Wednesday, October 23, 2019

Morning, Noon, and Evening in California


There are moments, or times of the day that I am really fond of, first – morning light around 8 am in California, bright and cheerful, ready to tackle all that the new day will bring. The sun is somewhat low on the horizon, not directly above head as at noon in the summer, the shadows are longish, the contours of the bare hills beautifully outlined, each ridge and gully… and it is time to think of where we are… I wrote “In Morning Light” when I was finishing the edits for the “Grateful Conversations” Anthology of my writing group, and needed a new nature-related spiritual poem. The inspiration came from two experiences – watering the garden with a hose and playing with water droplets in the air, making patterns – circles, eights – and noticing a strange anomaly in the calendar for 2018. Indeed, all these holidays coincided that year, and thus gave rise to my poem.


 In Morning Light

We live on a planet where it rains diamonds —
hard rain, sparkling crystal droplets — in the clouds,
in the air, on the ground under our feet.

Here, the Valentine’s Day falls on Ash Wednesday.
Red strawberries, wine-hot passion and Ashes to ashes,
dust to dust — lessons of impermanence of the body,
constantly reconfigured in a vortex of quarks and atoms
until the pattern dissolves like snow at the end of winter.
Delicate snowdrops peek from under the melting cover
of phantasmagorical shapes and figures.

Here, the Annunciation Day of Mary’s greatest joy
falls on Palm Sunday — from rainbow wings of Fra Angelico’s
Gabriel bowing before the shy, blushing maiden in royal blue
we look ahead to the green of palm fronds lining the streets
of Jerusalem. We welcome the destiny of the King.
We see red blood on the stones of Golgotha,
the Place of the Skull. Not even this is real.
No wonder, then, that Easter, the greatest Mystery —
of Death into Life, Spirit over Matter, the Divine
in an emptied human shell — Eli, Eli, Lema Sabachthani —
Sanctus, Benedictus, Agnus Dei — it is done  —
yes, that Easter — is on April’s  Fools Day this year.

We fool ourselves when we see death as enemy.
We spin our lives into thin filaments of a spider-web.
Illusion woven into illusion. Deception after deception.
They rise and fall with the rhythm of seductive charm.
The smiling demon is the most persistent. Incorrigible,
it pulls us down, down, down into the mud,
from whence we did not come. Nothingness
ties us up with bonds of non-belonging.

My revelation is this — we live on the planet
where it rains diamonds. We walk on untold treasures
that we do not notice — we forget and forget and forget
where we came from, where we are, where we are going.
We spin our future out of spider silk and shadows.
Our lives fill with the sand of dreams, changing
like shards of glass, broken bits of colored plastic
in a kaleidoscope — transfigured into the most
astounding waltz of the rosettes, reflected
in hexagonal mirrors of transcendence —

My revelation is this — we are the children
of Sunlight — blessed by Radiance — wearing
Love’s golden halos — we shine and blossom —
in Light’s cosmic garden of stars — lilies — violets —
peonies — daffodils —and roses — always roses —
in this brilliant garden — on a diamond planet —
of what is — in the Heart of the Great, Great Silence —

— there’s no here — nor  there —
— no before  — nor  after —
— no inside  — nor  outside —

——— All is Always Now———
——— All is Always One———
——— Where We Are ———


NOTE: References to the Gospels, Giordano Bruno, and St. Germain.

(c) 2018 by Maja Trochimczyk, first published in "Grateful Conversations" anthology edited by Maja Trochimczyk and Kathi Stafford (Moonrise Press, 2018).




I wrote “This Evening” next, quite recently, in fact. I went out in the evening for a walk in the Big Tujunga Wash… it is nearly-empty river-bed full of rocks, and flats of chaparral on both sides. The valley is quite wide there, framed by hills on three sides, but open enough to show a vast expanse of the sky.  It changes colors so dramatically at sunset in California. The hues are so vivid, so fluid. The hills turn purplish, the air almost orange, and then the soft whiteness above the horizon turns pink or scarlet, and the sky above moves from sapphire to periwinkle, to lapis and indigo… Being born and raised in Poland, much further north, where the sky is mostly greyish, even when at its bluest in the middle of the summer, I am constantly enchanted by the vividness and intensity of California colors. That’s one reason the English nobles, lords and ladies of the 19th century had to go on their Grand Tour of Italy – to experience the sapphires, emeralds, and rubies of a foreign sky, before settling on their rain-trodden country estates.



