—Photo by Martie Odell-Ingebretsen
WHERE IS THE SPIDER?
—Martie Odell-Ingebretsen, Sacramento
Time spins a web from the tree of life
and we are caught.
Blown like a feather, we cling
as our need gives us strength.
We touch the lazy leaf in awe,
smell the tangy edge of fruited laughter
and long for truth.
Days are sometimes our slow enemy.
The dullness of them
seeps into our lust
and inhibits our exuberance.
Many times a manic dance
spins us out of control,
before we can think of a purpose
we have passed ourselves
and must seek again
what we never found.
We are the umbilicated
tied to the past by a severed cord,
phantom pains
keep us from forgetting
our beginning.
We are chained to the future
by the microscope of eternity
found in our children.
We throw out a life line
and glean,
through the unbearable
coupling of our bodies, destiny.
From the depth of this beauty
we recognize youth
far back on the road.
The mirror mimics our exterior
when inside we realize that youth
has only become less frivolous
and more kind.
There are signs along the path we travel,
these are some I’ve seen:
Singing when your heart is full
brings sweetness to your voice.
Holding the hand of one
who walks along the river
leads to the appreciation of
little things.
Listening to the message
of the sea
humbles an overripe opinion.
Embracing in love sets a fire
that will not be extinguished.
Looking inward for the teacher
calms the trembling fingers
of your grasping search.
Laughter emptying into your
troubled soup
sweetens the bitterness and strengthens
all the essential ingredients.
To struggle against the web
is to be caught more fiercely.
If we are still, listening and open,
we can appreciate the glistening
of its craftsmanship
and the touch of air
surrounding it.
Peace is fleeting,
found in an instant
when eyelash meets the cheek.
Does the tree of life
concern itself with our struggle?
Tall and sure it holds the web,
but can it protect it from what is
or what will be?
I still have not seen
the spider.
—Martie Odell-Ingebretsen, Sacramento
Time spins a web from the tree of life
and we are caught.
Blown like a feather, we cling
as our need gives us strength.
We touch the lazy leaf in awe,
smell the tangy edge of fruited laughter
and long for truth.
Days are sometimes our slow enemy.
The dullness of them
seeps into our lust
and inhibits our exuberance.
Many times a manic dance
spins us out of control,
before we can think of a purpose
we have passed ourselves
and must seek again
what we never found.
We are the umbilicated
tied to the past by a severed cord,
phantom pains
keep us from forgetting
our beginning.
We are chained to the future
by the microscope of eternity
found in our children.
We throw out a life line
and glean,
through the unbearable
coupling of our bodies, destiny.
From the depth of this beauty
we recognize youth
far back on the road.
The mirror mimics our exterior
when inside we realize that youth
has only become less frivolous
and more kind.
There are signs along the path we travel,
these are some I’ve seen:
Singing when your heart is full
brings sweetness to your voice.
Holding the hand of one
who walks along the river
leads to the appreciation of
little things.
Listening to the message
of the sea
humbles an overripe opinion.
Embracing in love sets a fire
that will not be extinguished.
Looking inward for the teacher
calms the trembling fingers
of your grasping search.
Laughter emptying into your
troubled soup
sweetens the bitterness and strengthens
all the essential ingredients.
To struggle against the web
is to be caught more fiercely.
If we are still, listening and open,
we can appreciate the glistening
of its craftsmanship
and the touch of air
surrounding it.
Peace is fleeting,
found in an instant
when eyelash meets the cheek.
Does the tree of life
concern itself with our struggle?
Tall and sure it holds the web,
but can it protect it from what is
or what will be?
I still have not seen
the spider.
_____________________________
—Medusa
