Posted on by Cathy Edgett

Poetry

Benedictine monk David Steindl-Rast calls haiku “sacred sensuousness”.  He says “The haiku is a scaffold of words; which is being constructed is a poem of silence; and when it is ready, the poet gives a little kick, as it were, to the scaffold.  It tumbles and silence alone stands.”

I enjoy reading different translations of well-traveled poems.  Basho’s haiku on the frog jumping into the pond plays with sound and silence. It leaves us panting, then resting in the pause of meaning.

Eliot Weinberger’s book 19 Ways of Looking at Wang Wei gives 19 ways of translating a four-line 1200 year old poem.  Some I resonate to, and others not so much.

If, like me, you continue to look for ways to counteract the news of Trump’s daily corruption, I suggest reading, and even writing haiku and poetry as a spiritual practice, as a way to plop like a frog into a pond and ripple in what comes.

Yesterday I was by the bay at low tide, awaiting a medical appointment. I looked out and thought I saw a mother swan carrying babies on her back, but when I took the photo and magnified it, I saw it was sticks popping out of the mud. A visual haiku! Plop. I’m new!

What do you see, receive, believe?
Do you see the crow, the trees, or the ridge beyond?

Posted on by Cathy Edgett

A Memory of Simplicity

Because our weather here is out of alignment with the heat in so much of the world today, I’m  reflecting back, drawn to files of the past.  I come to a poem I wrote years ago about an evening on a month-long trek in the Everest region of Nepal.  It was a day where I’d crawled, literally crawled to the altitude sickness clinic to have a doctor who comes from America as a volunteer lecture me on the insanity of what I was doing at altitude. He gave me a shot of antibiotics and sent me on my way.  He said in one more day, I would have been carried down on the back of a yak. 

Today I read an article on the wisdom people my age know, on what we’ve lived through, and how important it is to convey the transitions we’ve lived through to the young.  I offer a time when I saw how simply one can live, and also the value of medical care, something not available, even now, all these years later, to all.  This was the fall of 1993.  

Khumbu: Everest Region of Nepal

We leave our tent to huddle inside a hut for warmth.

A child dances naked, the wash hung overhead.

The child has no age, no birthday, only grace.

Prayer flags wave, clothes washed in the stream,

A stream wheeled in prayer.  

We tramp through their home like a park,

celebrate and denigrate our day of birth,

as we try to pack their religion 

in the wood and dung smoked scarf

we wrap around our throats,

like a crown, slipping down to our knees

where prayer might be 

as we kneel to cleanse 

in the movement of air 

circling mountains and clouds.

Jay, choosing a peanut over fallen plums in our yard today

Posted on by Cathy Edgett

Light and Joy

I’ve now had quite a response on bedpans. Who knew there was so much change, creativity, and adaptation in the modern world, so that women can enjoy an easier time eliminating when bedridden.

All of this has brought me back to the words and inspiration of Jacques Lusseyran. Blinded at the age of 7, he didn’t slow down and at 17 became a leader in the French Resistance against Nazi Germany’s occupation of France in 1941.  His book And There Was Light is a gift to be re-read over and over.  From the book: 

“I began to look more closely, not at things but at a world closer to myself, looking from an inner place to one further within, instead of clinging to the movement of sight toward the world outside.”  

“Immediately the substance of the universe drew together, redefined and peopled itself anew.  I was aware of a radiance emanating from a place I knew nothing about, a place which might as well have been outside me as within.  But radiance was there, or, to put it more precisely, light. It was a fact, for light was there.”

Light and joy are one for him. If he loses one, he loses the other.  May we all bathe in the element of light, especially now as we resist what’s happening under Trump’s illegal, criminal, and unconstitutional regime.  It’s about how we meet what comes.

As Elsa Gindler said: “A person can get heart disease by climbing a mountain, but can also get rid of heart disease by climbing a mountain.  It depends on how you climb.”

Or how you paddle!
People honor their pace and mode of transport on San Francisco Bay June 19, 2026
Ease



Posted on by Cathy Edgett

Bedpans

My friend has now been in the hospital and a skilled nursing facility for almost two weeks.  She is still using a poorly designed bedpan.  Her spirits are good, and yet, there is this one issue.  She’s looked on Amazon for possibilities, but so far, no luck.  Is there anyone out there with the creative skills to find a solution to this very important problem?

