Summer is the time of doing nothing. Or it used to be, way back when in Poland: when I truly "vacated" my mind after working hard and getting all these "A"s in two parallel high schools - math-physics division of High School No. 33 named after the astronomer Mikolaj Kopernik, - and Music High School named after Jozef Elsner, Chopin's teacher... Two achievements stand out from the high school years - winning the school-level Copernicus Physics competition and defeating all the boys who thought that a girl cannot have a brain (in my freshman year) and getting a tie for the highest score on IQ test at 143 with the school's math genius (in my senior year, when I became the school's only valedictorian, and paradoxically, decided to study music history instead of something practical and useful, like medicine or economics...
So, after burning my brain on problem-solving, math formulas and 3-D "stereometry" I was ready for long hikes in the fields and forests, picking mushrooms and blueberries, making strawberry preserves, arranging wildflower bouquets, and reading the silliest fantasy books and light-weight magazines in the orchard, under trees full of fruit and birdsong. . . Two full months of brainless fun and relaxation. I could add to the list (from my college years) sailing, singing all-night by the bonfire, or (from my childhood) - jumping off the top of hay stacked up in the barn, and meticulously peeling green walnuts - the kernels are really sweet if the yellowish thin membrane is taken off! That latter job was performed on boring, rainy days. Oh, the blessed time of slow living...
At this point of my Californian life, I take "mini-vacations" of one day, one afternoon, or just an hour for a walk in the Big Tujunga Wash, wading in the stream, watching the quail quench its thirst without paying any attention to me. I stop and look at the leaves of the cottonwood shaking in the breeze, under the clearest azure sky. I admire the breaking pattern of reflections, tree-trunks shape-shifting on the smooth surface of the wading pool, made by a mini-dam of rocks. (Very controversial, these mini-dams; some people put them up, other dismantle them, and so it goes, on and on). After an hour drive west, I become still and silent in front of the never-ending procession of ocean waves, crashing and crashing and coming back to crash again...
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7syvHytux2Q&t=14s
The Stillness of Trees
The singing tree sings just for me.
Its song flows around the globe in murmuring waves of leaves
that caress each other and
twirl away in gusts of wind
longing for freedom.
It is the stem that gives them life, pours nutrients into the heart—shaped cottonwood marvels.
It is the connection, the lifeline
that matters.
We are the leaves on the cosmic tree,
linked by bright cords of energy—
the crystalline liquid, golden light.
We dance in the breeze of time.
We sing
our song of joy— the joy of light—
the light of dawn—
of high noon, of afternoon’s
golden hour, waning into dusk—
in that peculiar soap-bubble sky,
ready to burst open and reveal
the velvet coat of the night
with diamond star buttons.
Is it all clear for you, too?
Have you found your
glowing bubble of the sky?
I’m here, singing to the singing tree, learning to dance from stiff leaves
on flexible stems, in strength and grace
of twigs and branches — healing, laughing,
humming with me, singing
a miraculous song
of the cottonwood tree.
(C) 2022 by Maja Trochimczyk, published in the "Crystal Fire" anthology (2022).
Alchemy in the Hills
scattered sparks of reflected sunrays,
I stand on thick grains of sand. I watch
I smile at the aerial acrobatics of sparrows,
birds of unknown names. The scents
but it is enough: rock, sand, and leaf enough.
Children’s laughter flows towards me
the center of my universe, at a still point
merge into one blessing of being here,
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FpcaAMHF9kM
The video of the muddy stream is from March 2024 though, when the stream jumped out of its bed and shifted 50 meters south forming a new bed, cutting out our pathway... This is just an inkling of the immense power of water in motion. To fully grasp this concept, you have to go to the coast and visit the Pacific Ocean. Luckily, it is only an hour away by car; a mere 53 miles... Perfect afternoon of doing nothing, watching the water come in, and out, and in and out. Smaller waves, bigger waves, reaching my toes, leaving too soon, and in and out and on and on... Endless motion, always different, always the same...
The Ocean of Jade
spoke to me
yesterday
waves came to the shore
to caress
the sand
and paused
in midair
waiting for
me to notice
their smooth jewel surface
their secret
glow and the wisps
of
white sea-foam twining through
the
air like lace on a collar
or an
intricate shawl
worn by an ancient Lady Wisdom
the ocean of jade
spoke to me
look
and love
look
and breathe
be
in awe
admire the infinity of magic
jewels
hidden and revealed
in one sweeping motion
the same wave that came
to the shore
to caress
the sand
and paused
in mid-air
just for me
(c) 2022 by Maja Trochimczyk, published in "Bright Skies" (Moonrise Press, 2022) .
That's where I got to fly my kites. I recently got a new one, three-D parafoil kites without any skeleton in it, the air fills it and gives it the proper shape of a black-and-white Orca, the Killer Whale... The Kitty Hawk website has the most astounding selection of kites...
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zyWGLTd11Bg
A Whale of a Song
They sing, as they ride the waves,
laughing. They sing to the depths
of the ocean, reaching its sandy bottom,
submerged peaks and valleys.
