Outside your room of light, the night is thick and dark and patient. Come outside and live your life as the bats and the possums do, with the moon as your guide. Outside with the night, it is warm with clouds and mysteries. A stranger riding a horse the color of smoke gallops out of the mist at the end of the road. The hooves kick up dust that smells of mint. Outside is where you meet your teachers; a place of unfenceable land where the Wild rules. In the Outside no illusion lasts for long.
bathe your hands in dirt
brown crumbles ancient as time
but don’t make a rut
I remember when I was beautiful; as beautiful as a warm hayloft filled with night and silver moons, chuting stars, stirring hay. I remember the soft sounds of huffing and sighing, and the smell of sweet breath in our nostrils. I remember his great mooned back rising and falling, rising and falling, painted with the dappled pattern of the silver moonlight and great crossed rafters above. I remember when I was round, and open, and full. I remember when I was the moon Herself, smiling.
Maybe somebody is wondering why I put haiku on this blog. It’s because this blog is about encouraging us all to write. Write something. Write anything. Writing is most healing thing I know. Writing makes me whole. When I write I am in touch with my creator spirit – even when I write badly. (Even bad stuff needs a creator.) And when I don’t write, I’m not whole or in touch. It’s a survival thing for me.
This sounds quite grand, but there are many days when I think I don’t have time to write. And some days I just don’t feel like writing. Some days there are such pressing concerns in my life that get in my way (you know, like laundry or tweezing my eyebrows.)
About ten years ago, I read a book about writing. Unfortunately I can’t remember the book’s name or author (I read a lot of books about writing.) I remember it had a blue cover, but that’s about it – except for one suggestion the author made. She (I think it was a woman) suggested writing one haiku poem every day. Haiku are short – only 3 lines and 17 syllables, and yet when you write one, you are creating art. So if you write one every day, then every day you can claim, with perfect truth, “Today I created something – today I am an artist.”
I thought this sounded like an interesting experiment, so I thought, “I’ll try it.”
That was ten years ago, and every day since then (well, nearly every day – about 350 out of 365 days each year) I have written one 17-syllable haiku. Five syllables on the first line, seven on the second, five on the third. I write it in the morning, and even if I write nothing else the rest of the day, I have still written something that day.
By this time I have a lot of haiku. (I hasten to say that not all of them – perhaps not even most of them – are good haiku. But then, some are excellent.)
Today I am an artist. This is a mighty and powerful statement. I suggest you try writing one haiku a day, and every day you will be able to say this too. Eventually you will find yourself believing that it is true. Because it is.
worry can hurt you
scratching the same bloody sores
creates mental pus
Goody Beagle here. You don’t know about me unless you have read my book Dog Park Diary: the social round of Goody Beagle. It’s a good book, and mostly true. But after it was done I found I had more to say about dogs, so I’m writing a blog. It’s on my page on Amazon – just click here or look off to the right of your screen to the Blogroll and click on “Goody’s Blog.”
I say it on the first page of my own website: authors are people with authority. So why am I so surprised that now after my book about my dog Goody (Dog Park Diary: the social round of Goody Beagle) has been published, some people think I am an authority on dogs and dog parks! I’ve been asked to write articles about dogs and dog parks. I was a guest on a radio show, talking about dogs and dog parks. This makes me feel kind of funny, because although I know and love my dog, and I enjoy taking her to the dog park, I wouldn’t call myself an authority. But there it is – the power of the Book. Go ahead – write one. I promise you too can don the mantle of authority.
on summer evenings
swirling clouds of tiny bugs
hold a spiral dance