It’s all about perspective.
I could say 2016 was a pretty crappy year all around. Idols too numerous to count died, England seceded from the EU, war and terrorism atrocities abounded, wildfires raged, the refugee crisis took hold, the zika virus spread, and a corrupt, power hungry businessman who demeans women was elected president of the US.
I could also say 2016 was a wonderful year. Harriet Tubman will be on the $20 bill, tiger and panda numbers are on the rise, the world’s largest marine reserve will be created in Antarctica, a peace treaty ended a 50 year war in Colombia, India planted 50 million trees in one day, the ice bucket challenge paid the way for the breakthrough discovery of the gene responsible for ALS, unemployment hit its lowest level in the US since the recession, the first Somali-American lawmaker, Latina senator, and Indian-American congresswoman were elected, and my nephew was born.
As I said, it’s all about perspective.
In the 1600’s there was a great haiku poet named Matsuo Kinsaku (later named Basho). On the surface his poetry seems simple. Three lines of poetry evoking a scene of nature. It’s easy to overlook the craft with which he forms a poem. To dismiss the way he effortlessly captures both the lightness and the true depth of a scene. To me, his poetry is a constant reminder to question my judgements and assumptions. So this week, I’ll share two of my favorite poems from Basho:
Sparrows in eaves,
mice in ceiling-
celestial music.
This is the question of perspective again, or if you wish, attitude. Do we see our circumstances only as problems? Pests or rodents making homes in our walls, spreading filth or disease or destruction. Do we focus on the idea that it shouldn’t be this way? On the potential damage done? Or can we discover the music in a small moment of noise? Can we shift our perspective for the moment to still enjoy some part of our lives even when there are small forces eroding our foundations?
When I bend low
enough, purseweed
beneath my fence.
The fences we build, the walls we erect… they seem permanent. Solid. Protective. We build them throughout our lives, both physically and emotionally. What maybe started out as a way to feel safe turns into a feeling of constriction. We may accidentally cut ourselves off from the joy of connection. And isn’t that what makes life beautiful? The feeling of connecting with our friends, our family, or even strangers who cross our paths at the right time. But fences need to be maintained. No matter how well they are built, when we look closely, we see that life won’t be kept out. Life will grow under, around and eventually, through. Let it. You can see it as a weed, or a pest, or you can see it as the strength of nature to show that life prevails. Make your choice.
A (cr)happy new year to you all!
Thanks,
Marla Bender