Their song echoes through
the crystalline expanse of the sky,
bounces off the translucent
rays of starlight.
They dance on the waves, weaving
the web of love from their song.
In the invisible rhythm of seven billion
heartbeats, they encircle the globe,
traversing all the oceans.
Did you know
that whales and dolphins
are our cosmic guardians?
Did you know
that Orca, the whale,
is my patron saint?
I have a totem stone to prove it,
a gift from a seer who once told me:
Do not forget to listen
to life-giving music.
Do not ever forget
the song of the whales.
(C) 2016 by Maja Trochimczyk,
published in "Into Light. Poems and Incantations"
The daily dose of peace and relaxation may also be found in the spring in my garden. The mockingbird filled it with song in April, May and June. By July, the curious, mechanical screeching of the orioles replaced the melodious voices - they are so beautiful, with gold and black plumage, so that's why their voices are nothing at all. In contrast, the mockingbirds sport camouflage beige-brown hues so they look like rocks on the ground and branches in the trees... But their voices fill the air with beauty....
To Mock a
Bird in Ten Stanzas
I listen to its song every morning,
yet I’m still surprised when it opens
its wings
in flight, moving to a new perch for
the next tune
to claim its territory in my garden.
White stripes on the wings and tail
shine brightly
like a child’s toy, the old-fashioned wiatraczek
twirling in the wind, delighting the
girl
with the beauty of time-space in
motion.
Why am I here? Loving the sounds of
unfamiliar birds,
surprised that I made it so far, to
the shores
of the Pacific, into the depths of the
English language
I only pretend to master—still
unfamiliar after 40 years.
Was this the purpose then
of my mad pursuit
Of happiness? My American, naturalized
birthright?
This feeling of estrangement, of
non-belonging
in the garden, among lush greenery and
warm rose hues?
White, cream, gold, pink, orange
fuchsia, wine-red
from rosé to burgundy—ever more
fragrant
in each iteration of petals, unfurling
under the symphony of mockingbird’s
melodies.
He out-sings himself this April
morning.
A territorial male , he chased away
his rivals
to the riches of abundant nectar,
seed, shelter
in a space that I care for, so birds
can sing.
Sing away their love of life and sing
just for me, so I’d learn to love my
life as well,
even though—even though—come here,
come here—
laugh—laugh, laugh, laugh, laugh—with
me—
with me —with me—what a bright day –
bright day—see—see – see – see – see—
it is done! Done! Lovely—lovely—lovely—
day—day day day day—smile, smile—don’t
fret!
Would I have the courage to accept
this invitation be always present,
serene—overflowing with the pure joy
of living in the moment?
After sixty years of never-ending
failures,
can I even try again? Try again—try
again
—again again again — New song. You
sing.
I sing. Too—too too too too too—here—here—
here—and now
(C) 2024 by Maja Trochimczyk
Mockingbird in a rose garden, April 2024. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FdS-nTsj1dk&t=36s
But peace and tranquility can be found everywhere, even without the songs, without the stream, without the ocean. . . I wrote new poem while looking at my mantelpiece with souvenirs from Poland, Arizona and California....
An Ode to My Heart, or The Ultimate Tribute to Myself
The heart in the middle of my stained-glass souvenir
from Tucson, Arizona, shines opalescent green, more precious
than an ancient jade bracelet of Chinese Empress.
It is carried by twin wings of three feathers each:
—red, orange, and gold on the right,
—the wing of the body, blood and bones,
of my shape and strength in this incarnation—
I am a woman now
—aqua, azure, violent on the left,
—the wing of timeless flight from emotions
into words, into thoughts, into the purest state
of being—intuition—expression—
My heart is not alone. The ruby-and-amber,
3-D Merkabah star glows on the right — —— — ——
here—the Earth
The pearly white, softest blue, and clear crystal,
double-six-pointed star shines on the left ——————
there and nowhere—Heaven
I’m well protected. I’m well guarded.
I’m well guided on my way through the thicket
of chaotic entanglements in a convoluted mess of desires.
With this heart, with these wings, with these stars
I can rise above the daily turmoil of fabricated news,
spurious pursuits, and needless temptations.
I can be—I am —FREE —to be
myself, to find my true heart—
deeply hidden beneath masks that grew in decades
of conforming to other people’s plans for me—
—do what your parents say
—do what your teachers say
—follow the leader
No, I will not follow.
I will blossom into my own intense, immense,
crystalline star of cosmos, star of order, star of beauty!
The magic star of delight. The brightest star
of all-encompassing Love—for which this word
is woefully inadequate, as if it truly belonged with all the other
four-letter words— Fear—Hate—Shit—Fuck—Death—
No, that’s five letters—
—So, maybe, just maybe, it should be—
Six — DIVINE
Eight — PRESENCE
Ten — PERFECTION
Twelve — TIMELESSNESS
Or, perhaps just Three — WHY
Two — AM
One — I?
Why am I?
Yucca whipplei gone to seed, Big Tujunga Wash, July 2024
