A Yankee's Musing

Saturday, December 15, 2007

whisperings

Spun crystal cotton candy ice coating limbs of my tree
Winter’s fist declares an end to dreams of autumn lasting forever
The crunch of frozen snow on the sidewalk below brings me
Back years too far to track when during a nor’easter my
Mother heard a dog’s cry and dad and I said it was only the
The wind screaming through the trees playing tricks on
Our collective ears but she said no and had to go to find out
We watched her leave, dad behind Foster’s Daily Democrat
Evening edition and I wrapped up warm in my pjs sipping
A mug of hot chocolate with a large dab of whipped marshmallow
I rubbed the kitchen window clear and saw my mother pass
Her bare legs crunching through the icy snow now streaked
With red her head down and left arm protecting her eyes
From the blizzard as she held a flashlight that may have
Been on but useless in this nighttime storm she disappeared
From sight and time seemed to pass so long much too long
And I asked my father should we go in search for her and
He muttered something behind the cigar he chewed but no
Words of leaving came and I began to feel ashamed as
I gulped down the last of my drink and started to go upstairs
To change but changed my direction when I heard a thump
At the front door that might have been the wind or a clump
Of snow falling off the roof or maybe the paperboy turned
Around in the gale and trying to deliver yet one more paper
For my dad to hide behind rather than discuss anything of
Importance like my mother out there hunting for the source
Of a cry that only she could hear but no perhaps it was she
So I pushed the storm door free and found her leaning against
The porch railing with a half-frozen mongrel dog in her arms
The spun crystal cotton candy ice coating limbs of my tree
Outside my window almost four hundred miles away and fifty
Years ago speak to me of how fragile life is and whisper
Through my genes about tracks that linger in my soul.

Saturday, December 08, 2007

Robert Mirabel graced this day...

The Dance
By Robert Mirabal/Reynaldo Lujan/Mark Andes


When there is doubt, there is hope
When there is fear, there is love
When there is hate, there is peace
When there is suffering, there is the dance

A dance a dance a dance of hope
A dance a dance a dance of love
I dance to dance a dance of peace
I dance to dance I dance the dance

When there is doubt, there is hope
When there is fear, there is love
When there is hate, there is peace
When there is suffering, there is the dance

(Translation of Tiwa chant)
Dance all women
Dance all of you
Dance all you men
Dance all of you

Dance all women
Dance all you men

I dance to dance a dance of peace
I dance to dance
I dance the dance



Today at NMAI I spent an hour enchanted as I watched Robert Mirabel play, sing, and laugh. To be in his presence, cleansed through every pore by his artistry, wisdom, and humor, is a gift. I came away renewed in spirit, and I thanked him when we spoke after his concert. It is not often that someone of his stature will take time to spend with those who wish to meet with him. He was so gentle in taking time to speak to each person, and when he came to me and he wrapped his arms around me as if I was a leaf in a storm, I felt his power of healing. We spoke for a while in quiet tones. He told me he used to come to the city often until 9/11, but since then it has been much too difficult in many ways. His pained eyes said more than words ever could, but I offered this to him, that we need him now more than ever. He nodded. He knows his music is of the healing way, and I, for one, am grateful. He hugged me again before I left, such a giving, humble man.

On his new CD, In the Blood, with his brother Patrick, Paul Fowler, and Larry Mitchell, again he touches your soul. He is not one to hold back. As a couple lines from his song “In the Blood,” says:

In the blood are the stories
The water jars have been broken
The pueblo walls are all torn down
And each drop was a legacy
Each broken shard is an instant
To tell you a story of how it used to be

His flute takes over where words, even in Tiwa, cannot go. His concern with the present state of the world reverberates, and he brings hope when he reminds us, as his CD says: “Life is a mystery to be lived, not a problem to be solved…just live, just love.”