Today, a treat: “Origami,” a short animated film by Kei Kanamori that was shortlisted for an Oscar, plus a poem of the same title by Joyce Sutphen. By the time you’re viewing and reading this, it may have well won an Oscar
Origami is the Japanese traditional art form of paper folding. Are you among the origami makers on The Raft?
How will you fold the paper of your life?
ORIGAMI Joyce Sutphen It starts with a blank sheet, an undanced floor, air where no sound erases the silence. As soon as you play the first note, write down a word, step onto the empty stage, you've moved closer to the creature inside. Remember— a square can end up as frog, cardinal, mantis, or fish. You can make what you want, do what you wish.(My thanks to both the filmmaker and the poet, via Poetry Foundation.)
Sometimes, maybe more often than we’d like to admit, our lives feel not so much like an art piece of Origami so much as a scrunched up ready to be waste paper basket food. . .
LOOK
at the FOLDS of your Life
some of the greatest wrinkles/crinkles/folds aren’t the ones you planned or expected
which makes us always question:
IS YOUR LIFE FOLDING
UN-FOLDING
as you planned or even begun to imagine. . . ?
FIDDLE FART AROUND
I once told my wife I was going out to buy an envelope:
“Oh”, she said, “well, you’re not a poor man. You know, why don’t you go online and buy a hundred envelopes and put them in the closet?”
And so I pretended not to hear her. And went out to get an envelope because I have a hell of a good time in the process of buying one envelope.
I meet a lot of people. And see some great looking babies. And a fire engine goes by. And I give them the thumbs up. And I’ll ask a woman what kind of dog that is. And, and I don’t know. The moral of the story is – we’re here on Earth to fart around.
And, of course, the computers will do us out of that. And what the computer people don’t realise, or they don’t care, is we’re dancing animals. You know, we love to move around. And it’s like we’re not supposed to dance at all anymore.
Let’s all get up and move around a bit right now… or at least dance.
Kurt Vonnegut
FIDDLE FARTING AROUND
Don’t fiddle fart around
they all said
grandparents, parents, teachers, friends
because it’ll all lead to NOTHING
they all said
Now your words won’t come out
and your thoughts won’t go away
as you lay in a hospice bed
where other Fiddle Farters have died
Your memories rattle much louder
than your wheezing-can’t-take-in-any-more-air-lungs
knowing that fiddle farting around
was much more than a NOTHING
and a flavorable dash more of SOMETHING
that’ll have you dying wishing for a lot more of EVERYTHING
JUST A MOMENT: WHEN A MUG HOLDS MORE THAN JUST A DRINK
It’s a simple
yet a very profound question. . .
What makes your mug your mug. . . ?
What literally gives it
not just meaning
but it’s sip-ability
It’s amazing even when it’s empty
When it’s your mug
It’s filled with much more
than your favorite beverage or drink. . .
It’s filled with once upon a time in memories
and significant just a moments
and they’re so overflowing
that it can’t help but to be shared
with another
. . .What makes your mug
your mug. . . ?
In just a moment
without even a paused ponder
you know
and sharing what you know
of these sip-abilities
is most holy
S I P
O N
COMMUNION CRUMBS
He ate his muffin
like a sacred communion
Sweet and meltable on the tongue
His sips were
an ice expresso latte
Dark, like aged blood
that has long ago been pumped
but waiting for the next wound to seep
as it is enlightened with a
a cream of dull lightness
It was sacred
this sweet, energized communioning
as he broke, partook, sipped
away from old memories of past sins
and new promises of, “I’ll do better’s”
With head bowed
eyes tightly closed
lingering tastes
and a renewed grateful spirit
These sacred sips
blessed bits
hold unclaimed promises
hopes of futures
that come to us in the same way
In sips and bits
and not ever usually
in “all at once’s”
Reserved for all
but only granted to the Patient
Communion crumbs
hold what most leave
or annoying just brush away
even while they promise
the tastiest blessings of redemption
LOVED INTO BEING
https://youtu.be/jmFEKCwONkg?si=rFaYlvdZZ9xdDTs
WHO HAS LOVED YOU
WHO HAS LOVED YOU INTO BEING
I truly hope you took
A MINUTE
with Mr. Rogers and Lloyd
and experienced the
WONDER OF YOU
and how you are
LOVED
TO LOVE
Is it really
JUST THIS EASY
Mr. Rogers would lie. . .
LOVED TO LOVE
(beginning with yourself)
YOUR REMEMBER WHEN’ER
This video has been making it’s rounds as the Holiday season is in full force unfolding before us. No matter what we believe or in what various moods/feelings we are treading or at times, seemingly drowning in, Holidays or not, it goes to the heart of our remembering, our once upon a times, that at times feels like hugging a porcupine and yet we squeeze all the more harder to keep those memories close and to actually do all we can to bring them back to vivid, living color so that we can feel all that is good, all that is love, all that once upon a time was. . .
Sometimes it’s not so much
WHAT YOU REMEMBER
as
T H A T
you are
R E M E M B E R E D. . .
Memories are precious
and the only things more important:
THE MEMORIES YET TO BE CREATED. . .
this holiday season
May your greatest memories
be those you’ve yet to create
(but undoubtedly will)
Let your Remember’er
bring you
what
THE NEW
sometimes can never quite promise
(and may your Remember’er do it often)
S U M M E R I N G
I am not the only one who
THINKS
or most certainly
F E E L S
I T. . .
But I keep looking for the rest of Summer
as soon as the last sparkler loses its sparkle
on the 4th of July
which got me to thinking about things
a little beyond Summer
and this one Summer of 2023
being the last one any of us will
ever live. . .
h e n c e:
100 Summers
100 Summers from now
I’ll be gone
and so will everyone
I know and love
(and you too, dear reader)
My name won’t be
remembered or spoken
The Okay-ness
of this is that after
100 Summers gone
is there’ll be as many
Falls, Winters and Springs
taking their places as
100 Seasons before
without much explanation
(recently written for a 15 poems in 10 day challenge for local gems)
Uhhhhhhhhh
days gone by
are never really days
g o n e. . . .