But, after writing “Evening” I thought I needed a “Noon” to finish the trilogy. And here, I returned to my garden for inspiration, a refreshing place, sometimes tranquil, at other times full of buzzing hummingirds, melodious flutes of the mockingbirds, and the chatter and flutter of wings of house finches and house sparrows, interrupted by the sorrowful cries of the mourning doves.  At noon, birds get all silent, ornithologists and composers (Messiaen) observed long ago. Here’s a poem about that noon silence.


 High Noon

All silent, we wait with bated breath
for the next word from the Great Sun -
a life changing utterance of grace and might

Everyone drinks in the brilliance
in this land of butterflies and birdsong, where
birds doze off, hidden among tree branches.
Radiant light caresses their backs.

We fall asleep drunk on luminosity and lightness.
Each one of us tightly wrapped in soft down
of cherubs, overshadowed by smooth angels wings.

It is so quiet now, at the high noon of summer.
Satiated, tranquil, serene - all dream in the bright arms
of sunlight. Their DNA codes are cleared and sorted.

Their cells fill with liquid light. There is no absence,
need, want or sorrow. All is bliss - all peace - all is
perfect now -just now - right now


Now, then, it is time to look at the evening sky… The three poems together also capture the three phases of life: child, adult, senior, or, for women, girl, mother, crone… Growth, fruition, reflection. By calendar years, I should consider myself entering the “crone” period of wisdom and wrinkles. Yet, only yesterday I was asked to add M.P. to my name, for “Mary Poppins” – apparently I fly around flittering from event to event -  poetry, music, film, gala, reading, or party -  so much, that I remind people of her composure while flying around on her umbrella.  Of course, I like being “practically perfect in every way” – as we all should, as we are.




This Evening

It will be that way but for a moment - the light is dying
now as sunset dissolves into nightfall. The sky is the color
of soap bubbles - orange to pink to celadon and pearl gray,
with cloud stripes, below an expanse of periwinkle, a cupola
ready to burst open.

The hues are more seductive, for there is smoke in the air,
the scent of dying trees, grass, bushes perishing in flames
somewhere to bring us their last offering.  We watch
the sky glowing like soap bubbles – vivid, shifting, translucent.

Are we the most alive at the edge of dying? The most
attuned to living after we are told we have a year,
or maybe a month to put things in order? We admire
the bright maples and ginkgo trees covered in splendor
of scarlet and gold just before leaves fall. This is the sign
of passing, a farewell to their happy life.

Aren’t the iridescent hues of the sky telling us
that we still have time, so little time, yet time enough
to fully immerse ourselves in this moment, to reach
the zero point of here and now and be aware of its beauty?

We are content under the translucent sky of orange, gold,
silver and periwinkle, half-way between blue and violet,
just as we are half-way between life and death,
body and soul, heart and mind - suspended on an invisible
silver thread from the galaxy's web. One neuron
in the enormous mind of all stars, all beings, all trees,
all molecules of air and light. So much light!!!

(c) September 30, 2019 by Maja Trochimczyk

Southern California and Pacific Ocean from the plane window


For those interested in updates about my poetry activities, here are some links:

1. California State Poetry Society – californiastatepoetrysociety.com, is the blog for the Society that I now lead, with news about its journal, the California Quarterly, monthly contests, and other items that happen in the organization.

2. My poems appeared in Lummox vol. 8 (“Skylark’s Lesson”), Quill and Parchment (May 2019 – “My Mother’s Key”) and A Decade of Sundays (“The Song of a Key”) edited by Alex Frankel to celebrate his Second Sunday Poetry Readings.

3. You can also read some of my poems in Polish on pisarze.pl site, in two posts edited by Anna Maria Mickiewicz, who gathered together a representative sample of émigré poets based in America and the U.K.








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