On Clear Skies, Summer Sounds, and the Secret Weight of Words

once upon a time

pink trees flowered under the azure 

of deep, clear expanse

It is almost the end of July, a strange summer of chemtrails, clear skies, heat waves, and wildfires... In recent weeks, I was delighted to again see beautiful blue, clear skies above my head, after months and months of criss-crossing chemtrails.  It was a "Victory of Light" in the hidden war above our heads, a short respite from the chaotic graffiti in the sky. I call these failed artwork "graffiti" -gang signs marking territory where gang enforces its rules - in my photo albums, documenting the shifting patterns, and colors of my California sky. That's how I noticed them, by taking pictures of no-longer azure skies...

no, no, I do not

allow these strange graffiti
to taint my sky

the white haze -

iridescent like fish-scales

in polluted ocean

how deep is the blue?

only the sunrays will know

after piercing the sky

The summer sounds... I was raised with the clacking of the storks and the noise of their wings. Both sets of my grandparents in their villages in different parts of Poland had stork nests on their property: one on the barn roof (a wheel off an old wagon, on which storks piled up branches), and one on the top of a pine that had been struck by lightning and had a bent branch up there... I remember coming out at 6 a.m., sleepy and disoriented after being woken up by the wild ruckus up the tree not far from my window. The wooden porch was sunny and warm, and the world was waking up to yet another day of peaceful summer.

Ambika Talwar, a poet-friend, commented: "This is eternal and true wherever you may be. Claim it! Hold it in your heart. Speak of it. Say it out loud. Awaken someone who needs this now. Sing it so the birds listen to you. Be your dancing self."

Photo from Poland Forever group on Facebook.

The  storks used to follow my uncle in the meadow, about two steps behind, when he was cutting down the grass with the scythe. This is one of my favorite images of Poland, not a photo since I did not have a camera yet: the two storks following my uncle and picking up frogs and what not to eat for breakfast... Peace, and communion with nature, that's what it was (except for the frogs).

Another delightful sound of my childhood was the noise of the bees, and I liked it even though I once had 21 stings in my head and was very sick with their venom.  Maybe, by now, I'm related to the bees... In my California garden the crape myrtle tree is flowering with beautiful purple blossoms that attract hundreds of bees, busily collecting the nectar and making the most heavenly sound I remember from my Polish childhood. When I went for summer vacations to my Grandma's house in the "colony" of Bielewicze (not even a village, but a scattering of houses in the fields by the forest, on the eastern Kresy of Poland), I admired the intensity and patterns of the buzzing of bees in the majestic linden tree in the middle of the courtyard. In Polish, this tree is called "Lipa" - hence the month of "Lipiec" when it flowers. In English: July. Here, under the azure and turquoise cupola of California's skies, there are no linden trees, but the bees sing their songs quite as happily: busy, busy, busy, bzzz, bzzz, bzzz...

The bees go to sleep in the evening. Their familiar and beloved sounds are replaced by another guest from the past, or a couple of guests: crickets that have moved inside the house, sit behind the bookshelf and play, play, play - to their heart's desire.  The Polish village tradition of having a cricket behind the chimney stemmed from the habit of these sonorous critters to seek shelter from cold autumn and winter days in the warmth of village house kitchens: hence the saying, "to be comfy as a cricket behind a chimney," or "swierszcz za kominem."

Here, in the middle of California summer, it is very hot outside, perhaps too hot, so maybe the bookshelf, right by my empty and cold fireplace, provides a shaded and safe shelter from the heat? No matter what reason, I love listening to these critters. They rub their legs to make this lively noise, they do work very hard. Imagine if I had to rub my legs to speak at such a speed! Amazing! What onomatopoeia should reflect the chirping of the crickets? chir-chir-chir is too slow, szuru-buru is too low, so let's leave this translation aside and enjoy.

Chinese scholars used to catch crickets, put them in little cages and make them sing by poking them with a stick. I saw a whole assortment of such cricket cages at the Pacific Asia Museum and was quite offended at the presumptuous human "jailers" who should have set their crickets free, to have them come and play at will, as guests, not prisoners.

A Cricket Sings

The intricate opening

carved into patterns

of ancient elegance

lets feeble light

into the ornate cage

the smooth brown cask

is a luxurious coffin

for insect freedom

How sad for the cricket!

Tickled to sing,

it awakens in a box

held by sweaty hands

of an imperial scribe

who listens to the memory

of distant farmlands

in his own gilded cage -

a tiny room hidden by

the splendor of ancient

palace walls

How sad for the cricket!

