forestbathing

"Why go to the forest?"

"To dream, only to dream."

Lucky those who cannot dream, for they exist in comfortable embalming numbness.

I wish, so much, that they could experience, and not live life secondhand.

frozen pine needles

sheltered from the storms

-and sunlight

let the children play

before they are enslaved

into today's world

mumbling monk

one last mantra before bed

with a belly full of rice

no food

not one raindrop

only bombs

Some time ago I decided I don't much like goodbyes anymore

So why don't you stay a little while longer, here in front of the fire

At least until the sun rises again next spring

only the road-

zen becomes easy

to understand

inside the acorn

all the knowledge of

the forest

if the morning breeze

cannot comfort me

what can?

noble Masai warrior

who walks from sunrise

across the savannah

all the way to a setting sun

miles and dreams

love is a lion

lying strong

in the savannah sun

at the oasis

the water ripples towards me

cherry blossom toes

I learnt, today, an insight from haiku master Chèvrefeuille: 

that the signs of the artist must not be seen in the haiku, and such 'blemishes' must not be seen on the bonsai either, no individually styled arrangements, but more a seeking of a 'natural' look, and yet containing more than a resemblance to the stylistic predomimently Japanese paintings.

In the following haiku I will try to follow this course, of providing an instant, scene or feeling, in haiku form, without injecting any of my emotion, message or ideas. Thus the meaning you may get or the picture is entirely your own as the reader. To me this places great value on the one consuming the haiku. This reasoning is absent from western thought.

invisible

to the naked eye

all that is invisible

*

in the forest landscape

all that has made

the forest landscape

*

winter rocks

echoes of chirping birds

without sound

a trumpet playing

in the lonely night

sounds like the ink

I paint your curves with

while the rain just pours

mountains-

composed of dreams and black ink

and alpine breezes

***

I watch you

with your fingertips

pressing the brush,

your elegant strokes

creating mountains

When you paint, Yasuko, I see how thoughts come alive, I watch what you have to say, and the beautiful way you say it, with your paintbrush.

Your mountain painting reminds me of everything I love about you, and the soft kisses I planted on your ink-stained fingers. 

Sometimes one forgets about the carefully made cups or pots in the Japanese tea ceremony or Ethiopian coffee ceremony.

The experience, however, is not the same without the craftsman or craftswoman who initially forged and painted the small goblet.

Here where I live I prefer my cups made out of wood, fashioned originally by nature, and filled with teas made from various herbs of the forest.

wisdom-filled cup

pine needle and birch bark tea

the taste as nature intended

You can never know when you will fall in love. Ever since Bahrain I have found and enduring fondness for islands, but of course I am faithful to the island kingdom of Bahrain first and foremost.

It is so easy to jump on the bandwagon and slander Muslims, Islam and Arabs.

How ignorant the western world is, ignorant of true friendship and hospitality, honour, and the desert, always.

One day, perhaps, I shall return.

oh Bahrain Bahrain

I dream of you like a lover

smiles and palm trees

cardamon and coffee poured 

under a shared sun