Musingsmusings of Kimiko Karpoff - Creation
Dust
dust
ground cool
alive with life
and I am dust until you breath in me
it is that moment that I smell
the sun on my skin and the ground that falls away
leaving only me
and I see, for the first time, blades of grass
they move with the air and from the red ladybug climbing the tip
the grass amazing, soft, but gently poking at me
and I realize that I can feel
and I can see colours
and I can smell the loamy soil and it is all me
all me
I am of the earth
it is of me
May 19, 2013 (pentecost)
~
flowering
flowers grow from my finger tips
blossoms seeding healing
fragrant with life giving
I offer you my hands
petals of love caressing
blessing you, annointing with nector
your essense is as beautiful as these flowers
your soul blooms with delight
like a daisy opening to the sun
And me, I feel the roots growing
up my arms. We grow together,
me and these flowers
nourished by the Divine
Gardener of Eden. Roots mingling
with the Tree of Life
Thank you for accepting my blossoms and
turning them into love
July 13, 2013
~
Perched
You have me perched on the mountain
High enough for alpine flowers
the way down not immediately apparent
and so I pause to look, pause to see,
the steep slope melding into valley floor, brush and flowers shifting to evergreens
[stream meandering toward a quiet lake]
and looking up, there is sky,
an arc of blue wrapped around the whole world,
embracing creation
I turn and climb up
into your arms
February 13, 2013
~
By any other name?
I am awake
but I cannot smell
the roses
have no scent beautiful though
they are Colour My World
and shaped by master-ish hands
yet only three dimensions
where is the essence
that fills my being?
transporting
where I can sit with eyes closed
and simply by inhaling
know truly and deeply
the awesomeness of Creation
of hope
of gratitude
this flower is pretty
yet I lament that rich wondrous
multi-dimensional beauty
is reduced to a lovely colour
that I must open my eyes to see
August 10, 2012
Naramata
~
Your eyes
Your eyes look
like fish small schools
of mystery of gliding
beauty
May 27, 2012
~
surf of leaves
a surf of leaves crashes
on the shore of the path
frenzied by wind and my feet
undertow pulling me
to whirling delight
dancing me in to the orange red
ocean of yesterday's realities
making way for tomorrow's possibilities
November 14, 2011
~
The window is the door to worlds.
The window is the door to worlds.
A man in a scruffy yellow slicker plods up the hill with a large plastic bag. He stops right there across from the window at the dumpster of the co-op. People have left cans and bottles there. He adds them to his bag and then lifts the dumpster lid. He reaches in to pick a wine bottle off the top and carries on. Tomorrow, I decide, I'll give him the empty bottles in my closet.
It rains. A small child skips down the sidewalk toward the corner. I startle. Will she stop? Will she stop? A call from a woman with an umbrella. "Wait for me there." The child stops at the curb then runs back toward the woman. My heart starts to calm.
A train goes by and a large truck. One heads toward the river, the other the city. I imagine hopping on the train, like an old hobo.
And a neighbour drives out in his new truck while another carries bags of groceries from the IGA [store] down the hill. She taught me how to say a greeting in Korean yesterday. And laughed when I did.
The world is there, the world is there, the world is there.
Step into it. And fly.
February 8, 2011
~
Dance
Holy One
Holyness
Wholey with me, within me
there's a dance that I see
that I want to join
spread my arms and twirl into
spun by the wind
carried, leaping into the arms of the air and piroetting across the sky
A company of leaping, spinning, twirling, joyous. . .us
holding hands across creation
hand to paw to leaf to stone to star to drop to cry to gurgle to wing
we bow to each other, applaud each other
There is a dance I have joined
can you see?
a gentle dip, a step toward, fingers spread to feel the music
a choir of rising, sighing, swirling, luminous. . .we
Blending voices throut ages,
laughter to praise to greeting to grunts to whipsers to bellows to hums to splash to cries
We throw kisses to each other
There is a dance to which we are all joined
March 17, 2009
~
Web of the Morning
I look out into the web of the morning
sun touching water beaded on grass
bird poking beak to grubs wiggling through soil
a sudden swing of willow branch
illuminates wind sweeping past
carrying seeds and pollen and the scent of the ocean
fish swim above sand, rock of a thousand years
cousins or grandparents to the great mountains
the web of the morning
each strand of creation linking me to God
April 23, 2008
~
Does a seed know?
Gracious God
Loving God
Creator God
Create in me
God, I wonder
Does a seed know what flower it will be when it is first planted?
Or must it wait until its blossoms unfold in the sun?
The seed is patient in the ground waiting for its time to wend its way out through the soil, on one end, and further in the soil on the other.
The part we see reflects the glory of creation. The part we don't, the roots, draws in other elements, water and minerals.
God, I turn to you and am rooted in you.
And one day, perhaps, nay indeed, I will know what I am. Even if it be my last day in this garden.
