#7

The Nature of a Wave

Some people
love you
and will stand for
nothing else.
Others have a different purpose.

They must be the break
that knocks you down,
holds you beneath
the cooling tide

until you are washed,
with everything else,
upon the smooth, silver, sand
broken.

There you lie
for a long time,
listening.

Perhaps
this is just
the nature of the wave.

and you have only just
been caught
in the wake
of one man's pain.


-Llora H. Kressmann

#6

All I Want 

Just what is happiness?
Today, I think that it is:
really good pizza
comfortable shoes and finally
finding a bra I actually like.

Red bricks after the rain.

Seeing a friend in a unexpected place
and it not being 90 degrees.

The guy in the book store
letting me sit for an hour
lost in a book
and the girl at the counter
whose smile and chit chat
made me feel normal again.

Sand between my toes
and everything being made
whole again
by the sea.

Today, it's all these things
and that will have to do
because that is plenty
for any life.


-Llora H. Kressmann

#5

The Visit

Today 

your face

was smiling

and you were soft
in a way
I have rarely seen before

It was 11:00am
you were in your nightgown
satin-lined collar, slippers
even that seemed elegant

Time whispered beneath the linen curtains
I wished I could close it out
lock the window and door
tell them not to bother
or disturb you.

Please.
This porcelain frame and face
with a lion's heart
is so tired
so worn
by each beat
of her ragged heart
each step
of her perfect foot and frame
my grandfather so adored.

I hold your hand on the couch
you had tucked it between the cushions
your skin so soft and familiar
like love itself

I tried to take you in:
A dusky wisp of cloud
a sail, the breeze, a wing.
Each reaching for me
with what seemed like
their last light.

Time, march away.
Hold her up
for one moment
more.

We'll drink you down with a glass a Champagne.
We'll drive that MG, hard and fast, over the hill.
We'll march in the mini-skirt off of the plane.
We'll tell him we love him.
We'll shock them with our strength and boldness
for you.

We will live

for you

we will live l o u d

for you

we will remember.

Time
be present now.
call all your sentinels
to witness
this life, exquisite.

This one
wild woman
in a glass castle

holding still
against the tide.


-Llora H. Kressmann

#4

How do we measure a heart?

Today
tear stains
ripple your notes
She's having cancer surgery tomorrow
and she is in terrible pain
your daughter

you clench around it.
Tighter.
you cannot speak
or cry.
you cannot open.
for fear of coming apart
completely.
"It's too much" you say.
It's too much.

How do we measure a heart?

I had a boyfriend once, that kissed me in the rain and knew the Latin names of plants. Cooked me breakfast on a mountain top and took his shoes off to walk with me barefoot along the moss. One day, he told me he didn't feel 'like that' about me. We had climbed the same mountain to watch the sunset, then laid back on the granite rock, still warm from the day, to watch the stars come out. My tears mixed with mica and sand and moss, hidden from his sight, as he raised his arm to show me all the constellations.  How kind he was. I rested my head on his shoulder, knowing that I loved him and he didn't feel, 'like that' about me. It was spring in Vermont and the dandelions had just started to open themselves to the sun. My heartbreak echoed through my body day and night. One day, driving the hills at dusk, a field of rolling green pastures caught me and I held my breath. The field, verdant green, like a dream, had just exploded into an unbelievable display of yellow dandelions. In the setting sun, each one seemed to explode into firelight. This broke my heart too. I smiled. These dandelions all, broken hearts. Each one. Everyone. Their beauty, so stunning, was life. Beautiful broken hearts. Beautiful life. Thank you broken heart. Thank you life.

I can only measure my heart, when I feel it.

A healer once asked me if I knew my heart. I certainly thought the answer was yes. But, when I paused to look into that space, I realized, astonished, that it was very much a stranger. Looking in I saw and felt the layers of grief and sadness that seemed to inhabit her. That this was where the well of pain was. As vast as the oceans. It's easy to get lost there. Breathing in. Breathing out.

I want to make a map of my heart.

Today, news came from a beloved friend. Recalling our time together, my heart quaked and spoke. This beloved friend now looked out at the Pacific ocean. Pacific sand between his toes. Pacific ocean air in his hair. And mine, all Atlantic. The continent between. My heart trembled a little with this thought of distance and the unknown between. And then, I picked up a large, shiny green acorn. It's skin so smooth and green. Just dropped by the tree. This beloved place is my home. Right here. With acorns, goldenrod, yarrow, even poison ivy, bending in the wind. My feet walk along the pebbled shore, lapped by the deep blue of the frigid Atlantic. The summer wind blows off my hat and I smile to life.  I smile to my heart. Which is full of so much. Whose map I am learning to read.

-Llora H. Kressmann

#3

Picnic at Cathy's Pond

And finally
after they had settled upon the spot
the right flowers and light
the right direction

they sat
beneath the grand umbrella
sometimes in the rain
sometimes in the sun
the day winking all about them
summer laughing in her completeness
bursting to tell her secrets too
with these 'wise women.'

when it was time
the clothes were abandoned
and the two entered the pond
with the rain drops
how natural to lie about
what a way to spend a day, 
one said.

later, after the rain
their talk still deep and round like the moon
they sat held
in the chair, naked
holding onto words
and listening ears

the pond, still now
in that place of waiting
pretending to be glass
holding its breath

two turtles emerged
heads lifting just above the surface
reaching
their necks
to float there
without any ripples.

without them none of this would be possible

their slow dance
through the water
reminding us
to forget all these notions
to set down the ideas
and worries
to look around
and float.


-Llora H. Kressmann

#2

Meeting with my Mentor

On this day 

in this place

we sat, you and I,

amid strangers

in the noisy cafe.

The light from the window

so bright

I had to move closer to you

and so

I saw the chocolate

from your croissant -so savored

dappled across your lips

all the while

keeping up the conversation

about our lives.

This quiet memento

the sweet gift

never bothered either of us

To speak and listen of such things

one needs chocolate croissants.

Thank you for teaching me,

Richard, how to savor 

all of life.


-Llora H. Kressmann

#1

After the Retreat 

I am on the couch in your apartment
we are sleeping in
the curtains are drawn
it's past 8:00am
you rise
we rise
There is coffee made

and instead of breakfast
we talk
in our pajamas
over coffee
about some of the things that are on our hearts
"let's have pie for breakfast."

Sometimes, this friendship
is all we need
in a day.

My sangha sister,
this is it.

Llora H. Kressmann
--------------------------------------------------------------------










All the posts below this are from 2008 and earlier.

2008 Blog About Vermont