(c) 2009 by Maja Trochimczyk

I'm sure that the songs of the captive crickets was not as happy as the one that I'm listening to right now. Alas, I cannot record it, as my house is filled with another, somewhat louder noise, that of the old. fridge. While I tried to come closer to record my evening music, the result was silence: the cricket realized it was not alone and stopped its night-time serenade altogether.  Thus, I learned that "the presence of the observer changes the phenomenon being observed" - a variation on the Heisenberg Principle, heard in my living room, on a summer evening! And my friend tells me that, had I been able to record the cricket and slow down the recording I would have heard singing, just like human voices: http://truthseekerdaily.com/2013/11/someone-recorded-crickets-then-slowed-down-the-track-and-it-sounds-like-humans-singing/.

As physicists have told us, the Uncertainty Principle, a characteristics of all waves, states that you can either know where something is, or how fast it is going, but not both at the same time. In other words: "the more precisely the position of some particle is determined, the less precisely its momentum can be known, and vice versa."  This explains the position of my keys, sunglasses, and stick-drives in my reality, since I do not know where they are at the precise moment of leaving my house, they must be accelerating with intense momentum to reach the speed of light and disappear forever on the other side, in the universe of left socks, assorted pens, hairpins, sunglasses, keys and umbrellas. There must be such a universe, given the hundreds of items that disappear without trace each year.

Seriously speaking, we do have to be serious when speaking: words have weight. So few among us understand the power and potency of words in creating realities. Millions of people have read "The Secret" where this idea is popularized, yet they sought another "get rich quick" scheme and overlooked a fundamental principle of human reality. Words create Worlds. Is it said in the Gospel of John:

"In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. The same was in the beginning with God. All things were made by him; and without him was not any thing made that was made. In him was life; and the life was the light of men. And the light shineth in darkness; and the darkness comprehended it not..."

Manuscript in the Badische Landesbibliothek, Karlsruhe, Germany, 1220.  Cod. Bruchsal 1, Bl. 1v 

That's a pretty important statement about  the true significance of words, filled, as they are, with the Divine creative power. Words create human reality.  We live in the Universe we made of words. Poets do, philosophers, scientists, scholars, politicians, business people, do, parents and children do - we all define our realities in words. Spoken aloud, words can become enchantments or curses: "I hate you, go away" breaks the heart of a child, and may lead to a life-time of trauma. "I love you, you are beautiful" brings an instant flowering of gladness.

On the website of Dr. Masaru Emoto (1943-2014) we read: "We all learn valuable life lessons at our own pace, but there is one basic truth we all learn early.  Positive, compassionate words comfort and heal; negative words and insults hurt. Until recently, we knew this only because we could feel it.  Now we can actually see it.  Thanks to the experimental work of Dr. Masaru Emoto, we can look to water, and its frozen crystals, to confirm the healing power of beautiful music, positive thinking, uplifting speech, and prayer."

"By exposing water to a particular word or piece of music, freezing it, and photographing the ice crystals formed, Dr. Emoto has shown that from beautiful words and music, come beautiful crystals, and from mean-spirited, negative words, come malformed and misshapen crystals. What is the significance?  It becomes clear when we remember that the adult human body is approximately 70% water and infant bodies are about 90% water.  We can be hurt emotionally and, as the water can be changed, for the worse physically, by negativity. However, we are always closer to beauty when surrounded by positive thoughts, words, intentions and ultimately those vibrations."

Dr. Emoto’s theories are articulated in his books: The Hidden Messages in Water, The True Power of Water, and The Secret Life of Water.  Some of his experiments involved writing or saying "I love you" and "I hate you" to various samples of water, with the effect showing the creative, organizing power of love and the destructive, chaotic nature of hate. In other experiments he compared crystals formed in frozen samples from pure stream water  and from microwaved water. Just looking at them makes you want to throw out your microwave... It just is not right.

In any case, believe it or not, water, or not water, the healing power of self-talk, affirmation of one's own value, beauty, goodness, and happiness is well established. But then, what about all these curses, uttered at random, casually? So many "F-bombs" dropped on the waters within the listeners and the speakers alike... What is the damage? We do not know for sure yet, except that "grating" effect, that feeling of being "taken down" a notch, somehow diminished.  I was cursed out by someone not long ago in a phone message I saved, thinking it would be a good start of a book, and not realizing that words could be used with such venom. But then, I thought - why bother? If I transcribe and publish those curses, I'll add to their hidden power, I'll make them go out to the world and do the work that they were designed for: to destroy, to diminish...

Instead, I decided to write an entirely different book, of "Poems and incantations" leading the readers Into Light, with its 30 poems and 12 prayers... I wrote them for myself, but also to share. Enjoy!

