Soulscape

 

My father’s dream was to buy some land in upstate New York, a couple hours ride from the city. He and my mother dragged my sisters and I all over the Catskills region one summer in the mid-sixties in our Ford Impala station wagon in search of the perfect parcel of land.  After weeks of exploring, he found a five acre wooded plot with a small stream running through it in a miniscule town called Cahoonzie just north of Port Jervis.  

 As a young boy, I was thrilled. Having grown up as a city kid in Queens, this was such an alien landscape. I couldn’t wait to explore it. Once we purchased the place and settled in a bit, my parents were comfortable with me going off into the woods for hours on end. Eventually I could disappear for days without them thinking twice about it. It was as if they had a different set of rules for me in that environment.  

 My father taught me how to use an axe, a bow, his BB gun, a sledge hammer, saws, and crow bars. The rules on how to safely build fires were clearly laid out. The area at that time was very sparsely populated and I could walk for miles in any direction and never see a soul.  I would spend endless hours in the woods by myself, hiking, camping, trapping, and climbing. I would find all kinds of wild pets like Red Efts (eastern newt), turtles, frogs and snakes and bring them home. 

The camping alone was full of sensory input and so fascinating to me. There was one night when I had pitched a lean-to with a plastic tarp under some trees along a stream. As the darkness took over, I noticed what sounded like rain drops hitting the tent but it wasn’t raining. The sound got louder and louder. Eventually I realized that I had camped in a section of the woods where the gypsy moths had decided to defoliate the area. The “raindrops” were moth poop raining down on me!!!

It was not unusual for a raccoon to walk over your sleeping bags while you were sleeping.  I eventually learned how to survive in harsher conditions like snow and deep cold. 

 There was always an adventure to be had. Once during a hike, I spotted a porcupine and followed him along his journey for hours. This freedom to be myself and explore was addicting. I never wanted to leave it and when I was away from it, I would be thinking of what adventures would be next.

 The camping forced me to learn how to cook for myself at a very young age.  At first it was heating up cans of soup, but little by little I became more adventurous cooking the fish I caught, foraging mushrooms and ramps. These culinary treks might have been seeds of my spending the most of my life as a chef. 

 When I first started camping on my own, the deep silence of the woods touched me deeply at night. I would ask myself, “Why are the nights so different here?” Besides there being no pollution to obscure my view of the Milky Way, there was something else. When I returned to Queens, I realized instantly. My whole life in the city had a background soundtrack. We lived two blocks from the Long Island Expressway and there was the 24-hour soft constant buzz of that highway that was always there. 

 During my travels through the woods, there was a particular campsite that drew me towards it like a magnet.  It had this deep calming effect on me and I loved spending as much time as I could there.  There were many old pines there and their needles made a nice mattress under my sleeping bag. Eventually as I got older, I would bring friends there to camp with me. We eventually built a more permanent fireplace there and would spend entire nights telling stories.  I remember my best friend one night insisting on recanting to me every single scene of a movie he had just seen called “The Russians Are Coming! The Russians Are Coming!”. 

Thirty years later, as a Buddhist monk, I was asked to be part of a construction crew for a new temple being built upstate.  When we drove up the first day, my jaw dropped. To my astonishment, the temple project was being built on my favorite childhood campsite!!

 

So, when wondering whether I ever had the experience during my travels of encountering a landscape that spoke so directly to your soul that you forgot (at least for a while!) everything else and just wished to remain there, this experiences are what came up for me.

 

Robert

Apr 2023

A Walk through Old Calvery Cemetery

 

In addition to being a memorial to those who have passed, a walk through an old cemetery is a walk through an underutilized park with the addition of a history lesson thrown in for those who stop to read the stones. It is also a visit to a quiet sculpture garden complete with towering obelisks reminiscent of ancient Egyptian.  Traveling thousands of years forward in time, brooding medieval angels stare down knowingly along with many other iconic representations of the afterlife.

