Spring Haiku

green sprouts from the ground

refreshing bare soles and hearts;

the color of spring

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Trees. Reflections and poems

“For me, trees have always been the most penetrating preachers. I revere them when they live in tribes and families, in forests and groves. And even more I revere them when they stand alone. They are like lonely persons. Not like hermits who have stolen away out of some weakness, but like great, solitary men, like Beethoven and Nietzsche. In their highest boughs the world rustles, their roots rest in infinity; but they do not lose themselves there, they struggle with all the force of their lives for one thing only: to fulfill themselves according to their own laws, to build up their own form, to represent themselves. Nothing is holier, nothing is more exemplary than a beautiful, strong tree. When a tree is cut down and reveals its naked death-wound to the sun, one can read its whole history in the luminous, inscribed disk of its trunk: in the rings of its years, its scars, all the struggle, all the suffering, all the sickness, all the happiness and prosperity stand truly written, the narrow years and the luxurious years, the attacks withstood, the storms endured. And every young farm boy knows that the hardest and noblest wood has the narrowest rings, that high on the mountains and in continuing danger the most indestructible, the strongest, the ideal trees grow.

Trees are sanctuaries. Whoever knows how to speak to them, whoever knows how to listen to them, can learn the truth. They do not preach learning and precepts, they preach, undeterred by particulars, the ancient law of life.

A tree says: A kernel is hidden in me, a spark, a thought, I am life from eternal life. The attempt and the risk that the eternal mother took with me is unique, unique the form and veins of my skin, unique the smallest play of leaves in my branches and the smallest scar on my bark. I was made to form and reveal the eternal in my smallest special detail.

A tree says: My strength is trust. I know nothing about my fathers, I know nothing about the thousand children that every year spring out of me. I live out the secret of my seed to the very end, and I care for nothing else… Out of this trust I live.

When we are stricken and cannot bear our lives any longer, then a tree has something to say to us: Be still! Be still! Look at me! Life is not easy, life is not difficult. Those are childish thoughts…. You are anxious because your path leads away from mother and home. But every step and every day lead you back again to the mother. Home is neither here nor there. Home is within you, or home is nowhere at all.

A longing to wander tears my heart when I hear trees rustling in the wind at evening. If one listens to them silently for a long time, this longing reveals its kernel, its meaning. It is not so much a matter of escaping from one’s suffering, though it may seem to be so. It is a longing for home, for a memory of the mother, for new metaphors for life. It leads home. Every path leads homeward, every step is birth, every step is death, every grave is mother.

So the tree rustles in the evening, when we stand uneasy before our own childish thoughts: Trees have long thoughts, long-breathing and restful, just as they have longer lives than ours. They are wiser than we are, as long as we do not listen to them. But when we have learned how to listen to trees, then the brevity and the quickness and the childlike hastiness of our thoughts achieve an incomparable joy. Whoever has learned how to listen to trees no longer wants to be a tree. He wants to be nothing except what he is. That is home. That is happiness.”

-Hermann Hesse, Baume, Betrachtungen und Gedichte

 

I Found Myself

I found myself
That silent one,
The one that watches quietly.

I found myself,
The one that only listens;
not the talking, know-it-all, 
not that one.

I found my self,
the one who feels the hurt and sits in agony;
the one who feels the love and basks in it.

I found that still one.

I found my self,
the one who enjoys the sun rise.

self

D Pomeroy 24″ x 24″ acrylic on canvas

Love

“Love is all you need.” – John Lennon
“Gravitation is not responsible for people falling in love.” ~Albert Einstein
“Who, being loved, is poor?” ~Oscar Wilde
“Love must be as much a light, as it is a flame.” ~Henry David Thoreau
“Love is composed of a single soul inhabiting two bodies” – Aristotle
Love one another….

My broken heart

“My Bleeding Heart”
2009, Acrylic on canvas, 24″ x 24″

Coming to terms with my humanity…

I sit in a stir of molecules,
of elements,
of space between atoms
that somehow stick together to make the me that I am.

I look with eyes born of the very elements I perceive
and wonder with amazement at the great trick
our perceptions play on us…

Seeing in the Dark, Acrylic on Canvas 36"x48" 2011

Seeing in the Dark, Acrylic on Canvas 36″x48″ 2011