In the Labyrinth

Basho's Reflection On Marriage: Akechi's Wife

Moon, come down and
come alone. I have to tell you all
about Akechi’s wife. -- Bashō

Yesterday was our anniversary, of many years. I think of all that passion at the beginning, rocking back and forth between joy and fear that it might suddenly prove ephemeral.  But for those of us now long married, that tempest has been transformed into something more reliable. Rituals, that are ordinary, daily, subtle. So how beautiful and exquisite is this reflection by Bashō, the itinerant poet-monk of 17th century Japan, on the love between two people whose relationship is wide and deep -- quietly full of intimate gestures.

"So worn out, not even sure I was on the right road, I forgot myself awhile watching in weary amazement as his wife came and went, the two of them giving the impression of having long perfected some grave and complex dance known only to them, one of accord and the affection of two people moving hand-in-hand in the same direction, both possessed by desire while knowing themselves to be the source of that desire." Bashō, translated by Franz Wright.

Read the entire piece here at Poetry Foundation.

Art: Goyo Hashiguchi. 1920. "Woman in Blue"

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The Language of Cairns

We hike a lot across the Colorado Front Range as it is something almost every one is compelled to do here; the chance to be so completely surrounded by a magnificent landscape that invites one to enter into its beauty. It doesn't really matter what season it is, we always find a trail and head for it. I have hiked in thigh deep snow in winter and dry, blue skies in the summer, where the summer flowers bloom in brilliant colors even as the grass fades beneath the sun. Higher up, the red tails drift on the winds, magpies, redwings, swallows, blue jays, and crows gather nosily in the trees. I love all of it. 

But this year I become enamored of the random cairns that appear in the fields and mountains -- some the product of nature, stones tumbled together from rain and erosion. Others, created by hand, an impulse when called by a certain stone to bend down and spontaneously make a tower of stones -- multicolored, reds and grays, glittering with mica, marbled with blue veins, and covered in lichens. I have been taking so many pictures of them lately, and when I can, adding a stone here and there. It is a communal offering, a delicate way of saying, I passed this way, I greet you. I never seem to hunt for a stone, one always seems to magically appear beneath my feet, calling to my hand. I receive it and then gift it. 

For more on my family and our life on the Front Range, visit here. The Nature of Family