pictures of luweero clinic, and a special poem

*this is a special poem because it was written by the late Dr. John Stone- a mentor and friend- who carried the heart of a physician and a writer and a teacher of both. it's about his experience in africa.


rebirth

 I came
To see
To feel
To be
For a while
Part of Africa



 










To be nourished by the roots of humankind
To feel the earth beneath my feet
The soil between my toes
To taste the air
I came to listen to the voice of Africa
For the African sun to warm my soul

I leave
Re-affirmed
Not only is Africa my home
But so is everywhere else
A universal spirit
Is part of me
And I of it


 











The nature of Africa is in my nature
The nature of Gaia is in my nature
The nature of the spheres is in my nature
I belong
In the Universe

whatever a sun will always sing

last nights sunset

“i carry your heart with me (i carry it in my heart) i am never without it (anywhere i go you go, my dear; and whatever is done by only me is your doing, my darling) i fear no fate (for you are my fate, my sweet) i want no world (for beautiful you are my world, my true)
and it's you are whatever a moon has always meant and whatever a sun will always sing is you

here is the deepest secret nobody knows
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud and the sky of the sky of a tree called life; which grows
higher than the soul can hope or mind can hide)
and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart
i carry your heart (i carry it in my heart)”

ee cummings

amazing poem

this poem, shared yesterday by a friend, says it so well (thank you AEH).

all the things we should stay open to, and search for, and allow. how we should try to respond. to live simply, to value all that comes to us, learn from what is in our path, move toward and not away.  experience, experience, experience.  seek to tread lightly, to speak more softly, yet boldly, to venture and return.


Please Bring Strange Things


Please bring strange things.
Please come bringing new things.
Let very old things come into your hands.
Let what you do not know come into your eyes.
Let desert sand harden your feet.
Let the arch of your feet be the mountains.
Let the paths of your fingertips be your maps
And the ways you go be the lines of your palms.
Let there be deep snow in your inbreathing
And your outbreath be the shining of ice.
May your mouth contain the shapes of strange words.
May you smell food cooking you have not eaten.
May the spring of a foreign river be your navel.
May your soul be at home where there are no houses.
Walk carefully, well-loved one,
Walk mindfully, well-loved one,
Walk fearlessly, well-loved one.
Return with us, return to us,
Be always coming home.

- Ursula K. Le Guin

can't get enough of pablo

Maybe nothingness is to be without your presence,
without you moving, slicing the noon
like a blue flower, without you walking
later through the fog and the cobbles,
without the light you carry in your hand,
golden, which maybe others will not see,
which maybe no one knew was growing
like the red beginnings of a rose.
In short, without your presence: without your coming
suddenly, incitingly, to know my life,
gust of a rosebush, wheat of wind:
since then I am because you are,
since then you are, I am, we are,
and through love I will be, you will be, we will be.

pablo neruda

the journey

it's always interesting to me, when i've started several posts, but finished none of them- and i'm only speaking of the ones i've written down.  i think it means seeds have been planted- that there is a lot brewing inside and it makes me curious- what is in there that needs to come out?
because there is so much in a day. there is so much i want to do- and to be in a day.
but sometimes my life gets in the way. 
so here are the words of someone else, another saturday morning poem.

The Journey - mary oliver

One day you finally knew

what you had to do, and began,

though the voices around you

kept shouting

their bad advice--

though the whole house

began to tremble

and you felt the old tug

at your ankles.

"Mend my life!"

each voice cried.

But you didn't stop.

You knew what you had to do,

though the wind pried

with its stiff fingers

at the very foundations,

though their melancholy

was terrible.

It was already late

enough, and a wild night,

and the road full of fallen

branches and stones.

