haiku feathers

 

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Shortly after my husband died I went to a retreat with Angeles Arien in Arizona and found myself sitting in a big circle being asked to write a haiku. 

I knew what a haiku was ( a seventeen syllable, three line poem, usually structured in an 5/7/5 pattern. The style is traditionally Japanese). However I got into a panic and thought “I am not in the space to think, English is not even my first language, this is not fair!” And then moved from panic to shock when I realised that 59 people would have a haiku in one minute’s time and I would be the only one with nothing.

At that moment a haiku ‘flew’ into my head. 

“heart open, love flies

flower wake to dawn mourning

shared grief melts sharp pain”

I did not think this up. It literally came to me. Since then all the haiku that I have written have come to me like whispers from beyond. 

I experience them as fragrant feathers, sometimes I catch them, sometimes they pass by and I am left only with a fragrance, sometimes they move on without a trace and I can’t capture them in words.

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This is how ‘fragrant feathers’ came into existence.

I will share them with you on this page which I will update regularly.

 

when i am dying

i want to know it was time

having become full

i just remembered

my life is a love story

just to be in love

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the moon only shines

because the sun bathes her in

everlasting light

let me remember

here in my body – once more -

who i really am

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nothing else will do

i’ve known mountaintop melt

seen water gushing

anja

sometimes other people catch feathers

when I read their words a beautiful fragrance comes to me

this one inspired me recently:

what is it that you were given?

I mean from the loss.

After, what was taken.

That very thing you could never live without.

The person or place,

the secret, or circumstance -

now that it is gone,

or has been found out,

and you can no longer call it foundation

what is it that you were given?

You know, and I know, this:

there is a hollowing out.

Something comes and opens you up

right

down 

the 

middle

and from that moment on

you are no longer immune to this world.

You wake, you wander.

every familiar, now a foreign.

You walk as through water

until you make it back to your bed

and finally, even there -

your sheets, your own pillow’s scent different,

as if daily someone repaints your room, displaces something,

disturbs a cherished memento.

You see

sometimes we are emptied.

we are emptied

because

Life wants us to know

so 

much 

more

Light.

 

 by Em Claire

thank you Em