Tonight, as I walked under the starlit sky, praying and thinking, I had one of those moments that rarely come these days. One of those moments where you feel like you are holding one of the most tremendous gifts in your hand, and all the joy and inspiration of the ages and the Bible and all the good poetry you ever read comes welling up in you and all you want to do is hold that gift and breathe over it and use it.
anointing life is hope and rain gently sighs in every inch of my cracked heart and every breath is joy and every step of this dance in the rain is a grateful thirsty heart’s praise and tears mingle in this rain and I can believe againinhopeandYouaremyhopemyhopeisinYouandYouaretheMakeroftherainandhope
Just recently I have been reminded of the importance of community. I am by nature not someone who gravitates toward community, but I have learned and am learning how important it is to surround yourself with trustworthy people. These ladies, the Baanies, have taught me so much. Where I fail, they make up for it. My weaknesses are their strengths, my strengths are their weaknesses. Alone we could never do what we do now. They have taught me about friendship, about sharing, about beauty, about strength, about trust. Close to a year ago I blogged a poem about my “baanies.” Click here to read it. Now it’s close to a year later and with several of them leaving, I find myself a bit nostalgic. I don’t post these poems because I think they are masterpieces in the realm of poetry– they’re not. But even if the rhythm and rhyming is stilted and simple, it embodies some of what these ladies bring to life here in Chiang Mai, Thailand.
Oh, we live in house that leaks when it rains
And spiders have tea in the cracks
But we are the Baanies so we don’t mind
Cause we’ve got each other’s backs
Judi on the left.
Judi went home, she said, “just because”
But we all really know why
There’s a guy named Mike she thinks she likes
Even though she’s back in Chiang Mai;
This Mike, we think, may be ok
But we’re keeping our eyes trained tight:
He’d better be good, and do as he should
Or we will all put him to flight.
Kim and a Thai friend making cookies
Kim is well and busy as ever
And next week she is saying goodbye
To the tropics of Thailand for the snows of the North
For the handshake instead of the wai;
We’ll miss her heaps and all of her songs
And her passion and kindness as well,
But she’ll shine her light wherever she is
That we can surely foretell.
Crystal on the left.
Crystal keeps life in this house refreshing
When naps in the bathroom she takes,
She likes to push others into the pool
And finds in her bike long skinny snakes;
She’s got a heart that is made of gold
(So her students would gladly say)
Coffee makes her happy (and of course us too)
She is just fun to be with all day.
When snakes are around
Ask Crystal if she enjoys chicken now…
Oh, we live in house that leaks when it rains
And spiders have tea in the cracks,
But we are the Baanies so we don’t mind
Cause we’ve got each other’s backs.
Melissa on the left
Melissa is as sweet and understanding as ever
And just in the weeks that passed
She bravely called a man to come kill our rats
(Even though her heart beat fast)
Her Thai is better than ever before
But she is going home in May
This makes us wonder who will clean the kitchen
And makes us sadder than we can say.
Nancy: second to right
Nancy has learned how to speak Thai
And she’s really good at latte art
We all like to listen when she laughs
And hers is a kind, sensitive heart
She drives a funny, yellow Fino
A lot like a bumblebee, I’d say
She zips around corners and weaves through traffic
While we hold on tight and— pray.
A Lawa friend’s wedding
Oh, we live in house that leaks when it rains
And spiders have tea in the cracks
But we are the Baanies so we don’t mind
Cause we’ve got each other’s backs.
Brit on the left
Brit will be an aunt before too long
We’re all happy for her sake
She doesn’t lose her phone as much anymore
And you should see the fires she makes
She’s smart and selfless and loves little kids
And really, she’s almost Thai,
And when we think of her leaving for home
The only thing we want to do — is cry.
Lori in her happy place
Lori’s still here and her hair is even grayer
And she’s slipped down her stairs a few times
She’s got itchy feet and she dreams of the mountains
How can I tell? Because the poetry is alive in my brain again. There’s more color in the sky, in the grass, in the mountains. And not just because of the rain.