I come across a beautiful old stone from the 1800’s in memory of Harold and Cynthia Miller. The stone explains that they both had been distinguished entomologists and founding members of the American Entomological Society of America. I wonder at the myriad assemblage of unique species that this couple discovered, described, and catalogued in their careers. While I observe and appreciate the intricate stonework on a seal of the society displayed below their names, I wonder what this interesting couple looked like? Do their spirits still exist wandering the cosmos and if so are they happy and still together?

It is a grey soggy day which combined with the somber setting and dreary gravestones make it all the more surprising to see two brightly colored butterflies in the sky above me descending while fluttering flirtatiously around each other as they drop into the cemetery and make their way in my direction surprisingly landing on the Miller tombstone. The larger butterfly is a bright cerulean blue and its smaller partner is an iridescent pink. This is very strange as there are no other insects visible in the cemetery today? Is this a visit from the beyond? I have a nervous feeling of butterflies in my stomach as these questions fluttered around in my consciousness. Now the two insects sit adjacent to each other and begin to sidestep, moving closer towards each other. When they are within reach each extends their adjacent forearms and hold them together. Both insects stare directly at me intently as if through this behavior they are attempting to communicate with me and answer my philosophical questions. The sights and sounds of the city melt away as this is a surreal experience. This seemed like unusual insect behavior and I intuitively feel that all of my questions are being answered.

Without moving the thought occurs to me that it is time to move on, and as I mentally say goodbye to the Millers, the butterflies, seemingly content that their mission is accomplished, released each other and launched into the sky, continuing their joyful flight and disappear over a hill.

Jim

April ‘23

 

 

Tabby Boy - Chapter Six

 

Chapter Six

You Can’t Go Home Again

Dear Ben and Ethyl (with a ‘y’),

 

Appreciation, admiration, adulation, adoration attachment, all the words of love I give to you. Two months have passed and yes it was your Tabby Boy you saw this morning, Yes I am alive. After my accident, I needed to find a new safe covered place to avoid the cold winter rain. I needed to cover my wounded body with a blanket of dried leaves to keep from freezing and to heal my painful wounds. I never saw my attacker, maybe a male raccoon. My memory of your love helped heal me.

You’ve heard, “You Can’t Go Home Again.” Well, It saddens me to say, I can’t come home again. I can’t come back to your doorstep. I can’t rest in the warm cozy winter house you bought me. I can’t curl up in the warm straw filled house. The scent of the attacker has ruined all my comforts. The scent of my attacker pervades my house, pervades your front steps, pervades the air!!! The scent keeps me going from house to house for some food, water and hopefully love. Maybe, the spring rainstorms can wash away that toxic pernicious scent.

Once again, I am a homeless stray tabby cat looking for appreciation, admiration, adulation, adoration, love. Meow, Meow, Meow! 

Veery truly yours,

Your stray cat Tabby Boy

Ethyl

March 2023

Re: Poet, Robert Frost

 

The Road Not Taken

By Robert Frost

One of Frost's most popular poems and my favorite, "The Road Not Taken," can be interpreted in many ways and is often cited as a metaphor for making difficult decisions in life. 

Here is the final stanza of the poem:

"I shall be telling this with a sigh

Somewhere ages and ages hence:

Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—

I took the one less traveled by,

And that has made all the difference."

These lines are particularly impactful to me because they reflect the Frost’s contemplative tone and suggest that the choices, we make in life can have a significant impact on our future. Additionally, the repetition of "I" emphasizes the Frost’s individuality and personal agency in choosing their path. As a writer, I appreciate the way Frost uses imagery and symbolism to explore complex themes in a simple yet profound way.

Georgia

When Leprechaun Met Children

 

When the Leprechaun met the children a little distance from their house, he raised his open right hand to them, which is the fairy form of greeting. The children froze in their tracks, unsure of what to do. They had heard stories about mischievous leprechauns who loved to play tricks on humans. 

But this leprechaun looked friendly enough. He wore a green suit and a matching hat with a shamrock on it. His beard was long and curly, and his eyes sparkled mischievously. He looked like a character straight out of a storybook. 

"Hello, children!" the leprechaun said in a cheerful voice. "What brings you to the forest today?" 

"We were just taking a walk," replied Sarah, the oldest of the three children. 

"A walk in the forest? How delightful!" exclaimed the leprechaun. "I love the forest. It's my home, you know." 