September 16, 2007
dust
ground cool
alive with life
and I am dust until you breath in me
it is that moment that I smell
the sun on my skin and the ground that falls away
leaving only me
and I see, for the first time, blades of grass
they move with the air and from the red ladybug climbing the tip
the grass amazing, soft, but gently poking at me
and I realize that I can feel
and I can see colours
and I can smell the loamy soil and it is all me
all me
I am of the earth
it is of me
May 19, 2013 (pentecost)
~
flowering
flowers grow from my finger tips
blossoms seeding healing
fragrant with life giving
I offer you my hands
petals of love caressing
blessing you, annointing with nector
your essense is as beautiful as these flowers
your soul blooms with delight
like a daisy opening to the sun
And me, I feel the roots growing
up my arms. We grow together,
me and these flowers
nourished by the Divine
Gardener of Eden. Roots mingling
with the Tree of Life
Thank you for accepting my blossoms and
turning them into love
July 13, 2013
~
Perched
You have me perched on the mountain
High enough for alpine flowers
the way down not immediately apparent
and so I pause to look, pause to see,
the steep slope melding into valley floor, brush and flowers shifting to evergreens
[stream meandering toward a quiet lake]
and looking up, there is sky,
an arc of blue wrapped around the whole world,
embracing creation
I turn and climb up
into your arms
February 13, 2013
~
By any other name?
I am awake
but I cannot smell
the roses
have no scent beautiful though
they are Colour My World
and shaped by master-ish hands
yet only three dimensions
where is the essence
that fills my being?
transporting
where I can sit with eyes closed
and simply by inhaling
know truly and deeply
the awesomeness of Creation
of hope
of gratitude
this flower is pretty
yet I lament that rich wondrous
multi-dimensional beauty
is reduced to a lovely colour
that I must open my eyes to see
August 10, 2012
Naramata
~
Your eyes
Your eyes look
like fish small schools
of mystery of gliding
beauty
May 27, 2012
~
surf of leaves
a surf of leaves crashes
on the shore of the path
frenzied by wind and my feet
undertow pulling me
to whirling delight
dancing me in to the orange red
ocean of yesterday's realities
making way for tomorrow's possibilities
November 14, 2011
~
The window is the door to worlds.
The window is the door to worlds.
A man in a scruffy yellow slicker plods up the hill with a large plastic bag. He stops right there across from the window at the dumpster of the co-op. People have left cans and bottles there. He adds them to his bag and then lifts the dumpster lid. He reaches in to pick a wine bottle off the top and carries on. Tomorrow, I decide, I'll give him the empty bottles in my closet.
It rains. A small child skips down the sidewalk toward the corner. I startle. Will she stop? Will she stop? A call from a woman with an umbrella. "Wait for me there." The child stops at the curb then runs back toward the woman. My heart starts to calm.
A train goes by and a large truck. One heads toward the river, the other the city. I imagine hopping on the train, like an old hobo.
And a neighbour drives out in his new truck while another carries bags of groceries from the IGA [store] down the hill. She taught me how to say a greeting in Korean yesterday. And laughed when I did.
The world is there, the world is there, the world is there.
Step into it. And fly.
February 8, 2011
~
Dance
Holy One
Holyness
Wholey with me, within me
there's a dance that I see
that I want to join
spread my arms and twirl into
spun by the wind
carried, leaping into the arms of the air and piroetting across the sky
A company of leaping, spinning, twirling, joyous. . .us
holding hands across creation
hand to paw to leaf to stone to star to drop to cry to gurgle to wing
we bow to each other, applaud each other
There is a dance I have joined
can you see?
a gentle dip, a step toward, fingers spread to feel the music
a choir of rising, sighing, swirling, luminous. . .we
Blending voices throut ages,
laughter to praise to greeting to grunts to whipsers to bellows to hums to splash to cries
We throw kisses to each other
There is a dance to which we are all joined
March 17, 2009
~
Web of the Morning
I look out into the web of the morning
sun touching water beaded on grass
bird poking beak to grubs wiggling through soil
a sudden swing of willow branch
illuminates wind sweeping past
carrying seeds and pollen and the scent of the ocean
fish swim above sand, rock of a thousand years
cousins or grandparents to the great mountains
the web of the morning
each strand of creation linking me to God
April 23, 2008
~
Does a seed know?
Gracious God
Loving God
Creator God
Create in me
God, I wonder
Does a seed know what flower it will be when it is first planted?
Or must it wait until its blossoms unfold in the sun?
The seed is patient in the ground waiting for its time to wend its way out through the soil, on one end, and further in the soil on the other.
The part we see reflects the glory of creation. The part we don't, the roots, draws in other elements, water and minerals.
God, I turn to you and am rooted in you.
And one day, perhaps, nay indeed, I will know what I am. Even if it be my last day in this garden.
September 16, 2007
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