Here’s the winning poem in Tricycle Magazine’s Best of Season haiku for Fall 2026.
this world we live in
ten thousand scarecrows on guard
and only one bird
You can find your own interpretation but I consider that we are the one bird that can defeat those who try to scare us with what is false. As birds we fly up, and seeing the whole field, we feast on the truth.
Hannah Arrendt in an interview recorded in 1973 and published after her death:
“If everyone always lies to you, the consequence is not that you believe the lies, but that no one believes anything at all anymore – and rightly so, because lies, by their very nature, have to be changed, to be “re-lied,” so to speak. So a lying government which pursues different goals at different times has to constantly rewrite its own history. That means that the people are deprived not only of their capacity to act, but also of their capacity to think and to judge. And with such a people you can then do what you please.”
It’s time to hold the GOP accountable for their lies and deceit. Be like a bird. Take a bath!
Going through photos from the summer of 2019, I came to a visit to Land’s End, and then to the labyrinth above Rodeo Beach.
In my meditation today, I found myself visualizing H.A.L. 9000 in the movie 2001: A Space Odyssey as he was being shut down for malfunctioning. H.A.L. stands for Heuristically Programmed Algorithmic Computer. According to AI, heuristically means that the computer would “solve problems, learn, or discover things through practical experience, trial and error, or mental shortcuts rather than strict rules or exhaustive calculations”. It was programmed to be like “us”.
Oddly, I found myself reflecting back to A, B, C, and 1, 2, 3. Then I settled into earth, water, fire, and air, and felt my blood and bones, the movement and passage of air. Can a computer do that? Perhaps.
Herman Hesse wrote: While wandering down the path of wonder, I briefly escape the world of separation and enter the world of unity.
The morning when I read that the president wants the new fleet of aircraft carriers to more resemble those from World War II even though the change could cost billions, I thought of how senility can settle in so that one doesn’t know what time period they’re living in. They’re caught in a world of separation, their own mental breakdown.
I’m hoping to keep flossing my brain cells so my synapses can flow and connect to the time in which I live which changes every moment, and yet, within impermanence is simplicity as we adapt, connect and perceive a world of unity.
Our president needs to be shut down and removed. He is malfunctioning. It’s way past time.
Dr. Rachel Naomi Remen died at the age of 87 on August 8th. At the age of 15, she was diagnosed with Crohn’s Disease. Not given the expectation of a long life, she chose not to marry or have children. She became a doctor, an amazing doctor and healer, and did that work for 65 years. I have two of her books, Kitchen Table Wisdom and My Grandfather’s Blessings. I highly recommend both.
Both books are filled with wonder, hope, and inspiration. I open to this in Kitchen Table Wisdom. She’s on a visit to Fiji where she’s informed “it’s considered good manners in Fiji to acknowledge total strangers on the street.” “The proper form was to make eye contact and acknowledge each other either by nodding and smiling or by saying “Bu-la”. I’m reminded of my time in Nepal where Namaste and a bow with palm-touching hands was a given.
She returned to California from Fiji and noticed walking on her local street no one greeted her or smiled at her. She writes “In some very profound way I felt both invisible and diminished. Yet the street was totally familiar. It was my home.”
She continues: “The Fijians are aware of a basic human law. We all influence one another. We are a part of each other’s reality. There is no such thing as passing someone and not acknowledging your moment of connection, not letting others know their effect on you and seeing yours on them. For Fijians, connection is natural, just the way the world is made. Here, we pass each other with our lights out as ships in the night.”
This morning I woke to the sound of rain. Yesterday a friend and I walked back and forth to Tennessee Valley Beach. Though the weather was iffy, we felt the call, and then the colors in the gray were another call, another stroke of the gift of life in water, earth, air, and stone.
I’m re-reading Gretel Ehrlich’s book, The Solace of Open Spaces. She writes of the dances of Native people, the gatherings, the connection with sun, rain, earth, our breath, our steps.
I read Garrison Keillor’s column this morning. He writes:
I’m told that it would take about $167 billion to eliminate malnutrition; about $160 billion worth of food is wasted every year. Somewhere in there is part of the answer. Call it Democratic socialism, call it Christian obedience, but it’s a principle we need to agree on. And then we need to agree on Medicare for everyone. This summer I’ve gotten hauled into a couple of New York ERs along with people with no funds, no insurance, and the absolute kindness of doctors and nurses testifies to the goodness of our country. Highly trained professionals leaning down to comfort one Lazarus after another — Abraham would be pleased.
It’s rather simple isn’t it.
Thich Nhat Hanh: “Emptiness means to be full of everything but empty of a separate existence.”
I listen to Pico Iyer speak of The Pilgrim’s Way on Waking Up. One section, The Chapels of Contemplation, brings me to Naoshima and the Chichu Art Museum. In his immersion in the art and life there, Iyer writes: “In truth the soul’s joy and liberation lie on every side of us, if only we can come to our senses.”
Come to our senses.
Pause, and if you’re intrigued, venture into the museum and integrate into a way of living in community on an island in the Seto Inland Sea in Japan. Is Naoshima Utopia? Read the article and see what you think. Certainly it invites a look into how to integrate old and young, nature and art, and new ways of perceiving and being in the connecting liveliness that brings stillness to our world.
https://benesse-artsite.jp/en/soichiro-fukutake.html
On Friday, I watched my six-year old grandson spend 30 minutes applying orange post-its to a small green jeep to give it a roof and side doors. It required great scrutiny, attention, and care. Now, today, my son sent me a photo of him putting on his new cleats for baseball camp. We bought them last week because the others were too small, and he wanted to wait for the new camp this week to wear them. He’s moved out of youth sizes into adult – size 1. Wow! And the cleats have shoe strings which he ties himself.
I sit with it all – processing the passing of a friend’s father and with his death, his parting message of the fullness of love to her, love, love, love dropping into and filling her heart. I read daily of impermanence, and sometimes it’s so clear, a beautiful light and lift to the heart we share.
Thursday evening, my grandson and I were at Filoli Gardens visiting Rose Wonders, the troll created from nature by Thomas Dambo. It was quiet, just us.
Haruki Murakami:
Silence, I discover, is something you can actually hear.
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