Haibun

Who am I to question the way that there are connections nascent between things, in what can be poorly-discerned as chaos? There is surely a deep down connection, a synchronicity, between seemingly random things in this ever-expanding explosion of creation.

How are we to discern these connections? My answer is: "by attentiveness to what is, as creativity blooms from every nook, niche, facet, shadow, echo, sound, scent, taste, texture, warmth of all that we receive."

As an example, today my mind wandered back to a time 40 years ago when we lived on the side of Mount Taranaki. The alpine stream that cascaded through our property yielded a share of its life to our household water needs via our cyclic water ram pump.

 

This stream of thought took me back to a midnight hour when the pump's tell-tale click fell idle. In order to avoid having to clamber down a steep bank to reset the valve, I took the house end of the outlet pipe to my lips and sucked.

 

Did I get water? No, for the earth moved at that dark hour! Surrounding trees waved wildly and I struggled to find foothold across a shifting earth.

 

A great crash signalled the fall of the brick wood-range chimney into the dining area while fountains of old dust rose from tongue and groove floor joints.

 

I managed to make my way to find my wife and autistic daughter, one in terror, the other giggling in her cot.

 

As I relived that time with all my senses, feelings and concerns, I barely sensed some earth tremors in the present moment followed a short time later by a severe earthquake.

 

dark stream —

the shifting planes

of words