After the brain fog and brutal heat of March, April and May and the ridiculous intensity of our work schedule, there was no longer any poetry bubbling in my brain. There was only dragging myself out of bed in the morning, forcing myself to eat something so I would have energy for the day, and then at the end of an exhausting day weighing myself and discovering I had lost yet another 2 pounds. If there had been poetry, it would have gone like this:
It’s so so hot/ I feel like meat/ Left out of the fridge/ In all this heat/ Like boiled cabbage/ And leftover peas/ That’s what I feel like/ (groaaaannn…. more water, please)
And that’s actually not poetry. It rhymes. But its not real poetry.
But now there’s poetry bubbling again and not just my own. One of these days I would love to sit down and trace back through all the poems that have shaped my life. Poetry that opened doors and windows to a new way of seeing the world through the beauty of words that capture life in crystal clear images. Poetry that thrilled me and inspired me. Poetry that made me laugh. Poetry that captured that feeling inside of you that you yourself didn’t even know existed until that aha moment when it was put into words. And then you think to yourself, “That’s exactly how I feel about it, but I never knew I felt that way.”
Late last night as I defrosted our poor neglected fridge, threw away rotten fried rice and tomatoes and eggs, and debated whether to keep last year’s chocolate or throw it away, I thought poetry and listened to it. And tried to ignore the smell that reeked from the fridge. I listened to Robert Frost and dreamed of someday stopping by woods again on a snowy evening. Oh the pure delight of doing that again! I listened about his road diverging into a wood and said, “I know exactly how you felt.” I listened to Rudyard Kipling’s “East is East and West is West and Never the Twain Shall Meet.” I was curious and felt a little disturbed. Then I listened to Carl Sandburg’s “Fog” and remembered a dear little first grader with honey -blonde hair in front of an audience reciting “Fog” on the last day of school. And I felt pangs of homesickness and pastsickness.( pastsickness: a longing for the past, to relive memories that are sweet after time has washed away all the pain.)
But the poem I like the most of all the evening was this one. After washing out of the fridge thoroughly of all its putrid odors and feeling like it was on its way back to recovery like I was, it was raining once again and I listened to Longfellow’s “The Day is Done.” However much poetry might be bubbling in my brain, my soul is still tinged with tiredness, and this poem echoed the thoughts of my spirit. Sometimes we long for the simple words of some normal human being to soothe our restless spirits, instead of weighty words of theology and religion.
The day is done, and the darkness
Falls from the wings of Night,
As a feather is wafted downward
From an eagle in his flight.
________________________
I see the lights of the village
Gleam through the rain and the mist,
And a feeling of sadness comes o’er me
That my soul cannot resist:
_________________________
A feeling of sadness and longing,
That is not akin to pain,
And resembles sorrow only
As the mist resembles the rain.
______________________
Come, read to me some poem,
Some simple and heartfelt lay,
That shall soothe this restless feeling,
And banish the thoughts of day.
_______________________
Not from the grand old masters,
Not from the bards sublime,
Whose distant footsteps echo
Through the corridors of Time.
_________________________
For, like strains of martial music,
Their mighty thoughts suggest
Life’s endless toil and endeavor;
And to-night I long for rest.
________________________
Read from some humbler poet,
Whose songs gushed from his heart,
As showers from the clouds of summer,
Or tears from the eyelids start;
__________________________
Who, through long days of labor,
And nights devoid of ease,
Still heard in his soul the music
Of wonderful melodies.
_________________________
Such songs have power to quiet
The restless pulse of care,
And come like the benediction
That follows after prayer.
________________________
Then read from the treasured volume
The poem of thy choice,
And lend to the rhyme of the poet
The beauty of thy voice.
_________________________
And the night shall be filled with music,
And the cares, that infest the day,
Shall fold their tents, like the Arabs,
And as silently steal away.
And now, because it is almost midnight, I must fold up my tent and steal away on the road less traveled that leads to bed since I have gone many miles since I have slept and my bed is oh so lovely and dark, yet, I fear not very deep, because East has not yet met West in the making of mattresses. And we will pray that the neighbor’s cats do not come on their little cat feet and fight on my roof.