What I’m seeing in her healing confinement is the reminder that though we might feel we’re not contributing when we’re stuck in one place, we actually are.  When I was going through chemo and radiation, a friend pointed out I was a still point for those around me.  

I was the eye, the calm, the center of the hurricane that life can sometimes be. My friend in her bed is truly present for her friends, for all those who come around, and as we rummage around in life’s emotion, distraction, and confusion, she offers clarity, humor, and insights.

Thank you Patty.  

Farming by the Bay
Near and Far
History gathers together in the stability of Rock

Posted on by Cathy Edgett · 2 Comments

Light

Tonight I sat outside with the light of the almost full Strawberry moon.  Creatures scurried around in the ivy below the deck.

I thought of the words of Hafiz: 

What does light talk about?

I asked a plant that once,

It said, “I am not sure,

but it makes me

Grow”.

That brought me to the words of Annie Dillard in Pilgrim at Tinker Creek:

I cannot cause light; the most I can do is try to put myself in the path of its beam. It is possible, in deep space, to sail on solar wind.  Light, be it particle or wave, has force: you rig a giant sail and go. The secret of seeing is to sail on solar wind. Hone and spread your spirit till you yourself are a sail, whetted, translucent, broadside to the merest puff.

And then I came to the words of Nelson Mandela:

It is never my custom to use words lightly. If twenty-seven years in prison have done anything to us, it was to use the silence of solitude to make us understand how precious words are and how real speech is in its impact on the way people live and die.

The Moon Tonight

Posted on by Cathy Edgett

Nature

The summer issue of Orion magazine is all about whales.  Reading about how we were born in the sea, came to land, and then, some chose to return to the sea is thrilling in showing our need for exploration, adaptation, community, and diversity.  

Reading the news today, I contrast killing and greed with the Southern Resident orca named Tahlequah. In 2018, she mourned the death of her newborn calf by carrying it on her head and pushing it through the Salish Sea for 17 days.  She covered 1,000 miles.

Each day, we’re exposed to a need to grieve.  Each day we read of more people hurt by the policies of the Trump administration and other leaders around the world.  We share one planet. Can we learn from what surrounds us, our ancestors, our kin, the birds, the sea, the whales?

A Screech Owl comes to live in a friend’s garden, invited by an Owl House.

Posted on by Cathy Edgett

Community

I was in Redwood City yesterday and spent time in Red Morton Park where my grandson was attending a half-day Circus Camp.  I walked around amidst an array of summer camps: soccer, skateboarding, woodworking, baseball.  The grounds are beautiful and there’s a new senior center.  Rainbow Bridge playground is inspirational for all ages.  I even slid down a slide.  

One plaque by a tree!
Another
Inside a playhouse at Rainbow Bridge Playground
Climbing Up
Coming down!



Posted on by Cathy Edgett

Touch

Yesterday I visited a friend at a Skilled Nursing facility in San Rafael.  Everyone was lovely, and I helped the physical therapist with rehab for my friend which was minimal and painful movement in her condition.  The physical therapist emphasized touch, intention, and connection.  She said to imagine the bones coming together to heal, to not speak the intention, but to imagine and visualize the movement.  The body responds to pictures, images.  We visualized water, bones flowing like water.  In visualizing, we touch, heal, connect.

I then went to the Las Gallinas sanitation facility where there are reclamation ponds providing nesting areas and homes for birds, and respite for those who walk around the ponds, sit on benches, and photograph the scenery and birds.  

Egret rests on a nest on an island in the center of the pond.
A family of ducks glide by.
Two egrets, one a sentry, and the other in flight.
The north side of Mt. Tam in the background

And as I post, my phone alerts me to an earthquake detected. I’m advised to “Drop, Cover, Hold On, Protect Yourself”. And all seems calm in the moment. I hear my gate rattle but all seems intact. Life. Never dull these days. Invitations to notice and connect with what’s happening abound.

Posted on by Cathy Edgett

Above the Fog

I love the fog but today, after my dentist’s appointment, I needed summer warmth and smells so I drove to the top of Mt. Tam. 

Looking West
The ocean lies hidden below and beyond the hills
Switchbacks on the path coming up from the south
Looking Up
Looking East, Mt. Diablo rises from the fog
A wider view looking East
Lake Lagunitas to the North
Looking In – a vein of Quartz