straws,

but I’m not past hope.

May we never be past

open-eyed

full-hearted

hope.

–kh–

Nurture peace, cultivate kindness, and carry the calm.

Nature of the week:

Shadow of the week:

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A Rather Large Keepsake

Posted by karynhenleyauthor

The little girl is made of iron.

Stiff-backed and still she stands

holding up a garden hose to

water whatever she can—

black-eyed Susans in the fall,

coreopsis in the summer,

larkspur and salvia in springtime,

seed pods and freeze-dried leaves in winter.

Unmoving, resolved, in wind and rain,

in snow and hail and sunshine,

she keeps her vigil.

My father had her made for my mother.

They raised four daughters, and

while none of us ever stood this still,

not even playing hide and seek,

maybe this girl was a reminder

of wiggly giggly girls grown

and going their own way.

Now that both my father and mother are gone,

this little iron girl belongs to me,

a rather large keepsake,

a reminder of girls growing up

and now growing old.

But even more,

she reminds me that

we have weathered the world’s wildness before,

and can again,

in every season,

persistently watering,

insistently cultivating

peace—

not without pain,

not without questions,

but also not without wonder,

not without heart.

She reminds me that

a stilled spirit,

a calm soul

is itself a keepsake

as we water

with kindness and hope

whatever we can.

–kh–

Nurture peace, cultivate kindness, and carry the calm.

Nature of the week – the little iron girl in last week’s snow:

Shadow of the week – from yesterday’s drawing class:

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Waking to Snow

Hanging On

Posted by karynhenleyauthor

Last crisp leaf shivers

dangling in the frosty breeze.

Don’t let go just yet.

– kh –

Don’t let go of hope. Don’t stop reaching for peace. Don’t give up on kindness. Don’t let go just yet.

Nurture peace, cultivate kindness, and carry the calm.

Nature of the week:

Shadow of the Week:

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Good at Slow Dancing

Posted by karynhenleyauthor

“Go to the pine if you want to learn about the pine.”

– Matsuo Basho –

Five pine trees stand in a line across my back fence. I used to think of them as the skinny kids on the block, but they’re not kids. They were here before I was. So I’m now calling them the five elders. They are thin and as tall as a four-story house. Two of them lean east; the others grow straight up. I think they’re Eastern White Pines or something related. They produce long, scaly cones, and their reddish-brown, rough, furrowed bark holds a sticky resin with that distinct, clean, crisp pine smell. Their thin, feathery needles grow in fan-like groups that wave to me when a breeze blows through. And when the breeze turns into a stiff wind, these five elders are good at slow-dancing.

Go to the pine to learn about the pine. Go to whatever or whoever creates peace to learn about peace. Go to whoever shows kindness to learn about kindness.

Nurture peace, cultivate kindness, and carry the calm.

Nature of the week:

Shadow of the Week:

If you want me to send these thoughts to your email each Sunday, simply sign up on the right.

Carry the Calm

Karyn Henley

kindness

Following the Fingerprints

The Word that Waved

Except for the Violets

Who Knew?

Ah, the Dahlia

Where I Grew Up

Open-Eyed and Full-Hearted

A Rather Large Keepsake

Hanging On

Good at Slow Dancing