evolving the self

 

the gift of ignorance

what do we really know of another?

let alone, what do we ever really know of our self?

what do we really know at all?

we live in ignorance,

and we can easily convince ourselves 

instead that "we've got it,"

I feel that my father gave me a great gift,

the wisdom to embrace

the realizing that we are ignorant,

for then we have a hole that can be filled,

questions arise that thirst for answers,

and we become more of value

as understanding starts to fill the hole,

and our thirst is assuaged for awhile,

too much sureness is dangerous,

for then we are not curious,

it is in being curious and seeking to know better

that the evolution of our self stumbles forward.

by Henry H. Walker

April 2, ‘26

reprising creation

 

the artist within

there is the soul of an artist within each of us,

one who sees a rightness that can exist

and hopes to make it so,

I look at a magnificent bluff in Utah,

and I see pattern that aches to be noticed,

I see petroglyphs that ache to make it so,

this artist within grasps burgeoning pattern

and feels how it can come together,

upon paper, upon the stage,

within things that we make,

in whatever crafting of beauty we undertake,

with whatever tools are available,

and then it can be so,

for me, words are my tools,

I build frameworks to hold 

as much of what reveals itself to me

as I can contain within the net I build with words,

I still wonder about the source of the creative impulse,

something in the universe loves the building

of the random into complexity, chaos into order,

our pink dogwood spent the winter with tight terminal buds,

and now each bud releases the flower within,

to manifest as the flower without,

every blossom is defiance against entropy,

order against meaninglessness,

and, in the noticing, joy should coalesce within us,

we should notice, and mark, and commemorate

what we can know and celebrate

as order and meaning strive hard to birth themselves

into the world we all share,

the artist within can then exult

in every reprise of creation itself

however true or clumsy that reprise might be.

by Henry H. Walker

March 26, ‘26

pilgrims to the flowers

 transformation without and within

the world speaks clearly when we open ourselves to hearing it,

today's afternoon sun brilliantly highlights

the cavorting upper reaches of the soft green

and bronzed yellows of the awakening oaks,

against the brilliant blue of today's dry sky,

the world is poised to erupt in plant growth,

though I fear for the tenderness of my early tomato plantings,

we have a blood root which is ready to bloom before it really leaves,

I believe in the power of an audience

to notice and celebrate whenever, wherever

nature puts on a show,

it is good to notice others in the audience

and feel a solidarity with their reactions,

we just were pilgrims to glories in America's Southwest,

we anticipate a week from now being pilgrims again,

this time to the Smokies,

where just one wildflower's reality

can near deafen us with its glory,

it is good to be open to such sounds coming at us

and to share the transformation within

as we experience glory without.

by Henry H. Walker

March 23, ‘26