https://drive.google.com/file/d/1ycNmuJ3ig1G4ya6b490Lj7e50tCgPewN/view?usp=sharing
Holiday Party
The chemistry of creativity in the flesh
Artist, by Miriam Botwinik --- Captures the spirit of our group
Artist
When I was a
cavewoman
and the
brutes were eating
and
fighting
and
fornicating
and
the babes were wailing.
I
took my swatches of fur,
my
hollow bones of many sizes,
I
mixed the blood of today’s kill
with
the earth’s ochre dust.
I
found a quiet place
deep
inside the cave-
lit
by my own small flame.
And,
I drew and drew
My
deer
and
my bison
and
my hunters
with
spears forever flying
on
the cold, still stone.
Miriam
Botwinik
Miriam Botwinik -- There is a certain way
There is a certain way….
There is a certain way,
a certain way
only a big man,
a burly man
takes a woman’s hand-
her one small hand
between his two warm, large hands.
He takes her one small hand
to his chest-
his wide, warm chest.
And, he holds her hand there,
pressed safely, softly there.
Then to his lips-
he holds her hand to his lips-
her one small hand to his lips.
That certain way,
an exquisite way
to his heart.
Then he kisses her hand-
lingering lips so soft to her hand.
That certain way
only a towering man,
and a good man
endears himself
to a woman.
Rhinebeck Haiku
Rhinebeck Haiku
Tired clouds sag
against the gray sky,
leaking moisture onto
the damp hard earth,
onto the soft leaves
of the dark forest
of silence.
Mary Westcott
Tired clouds sag
against the gray sky,
leaking moisture onto
the damp hard earth,
onto the soft leaves
of the dark forest
of silence.
Mary Westcott
The Rabbit at Dusk
The Rabbit at Dusk
Late day in Rhinebeck, New York’s mountains
And I see a cottontail rabbit munching on grass
outside a white cabin. Cicadas buzz in the distance,
the hare’s innocence a tranquil Buddha to my unrest.
I stop and think of my mother, her blind faith.
I consider feeding the rabbit breadcrumbs,
but my father’s steadfastness feeds the animal
instead. I gaze at the beast’s unperturbed
expression, begin to give birth to an idea,
layered like winter clothes. Fertile thoughts
sprawl across the vast expanse of green, born
from a day’s blue firmament, fixed yet ever-
changing in its cloud-face. Now the full moon
spills forth from the evening sky, shining back
to me.
Mary L Westcott
Late day in Rhinebeck, New York’s mountains
And I see a cottontail rabbit munching on grass
outside a white cabin. Cicadas buzz in the distance,
the hare’s innocence a tranquil Buddha to my unrest.
I stop and think of my mother, her blind faith.
I consider feeding the rabbit breadcrumbs,
but my father’s steadfastness feeds the animal
instead. I gaze at the beast’s unperturbed
expression, begin to give birth to an idea,
layered like winter clothes. Fertile thoughts
sprawl across the vast expanse of green, born
from a day’s blue firmament, fixed yet ever-
changing in its cloud-face. Now the full moon
spills forth from the evening sky, shining back
to me.
Mary L Westcott
Creativity of the heart
Nahid has devoted her life to lecturing and researching about creativity of the heart. So she comes to from a deep committed place. Her presentation and the discussion she inspired was a true gift.
Nahid reinforced why approaching creativity from diverse disciplines is really fun. The subject matter of our art is different but the drive for creative self expression comes from the same place. Nahid took us to that place of creativity and we thank her for such a wonderful treat.
Who gets up early to discover the moment light begins?
Who finds us here circling, bewildered, like atoms?
Who comes to a spring thirsty
and sees the moon reflected in it?
Who, like Jacob blind with grief and age,
smells the shirt of his lost son
and can see again?
Who lets a bucket down and brings up
a flowing prophet? Or like Moses goes for fire
and finds what burns inside the sunrise?
Jesus slips into a house to escape enemies,
and opens a door to the other world.
Soloman cuts open a fish, and there’s a gold ring.
Omar storms in to kill the prophet
and leaves with blessings.
Chase a deer and end up everywhere!
An oyster opens his mouth to swallow on drop.
Now there’s a pearl.
A vagrant wanders empty ruins.
Suddenly he’s wealthy.
But don’t be satisfied with stories, how things
have gone with others. Unfold
your own myth, without complicated explanation,
so everyone will understand the passage,
We have opened you.
Start walking toward Shams. Your legs will get heavy
and tired. Then comes a moment
of feeling the wings you’ve grown,
lifting.
from The Essential Rumi, translated by Coleman Barks
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