Savannah Grace

I wrote this poem after spending a day painting one of my favorite savannahs at Prairie Spirit in August 2007. I've not kept count on how many paintings I've done there but the energy still moves me to keep going. The most recent is "North Savannah--Autumn" finished in Oct '08

36" x 48" oil on canvas.

Afternoon sun graces this savannah

warming this pubic mound's verdant vetch grasses

and skeletal stony ridges.

Seasoned oaks shelter her

as she holds them.

Limbs of shade bear the memory of past storms

and stiff brambles testify to cleansing fires.

Butterfly's weightless dance invites me to linger and laugh

at how much beauty I have not seen or felt.

The surround sound symphony of crickets and locusts

erases the memory of time.

Luscious savannah, you birth my longing and untold passions;

nurture my dreams of who I am

and what I can share with others

thanks to you.

Autumn chorus

Clean and crisp is the morning air
as I ramble this prairie path.
A cocophany of chirping blackbirds
rise up from the cluster of pines
announcing the advent of autumn
and the gathering of resolve to head south.
The chattering flock heaves and joins another.
Together they roll like an ocean wave
across the azure sky
folding and flickering in the rising sunlight,
an undulating chorus of thanksgiving
and freedom in this magnificent moment.

Loving Land

I honored the call to go out today and paint my responses to the land. Prairie Spirit is a feast of the senses. This 200 acre land trust of prairie and woods south of Verona is my favorite place to meditate with color in hand. Timeless oak savannahs continue to inspire paintings in all seasons. The noble songs of the birds and locusts sweeten the symphony. Pastel was my choice this time, but the oils were in the back seat just in case.

This land sings its own notes.
Taking time to listen is the rare move
for many of us.
The cool blue haze on the distant trees
invites my attention and devotion.
Laying down initial colors set in motion
the alchemy of hand and sight with
land and light.
These colors are earth gathered into sensuous sticks
that ignite the music of my heart and soul.
What newness is being born between this earth
in my hand and that which I see
radiating beauty
and singing with abandon?
Gratitude,
love, and sharing
the beauty and mystery that sustains us.

Walking Miracle

I met a man today who died four times.
Flat-lined twice in the ambulance
and twice at the hospital.
He was high on cocaine
and the woman driver who smashed into him
was drunk.
EMT's arrived in less than a minute.
Two minutes would have been too late.
Lascerated aorta and liver,
two broken ribs, pelvis, and compound
fractured arm led doctors to believe
he'd never walk again if he lived at all.
"Why aren't you angry at the woman?"
his brother said.
I am so amazed by the miracle of my life
that I have no room for anger and bitterness,
replied the miracle man.
Beauty needs no defense
and miraculous love heals more than the body.

Silent Sanctuary

(Last weekend I went cross country skiiing at Donald Park, south of Mt. Horeb. I used to live near there and grew attached to the holiness of its space. Paintings were born there as were deeper regions of me. I ran there in all seasons....July's black raspberries and August's blackberries caused frequent sweet interruptions. This time, winter's unique silence stopped me in my tracks more than once. It was too cold to paint, but sketches are underway from my photos).

The palpable stillness of the forest
enfolds me;
my pulse slows toward that of
a turtle hibernating below the frostline.
Snow covered shoulders of oak and arms of maple
attend the silence.
Far from rigor mortis, these giants and saplings
create a cellular communion of awe and respect.
Near the sanctuary of white pines
I stand motionless again.
Were it not for the white carpet being frozen,
I'd remove my shoes to enter.
Each branch and twig
bears its share of fresh wollen snow
My mouth open as if to taste the succulent silence.
No greater gift can be given or received.
At days end I sleep with its blessing
and can bless.

The Fork in the Road

(As a part-time chaplain at the Dane County jail I have never been in a courtroom when a sentence was handed down until recently. If you ever find yourself taking for granted the beauty and miracle of your singular life and the myriad of options that lie before you like an outrageous banquet, I know a place where you can go to awaken again.)

The air is heavy with regret and worry
in this federal courtroom.
A young man not yet 40
does not look up to the bench
as the sentence of 294 months is read.
The collision of unwise choices
and severe consequences
screams silently in tears rolling down cheeks
of mother, sisters, brother, and friends.
This fork in the road
was not foreseen in the fog of addiction
and drug deals going down.
The next transformation may either be
a mind and soul-numbing twilight zone
of fossilizing anger and depression
ending in alienation,
or a revolution in character
through grief, sorrow, and compassion for self and others.
The prevailing winds of statistics
favor the former.
The prayers of the family in shock
heading home across the frozen fields
is for the latter.

The journey of awakening

I chose awakening to love and joy as the title of my blog because it is the shortest summary of my purpose in being on the planet. I am awakening to love and joy through the full expression of my creative gifts (visual, verbal, written). All my dreams for life come from that core purpose. Art in its various forms has been a powerful (but not the only) channel of that awakening for me--music, painting, sculpture, dance, poetry, ritual and more. There is only THIS moment and art has a way of keeping us in it and transforming our experience. As a painter and sculptor, http://johnmix.com/ I have noticed the 2-way street of creation. I create it and it creates me.
Conversation and words do the same. What we say and commit to shapes our lives and experience follows. Listening to others share is a powerful gift we give each other. I will be sharing my poems, reflections, small sketches and paintings, and I look forward to our conversations.