Crown Jewels

I am an onyx of grounding
I am amber of attraction
I am a topaz of resilience

I am a rose quartz of affection
I am a turquoise of expression
I am an amethyst of insight

I am a sapphire of faith
I am an emerald of hope
I am a ruby of love

I am a crystal of clarity
I am a pearl of understanding
I am a diamond of light

This book is now available in the following formats:

Paperback (trade, 6 by 9  inches), ISBN 978 0 9963981 8 3
http://www.lulu.com/shop/maja-trochimczyk/into-light-poems-and-incantations/paperback/product-22829841.html

Pocketbook (4.22 by 6.88 inches), No ISBN, available on lulu.com
http://www.lulu.com/shop/http://www.lulu.com/shop/maja-trochimczyk/into-light-poems-and-incantations/paperback/product-22810285.html

and E-Book in ePub format,ISBN 978 0 9963981 9 0
http://www.lulu.com/shop/http://www.lulu.com/shop/maja-trochimczyk/into-light-poems-and-incantations/ebook/product-22830071.html

On Manna, the Dead Sea, and the Divine

My final project as the Sixth Poet Laureate of Sunland-Tujunga is an anthology of poetry on religious and spiritual themes, entitled Meditations on Divine Names (Moonrise Press, 2012).

Almighty, Loving, All-seeing, Compassionate, Silent, Omniscient, Forgiving, Knowing, Merciful, Graceful, Beautiful, Kind, Sublime, Absolute, Patient, Just, Wise, Awesome, Sovereign, Peaceful, Hidden, Perfect, Holy, Giving, Unknowable, Eternal, Light, Love, Life, Power, Supreme, Lord, Goddess, Mother, YHWH, Christ, Yehovah, Allah, Shekinah, Krishna, Lada…

The “divine” of the title is a word introduced into English in the 14th century; it stems from the Latin “divus” or “god.” This word, in turn, is related to the ancient Sanskrit term “deva” meaning “deity” and originating in the Proto-Indo-European “diwos” (“celestial” or “shining”). “Divine” pertains to, or relates directly to “deity.” The ancient Greeks and Romans had many different gods, who ruled over various spheres of existence. The 21st century world has many gods, too, though monotheistic religions predominate, at least in numbers.

The mystery of the divine may be approached from many directions. The heart of the visible matter is invisible. Science makes inroads into understanding how matter works, but the more you read about science —especially at the outer ends of the spectrum, in the areas of quantum physics and cosmology—the more it sounds like religion. This last word, oft maligned and distorted into fanaticism and hatred, actually focuses on connections between people, between humans and the divine.

The word “religion” stems from a Latin root, variously translated as “respect for what is sacred, reverence for the gods,” or “obligation, the bond between man and the gods.” St. Augustine connected this word to “re-reconnecting” (“re-ligare”); contemporary theologians emphasize the connectivity inherent in all religion. Connection to what? Typically, religions connect like-minded people into groups sharing the same beliefs, languages, and customs. Their dogmas may become immutable, fixed, and hostile to everything and everyone outside the chosen group. Remember the wars between the Protestant and Catholics in Ireland? During the tumultuous period of Reformation the whole European continent was in flux. It still is...

Religions, at their core, also connect people with the Ultimate Source of Life, the Higher Being, the Absolute, the One... Here, despite the divisiveness of language, similarities begin to emerge. Poets, who belong to different religions or religious denominations, see the manifestations of the divine in many aspects of life: personal prayer, religious ceremonies, singing of psalms, family relationships, nature, sun, bread making, dying, loving, and love making. They admire the colors of the sky and the liquid nourishment of water. They praise the clarity of mountain air and the gentleness of human touch. They cope with the loss of a loved one and cherish the affection that reveals the essence of the Divine. From the four letters of YHWH to Lada or Pele, the anthology catalogs some unusual divine names. Poets reflect on the act of naming, describe the manifestations of the divine, and dispute the very possibility of knowing of our God(s). They give testimony to their hopes and beliefs, and share what they find beautiful and inspirational. There is darkness around and death, but the poets look for ways to ascend above the turmoil and dreariness of the profane; they seek illumination.

The 136 poems by 62 poets are arbitrarily arranged in ten sections: Naming, Names, Earth, Water, Air, Fire, He, She, Being, and Loving. Simultaneously, the Pythagoreans’ perfect number of ten is organized in five pairs: naming names, earth and water, air and fire, he and she, being and loving. The framework eschews conventional divisions into Hell, Purgatory, and Heaven, or Light and Darkness. Similarly, there is no separation of poems into those belonging in different religious denominations and spiritual traditions. Yahweh, Christ, and Allah, or Father, Son and the Holy Spirit of the great monotheistic religions appear alongside less known deities worshiped by Hindus and followers of Kabbalah, Scientology, Wicca, and Sukiyo Mahikari. The Bread of Life, the Unnameable Absolute, and the Goddess… Themes are intertwined in each poem and new meanings arise from the juxtaposition of distant religious traditions. Sometimes, additional thematic threads arise within a theme—bread, light, birth, mountains, solitude, and joy... Many poems are about love and acceptance; many focus on creation, charity, serenity, gratitude, and contemplation.