The children were surprised to hear this. They had always thought that leprechauns lived in pots of gold at the end of rainbows. 

"But don't you live in a pot of gold?" asked John, the middle child. 

The leprechaun laughed. "Oh, that's just a myth, my dear boy. We leprechauns are tricksters, but we're not greedy. Gold is just a material possession, and it doesn't bring true happiness. What brings true happiness is spending time with loved ones, exploring the world, and enjoying the beauty of nature." 

The children were amazed by the leprechaun's wisdom. They had never thought about happiness in that way before. 

"Thank you for teaching us that," said Emily, the youngest child. "We'll remember it forever." 

The leprechaun smiled. "You're welcome, my dear. Now, I must be on my way. But before I go, I have a gift for each of you." He reached into his pocket and pulled out three small clovers. "These are magical clovers that will bring you luck and happiness. Keep them close to your heart, and they'll always guide you." 

The children thanked the leprechaun and said goodbye as he disappeared into the forest. They held the clovers tightly and felt a warmth spreading through their hearts. They knew that they had just met a special creature who had taught them a valuable lesson about life. And they couldn't wait to share it with their friends and family.

Georgia

Leprechaun

 

I’m looking for a Leprechaun
With the huge Pot of Gold 
He’s hiding and playing Tricks in 
Queens Library
from what I’ve been told 
He doesn’t drink coffee 
Only a Pot O’ Tea
If you see the Queens Library Leprechaun 
Please give him some Irish Soda Bread from me!

Happy St. Patrick’s Day!

McManus 
2023

Awakening

 

In Kafka’s story Metamorphosis, Grega Samsa starts out as a man and changes into a large bug. In my story, I would prefer to liken my change to a caterpillar metamorphosing or awakening into a beautiful monarch butterfly. My awakening applies to my positive self- image and sense of self, my makeover.

I was a volunteer on the Board of the Friends of Kew Gardens Hills library.  The Board dwindled to three members when two moved and sadly, one passed away. This left Helene, Trudy and me. Helene was the president and assumed all the major responsibility. Trudy had an important role writing and arranging the Board’s Newsletter. My role as treasurer was ludicrous since our Board’s math never resembled the financial math Central Library accounting department seemed to come up with. Our Friends Board held a monthly meeting which turned into a social meeting between Trudy and Helene. I was virtually invisible and sat at these meetings angry, sulking and hurt. I felt my absence would not even be noticed, so at one point, I rose, walked to the door and announced I was quitting the board. Helene convinced me to stay with the Board. She announced she was moving shortly, and we would need a new president. Trudy, as very busy volunteer at the American Ballet and would never accept more responsibility. Much to my dismay, I became the new president. In the past, I had never had a role as a leader of anything.

From my angry sulking role, I assumed a major positive force on our Board. I blossomed; I was dynamic; I was an authority figure who instinctively had leadership skills unbeknownst to me; a complete makeover. My first undertaking was to find other people using our library to come and join our Board. We quickly grew from two Board members to ten. My style as a leader was to share the limelight and to shower praise on my Board members for any and all their efforts; this Friends Board functioned as a democracy.  I emailed my members a reminder of the upcoming meetings and requested any agenda suggestions. Each member at the meeting was handed a copy of the agenda. As a Friends Board, we became actively involved in increasing the number of Friends of Kew Gardens Hills Library and shortly doubled the dues paying membership. We used this money, as well as a $5000 endowment from our councilman to sponsor lectures, exercise classes, musical presentations and arts and craft workshops. Our workshops were so popular that we had to turn people away. The Community Affairs Manager at Central Library considered us one of her favorite Friends Boards and began to attend our Board meetings. The staff at our Library saw our Friends Board as such a positive force in the library that they became involved in attending our monthly meetings. They honored our recommendations and suggestions. We were a team.

More importantly, my Board members appreciated me and we appreciated each other. My role as president of the Friends Board of the Kew Gardens Hills Library was a labor of love. From the insignificant role I had previously played, I thrived in my metamorphosis and my awakening from the lowly caterpillar to the beautiful monarch butterfly. 

Ethyl H.