But little by little,

as you left their voices behind,

the stars began to burn

through the sheets of clouds,

and there was a new voice

which you slowly

recognized as your own,

that kept you company

as you strode deeper and deeper

into the world,

determined to do

the only thing you could do--

determined to save

the only life you could save.

others say it better- another poem

Mindful- Mary Oliver

 Every day
     I see or hear
          something
               that more or less

kills me
     with delight,
          that leaves me
               like a needle

in the haystack
     of light.
          It was what I was born for -
               to look, to listen,

to lose myself
     inside this soft world -
          to instruct myself
               over and over

in joy,
     and acclamation.
          Nor am I talking
               about the exceptional,

the fearful, the dreadful,
     the very extravagant -
          but of the ordinary,
               the common, the very drab,

the daily presentations.
     Oh, good scholar,
          I say to myself,
               how can you help

but grow wise
     with such teachings
          as these -
               the untrimmable light

of the world,
     the ocean's shine,
          the prayers that are made
               out of grass?

poetry revival

in case you haven't noticed, i've recently rediscovered poetry, which used to be my favorite thing to read before my attention span was long enough to read a novel.
this is one of my favorite d.h. lawrence poems-

Bei Hennef
By D.H. Lawrence

The little river twittering in the twilight,
The wan, wondering look of the pale sky,
This is almost bliss.

And everything shut up and gone to sleep,
All the troubles and anxieties and pain
Gone under the twilight.
Only the twilight now, and the soft “Sh!” of the river
That will last for ever.

And at last I know my love for you is here;
I can see it all, it is whole like the twilight,
It is large, so large, I could not see it before,
Because of the little lights and flickers and interruptions,
Troubles, anxieties and pains.

You are the call and I am the answer,
You are the wish, and I the fulfilment,
You are the night, and I the day.
What else—it is perfect enough.

It is perfectly complete,
You and I,
What more—?
Strange, how we suffer in spite of this.

it's a wonderful life

it's a wonderful life. 

it is. we need to live it.  even when it's ugly, we need to embrace our moments. 
we need to look for the light, because it's always somewhere. and listen for the laughter, and we need to smile- even if brings the wrinkles out.  it's all a guarantee.  le bien, le mal.

“Instructions for living a life.
Pay attention.
Be astonished.
Tell about it.”
― Mary Oliver


To live in this world
you must be able
to do three things:
to love what is mortal;
to hold it
against your bones knowing
your own life depends on it;
and, when the time comes to let it go,
to let it go.”
― Mary Oliver

morning poem and our life in photos

Morning Poem

Every morning

the world

is created.

Under the orange

sticks of the sun

the heaped

ashes of the night

turn into leaves again

and fasten themselves to the high branches ---

and the ponds appear

like black cloth

on which are painted islands

of summer lilies.

If it is your nature

to be happy

you will swim away along the soft trails

for hours, your imagination

alighting everywhere.

And if your spirit

carries within it

the thorn

that is heavier than lead ---

if it's all you can do

to keep on trudging ---

there is still

somewhere deep within you

a beast shouting that the earth

is exactly what it wanted ---

each pond with its blazing lilies

is a prayer heard and answered

lavishly,

every morning,

whether or not

you have ever dared to be happy,

whether or not

you have ever dared to pray. 

-mary oliver

our friend cyrus with bryn

more monkeys but with out tails

typical ugandan meal at the library opening.  chipati, pumpkin, fish, potato, nut sauce- delicious

mike and i meeting the USAID representative at library opening

bryn in action

the pool in jinja

jude at UN day at international school (39 countries represented)

bujugali falls

thirst

the water of lake victoria lapping.
the night bugs are like snow flurries in the light.

the stars of the southern hemisphere are mapped out before me- gigantic and foreign,  rich and glorious. 

it's hard to believe i'm here.  

and this is where i am- (thanks lilian)

Thirst
Another morning and I wake with thirst
for the goodness I do not have. I walk
out to the pond and all the way God has
given us such beautiful lessons. Oh Lord,
I was never a quick scholar but sulked
and hunched over my books past the hour
and the bell; grant me, in your mercy,
a little more time. Love for the earth
and love for you are having such a long
conversation in my heart. Who knows what
will finally happen or where I will be sent,
yet already I have given a great many things
away, expecting to be told to pack nothing,
except the prayers which, with this thirst,
I am slowly learning.

— Mary Oliver, Thirst,