This project, initiated in 2008, has grown to its final scope in four years, thanks to the contributions and encouragement by many poets. The original idea stemmed from a meditation during a workshop on Rumi and spiritual practice. For thirty minutes, under the guidance of a Sufi mystic, I meditated on a Divine Name I selected. Puzzled by the interplay of absences and revelations in my life, I thought of “Hidden” and came home with a very strange poem about the mysterious, unknowable God, Playful (Via Negativa).

Each life is different and each person has an individual way of experiencing the world and sharing this experience. My way to religion and to meditating on divine names was not simple. I was raised as an atheist, went through a dramatic and traumatic conversion in my late twenties, and was baptized at the age of 30. I was not born into my community of faith. I could have become Jewish, or Baptist, or Eastern Orthodox… Instead, I ended up as an usher in a Catholic church, attending the Mass every week. How on Earth could this have happened?

My path is unique and I feel an obligation to express it. Sometimes, I recognize an echo of my own spiritual experience in another poet’s words (T. S. Eliot’s Four Quartets!). In turn, my experiential truth may resonate in someone else. It is good to know we are not alone. It is good to reach beyond “Either/Or” of Kierkegaard’s, stop seeking differences and divisions.

I am grateful to all the poets who shared their thoughts with me and who made this anthology such a special, light-filled volume. I am particularly glad that I managed to persuade members of my poetry groups to join me: the whole Spiritual Quartet (Taoli-Ambika Talwar, Lois P. Jones and Susan Rogers), and the whole Village Poets Planning Committee (Joe DeCenzo, Marlene Hitt, Barry Ira Geller, and Dorothy Skiles). I am thankful for their words and their faith in me.

As a sample of poems in the anthology, I'll use two of my own. The first poem, “Dead Sea Alive” describes a visit to a San Diego Museum where I saw an exhibition of fragments from the ancient manuscripts found near the Dead Sea. Having seen many medieval manuscripts and the Gutenberg Bible in the past, I was not prepared for the impact of the emotional encounter with shreds of papyrus over two thousand years old. The words are still alive, even though the material documents are barely there.

The second poem, “Manna” is about the experience of Communion, a ritual of Christians who are spiritual cannibals and eat their God to become fully Divine. Manna, of course, is the miraculous angelic food that Israelites found on the ground during their forty years of Exile in the desert. Each morning, they had to gather and eat it fresh. If they tried to store it, it went bad the next day. This manna is the symbol of spiritual renewal, the ultimate "refreshment." However, "manna" in Polish refers to "kaszka manna" - a wheat cereal cooked in milk for hot breakfast, and later served in cubes with fruit or jam. It is also used to give texture to Polish cheesecakes and, though kind of boring by itself, becomes indispensable and nourishing. "Manna" for Catholic is an image of daily Communion, the white bread that needs to be eaten each morning, or, at least, every week. This is our bread of angels.

Both poems have previously been published elsewhere (in an online journal Quill and Parchment and in my book Miriam’s Iris, respectively), but I like them, and hope my readers like them, too.



Dead Sea Alive


An archipelago of broken words
A mosaic of ill-fitting pieces
Torn ribbons with angelic voices
Coded by crooked signs

Scholars decipher, assemble patterns
The dust of ages obscures the meaning

Here: “Blow your trumpets, slay the guilty”
There: “He heals the badly wounded, makes the dead live”
I see: “YHWH” - four letters in an ancient script
I hear: “Halleluiah!”

Two thousand years, two hundred days
And two hours. I too offer a sacrifice
Of my mind to the eternal presence

The angels are here with us
Hovering on iridescent wings
Just above red boxes with fire blankets
Just beyond a row of glass screens
With miniature shreds of holiness inside

© 2009 by Maja Trochimczyk


 

Snow Alight

love falls on me

gently

like snow from high sky

I stand here

waiting for snowflakes

of communion

I look into the eyes

of the man

who holds love

my love

in his hand

abyss calls to abyss

ocean’s depth touches

the deepest core

of my sorrow

my bread and body

“Noli me tangere”

said the One called Rabbuni

my eyes close

whiteness dissolves

this love will shield me

I count my blessings

bless the Holy Name

NOTE: “Noli me tangere” = “Do not touch me” 

              (Latin translation of John 20:17)

© 2008 by Maja Trochimczyk
 
____________________________________

The text is based on the editor's introduction to the anthology. The Meditations on Divine Names, published by Moonrise Press, will be available in all major online bookstores. In the meantime, it is already available on Lulu.com The full list of poems is posted on moonrisepress.blogspot.com

A Haiku for New Year 2012

A Haiku for 2012



black water dragon

in a nimbus of danger

we laugh to freedom




© 2011 by Maja Trochimczyk