the frontier of land and sea

 

divine without, divine within

the coast in Maine does not subtly transition from land to sea,

as it does in the flatlands of Down East North Carolina,

here "Down East" is where hills drop quickly to water,

whether ocean, or river, or bay, or lake,

here is where rocks brazenly endure 

and waves crash with exuberance,

here remembers the great glaciers

in the roundness of mountains and the solidity of bedrock just under all,

this mid-October color flares tree and shrub,

so sometimes the road is a golden tunnel

and maples blaze so red

that they are an artist's expression of patterned fire,

even the green of the spruce is vibrant,

my wife's sister has chased where land meets mother sea,

where the ancient beauty of tempestuous ocean is nearby her,

where a home can be made 

in Santa Barbara, San Francisco, Olympia,

Bar Harbor, Castine, Ellsworth,

there where it's the frontiers that attract,

the edges between two worlds,

the ocean called to her to swim in it,

to literally immerse into its edge,

to walk its bounds with feet and soul,

to savor its bounty on the table,

on the walls, and in her heart,

how parallel the avian world is to hers,

bounties of birds thrive just where she does,

both feed on the possibilities such abundance casually creates,

the Divine allows glimpses of itself

here where frontier rubs off the callouses

that the commonplace can too easily allow

between the divine without and the divine within.

by Henry H. Walker

October 21, ‘24

idiocy vs hope

 hope?

I am an optimist at heart,

I imagine an innate goodness within people,

the only way I could get to sleep in November, 2016,

when Trump unexpectedly won

was to declare to myself inside: "I choose hope!"

my decades of teaching actually supported such positivity,

true, my middle schoolers could choose wrong,

could choose a quick response over a measured one,

the lesser over the greater,

illusion over the harsh path

that might be what truly called to their feet,

with support, and love, they usually found the way forward,

now I worry about our country,

too many of the people who are part of us,

seem oblivious to the danger

of the forked tongues of candidates and media,

they who tell us what we want to hear,

what the lesser in us chooses to believe,

so as to escape from what is real

to the fantasy of what we want to be true,

it is all summed-up for me in a Congresswoman

whose response this week to a devastating storm

is to blame liberals who she claims can control the weather,

whether such idiocy can rule our choice of leaders

will be tested in a few weeks on election day.

by Henry H. Walker

October  10, ‘24

of pride, and history

 

how are we defined?

I blurt out to a new German friend

my white privilege guilt:

my genes are only of northwest Europe,

no diversity in my background, not even Neanderthal,

I have no empathic leap before my words are spoken

as to how what I say might feel to one

whose personal roots are primarily of Germany,

I recalibrate my thoughts

and query: "What makes you proud of being German?"

the very question makes no sense to him,

the accident of birth lays no burden or worth on him,

instead he is thankful for all the positive in his own life:

his wife, his children, his work, their health care,

his community where all together

grapes are grown, made into fine wine,

and shared, sold, to make a difference,

it's not the national history,

but still maybe it's the culture that holds him,

it is the real people who raised him,

who share a life with him,

that every day weave connections that hold him where he is,

that define him as to who he is,

it is easy to lose yourself and the consequences of your own actions

when you consider your ancestor's mistakes,

in my case, enslaving people and profiting from immoral choices,

my hope is that my ancestors lived a goodness in much of their lives,

yet I still have to figure how to come to terms with choices

that now seem so wrong to me,

I pray that I can carry forward the hope of every life,

despite the darkness that also calls to our hearts.

by Henry H. Walker

September  27, ‘24

a week with cousins

 

a visit to Germany

we just spent over a week in Germany,

4300 miles, or so, east of home,

a land ancient compared to how long people have been in North America,

the visit feels like it was a family thing,

these are cousins with whom we have not kept up,

so we visit and marvel

both at how similar we are

and how different we are,

the language makes me feel

like I am far too young a person,

for I only really know to say

"please," "thank you," "goodbye,"

I work to figure out the names of towns,

"Garmish-Partenkirchen," "Muchen,"

the highest mountain in Germany, "Zugspitze,"

pronounced with the help of my son

with a reference to the movie "Goldfinger,"

any sophisticated thought still only possible for me

to reach for in English,

I have profound thoughts and learnings from there,

it troubles me how much I don't know the language of their thoughts,

I know the language of their kindnesses,

as strangers who help us navigate the subway system,

and others use English to tell us of deep feelings and thoughts,

while I "grok" what I can and keenly feel as the stranger,

it is a land that may not be strange at all,

but a land within which I visit 

and expand myself, 

enthusiastically.

by Henry H. Walker

October  1, ‘24