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The housefly and me
We bask together in the sun. Against this southeast window
he is finding spring strength in tireless morning exercise.
Starting from the lower frame he walks up the pane
a few inches. Reaching an invisible barrier, he flutters
and slides back down to the casing, and immediately
starts again, straight up the window escarpment.
His zenith rises higher each trip. It has been some
five minutes, and he can now get to six inches
before falling back to the maple ledge. I sit and wait
for water to boil in the kitchen behind me.
Whisker-legs rappel back down the glass. The glass-top
burner sputters with moisture on the bottom of the pot.
In the time it takes to whistle, he has reached nine inches.
The smell of spiced chai steeps in creamy sweetness.
Sunday morning warms in a March sun.
Alongside a red pen, bright spines of books face me
with titles of the inner journey—what is real, mystery, being.
My fly climbs and falls, climbs and falls, climbs and falls,
separated from the sun by glass. When the window opens
in another month, he’ll fly. I will have studied another few
chapters, including this one about the author’s trek to a far-off
Indian temple with a Maharajji, the author's sudden tears
fluttering down his cheeks, and down the cliffs of the mountain
he'd conquered, when he realizes his home was right here inside all along.
March 2012
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Oh, Ruth -- your words are magic and give the reader the feeling of being there, beside you, beside the books, watching as our fly-friend climbs and falls.
ReplyDeleteLovely. Thank you for this vignette of the little fly and you, each working on your paths. Loved the photo of the bubbly chai in the heather cup next to the exotic locale postcard.
ReplyDeletesuch distances traveled, ruth, and what work to arrive where? i was thinking of this just this morning - again. heh. life begets life. we try to learn to try to learn. we love to love. we breathe to breathe. if we are lucky, at times even we fly.
ReplyDeletexo
erin
Wonderful words of both your worlds.
ReplyDeleteMmmmm chai....Mmmmm sun...
ReplyDeleteYou and your fly on your separate, singular journeys; you, flying, leaving a beautiful image in your wake. Such grace. Thank you.
What motivates the fly, I wonder, with such a need to keep trying? Thinking of its labor, I wonder what I can learn. (Or should I take my lesson from the author of your book?) You always make me think, Ruth.
ReplyDeleteWhen we connect with other beings like this, we gain a new layer of perception, a new set of senses.
ReplyDeleteBrings to mind the myth of Sisyphus.
ReplyDeleteI love how the Maharajji comes in at the end to complete this trek, Sister! Perfect.
ReplyDelete-happy sigh- Many layered and beautiful.
ReplyDeleteHow lovely it must be, to be able to capture so many things, in poetry. I'm glad you can, and that you share it, with us.
"Seeing what is in front of one's nose requires a constant struggle."
~~George Orwell
I like the informal mood, the sense of peace, and the perspective in this much. This is what Sunday mornings are all about.
ReplyDeleteYou write such beautiful words “The smell of spiced chai steeps in creamy sweetness.
ReplyDeleteSunday morning warms in a March sun.” For a beautiful photo we can say that it is “eye-candy” for your beautiful words can I say “hear-candy” ? because it is.
Fabulous! The transition to the last three stanzas is particularly effective. Here's a song you might like about flies:
ReplyDeletehttp://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SQv7fU9HS6g
Jeanie, thanks so much.
ReplyDeleteMiss Jane, thank you. I received the postcard from Inge who took a trip to Hawaii, where she swam every day for a week and a half. I wondered if I might catch my fly in my chai, doing the backstroke ...
erin, living this moment is the thing, whatever it is.
Thanks, Reena.
ReplyDeleteds, I could have watched the fly for hours. After a while a lady bug joined him.
Barb, yes, what instincts keep him going? And us as well?
rosaria, yes. Don't you love watching flies rub their legs together?
ReplyDeleteRubye Jack, I hadn't thought of that!
Boots, thank you! I was reading the story of Richard Alpert, aka Ram Dass.
Auntie, thank you for reading, again and again.
ReplyDeleteHedge, thanks a lot. I hope that you are feeling much better after your accident!
Vagabonde, you are kind, thanks so much.
Loring, thanks! And for sharing the Worthington song out of your vast turntable and personal YouTube selections. I like it!
Who'd of ever thought you could read so much into the activities or exercises of a simple housefly? Love the metaphors here. As always - so beautifully written!
ReplyDeleteThank you, Marcie, you are very kind.
ReplyDeleteRuth, I just love how cerebral your poetry is. The imagery is not for imagery's sake, but pointing to an idea, a thought that often surprises as we come to the last stanza, the last line. Thanks again for an interesting poem, 2 unconnected thoughts conjured up as I read: Sisyphus and John Donnes's 'The Flea'. ;)
ReplyDeleteThis is such a skillful combination of close, close attention to detail and weaving a life philosophy into the fabric. Is the philosophy lighting and enlightening the images observed and so well rendered here, or, just the opposite, is it the imagery that illuminates the philosophy? Both, probably. I found myself thinking this makes for a wonderful companion piece to Emily Dickinson’s “I Heard a Fly Buzz When I Died”, and has just the opposite effect, using the fly to make us feel alive.
ReplyDeleteArti, thanks so much. And what a wonder that poem is! I had not read it until now. Three such stanzas, about love, marriage, fear, sin and death, all from a couple of flea bites!
ReplyDeleteLorenzo, thank you, and yes both, simultaneously. I suppose one sits down in a frame of mind that is open to 'most anything. And so, comes the fly. Thank you also for the ED poem, which I did not know before. It rings a gentle alarm buzz, until she . . . could not see to see. What a wonderful poem and revelation.
This meditation is definitely in Sunday country, less bounded, taking serious matters with the attention of one long into the work, enough so that the repeated journeys of the fly up the window reflects our attempts to gain vantage on a spirit we too often think is on the other side of the pane, when all is right (here). Supple, charming, free. - Brendan
ReplyDeleteBrendan, thanks a lot for reading my Sunday meditation and for your kind words. As you well know, much of the work is simply showing up, believing there is always more to be unearthed (or unwatered in your case). Maybe what we do is really a matter of saying the same thing again and again through different arrangements of letters, characters, movements. And so, it is never done.
ReplyDeleteWow, this is a wonderful poem - something all can relate to.
ReplyDelete