Her eyes opened, and opened all the way, and stayed open. I said, “this is your daughter, this is Kye” and she nodded once, decisively: “I know that,” said her nod. “Would you like me to tell you the news, or sit quietly with you?” No response. I considered. What was there to lose? I started talking.

Her eyes stayed on mine with total attention. When the news was the kind she likes (“I’m going to go up to see M. this week.”) her face would melt into a quiet little beam. When it was said news (“there’s been a terrible oil spill in the Gulf,” and “the economy is not good”) her forehead creased in distress. She was awake; she knew me; she was there.

Forty-five minutes later? an hour? I asked, “have I worn out your brain?” A rusty little “No” came in response–the first speech I’ve heard in a couple of months. So I told her about what I’m writing (the Tao Te Ching commentary), and her mouth made an ‘oh!’ shape, and she she smiled.

There’s no telling what I’ll find next time I go, but what a miracle and a gift that time was!

I found mangoes on a street corner a little while ago, on my way back from seeing my mother–a whole box of them, sold to me off the back of a pickup truck up from the Rio Grande Valley.

They were sold to me by what looked to be a couple of brothers. They were in their early twenties. One of them was holding an enormous exuberant sign that said ‘MANGOES’. I saw the sign, thought about stopping but the corner was busy. But I found a quieter place to park and walked back along a patch of sidewalk walled with enormous weeds, then through the archway of an abandoned pear tree covered with half-ripe pears.

The box was mine for $5. As I left, one of the brothers smiled and said ‘God bless.’

At the next corner were a man and woman sitting at a bus stop. The man was holding up a tiny sign that said ‘hungry’. I had a box full of mangoes! Unexpected ones! I was going to give them to my son and his girlfriend, but that little tiny sign and that young patient couple sitting there–of course I had to stop again.

I asked “do you like mangoes?” They nodded. I said I’d just found them at the last corner. I told them to take as many as they wanted. They each took two, which still left lots. And I had the pleasure of seeing them grinning at each other, as I left.

Later, I wondered whether either of them had a pocket knife–or did they use their teeth to open up the fruit? Maybe I should start carrying a pocket knife again!

A joiku for the Gulf’s creatures, great and small…

Teeming water world,
Our carelessness has touched you.
Please don’t die. No. Please live!

I turned fifty a couple of months ago.

I feel younger than I have since I was a teenager, if by ‘feeling younger’ one means the feeling of one’s own vitality running high. But I don’t feel young. I’ve done too much; learned too much; lost too much. My father’s dead, my mother’s dying and her recognition of me unsure. There’s now a landfill next to the farm where I grew up. The water of the creek where I played is brackish and stinks of refuse. There’s no going back.

Maybe you know that famous story about a man who slips while walking along a cliff. Plunging towards his death he is able to grab a vine and starts to haul himself back up, when a tiger appears on the cliff above. Looking down, he sees another tiger below.

But the worst is yet to come: a rat begins to gnaw away at the vine. This rat has a nearly mythological interest in cutting through that vine. We might name him Mortality, and the tiger below, Death.

The tiger above? Perhaps it should have an angelic name, as it represents the force which prevents the man’s return to Eden.

If you put yourself in his position, you’ll find that it’s a tremendous moment–both terrible and marvellous in its enormity. Now, stay with the experience for a minute more as he spots a luscious strawberry growing right in front of him. He lets go of the vine with one hand… reaches out… plucks the strawberry… eats it…

What a strawberry!

That is vey nearly the experience of fifty. But not quite. Because in the story the man is alone, and there’s nothing to do but eat the strawberry by himself.

But we’re not alone. And it’s much much sweeter to pluck that strawberry and share it. So, I’ve started a blog.

And you’re reading it. I’m very grateful.