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Post by louisa on Nov 2, 2008 1:01:11 GMT 2
Morning Glory by Lady Chiyo-Jo
submitted by Athena Kildegaard
When I first read this haiku I copied it onto a card and pinned it above my desk. Then I took it down because it had entered me, and I no longer needed a reminder.
The world is a sensual place: a wooden bucket, purple flowers leaning over the water, a gibbous shadow cast over the surface, the splash of water being dippered out. In poetry, a simple few words can alert our senses.
Lady Chiyo-Jo (1701-1775) stops right there, in the courtyard, utterly attentive to this small, mundane action. We stop with her. What a gift to be welcomed into this task and to this business of attention.
Nothing is small and mundane when we attend to it. Life is tenuous, ephemeral; the morning glories fade, water evaporates, our time for dippering comes to an end. But right at this moment, I'm still there with the lady, enchanted.
But not so enchanted that we're released from responsibility. After all, we've borrowed the water, it's not ours permanently, we have obligations to this world and what's in it, obligations to the need for attentiveness.
That's why I love this poem: it's a reminder of my obligations.
Morning glory in the well-bucket— I borrow water
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Post by katebb on Nov 2, 2008 18:14:36 GMT 2
Indeed this haiku captures something worthy of endless reverie. Thanks for choosing it.
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