Cool surprise gifts in the mail today: Big thanks to Sherri R. for making this awesome new beanie for my giant noggin, and to California Poet Laureate Dana Gioia for the autographed books of poetry. So thrilled...and it's not even my birthday!
Who made the swan, and the black bear? Who made the grasshopper? This grasshopper, I mean the one who has flung herself out of the grass, the one who is eating sugar out of my hand, who is moving her jaws back and forth instead of up and down who is gazing around with her enormous and complicated eyes. Now she lifts her pale forearms and thoroughly washes her face. Now she snaps her wings open, and floats away. I don't know exactly what a prayer is. I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down into the grass, how to kneel down in the grass, how to be idle and blessed, how to stroll through the fields, which is what I have been doing all day. Tell me, what else should I have done? Doesn't everything die at last, and too soon? Tell me, what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life? —Mary Oliver
I go down to the shore in the morning and depending on the hour the waves are rolling in or moving out, and I say, oh, I am miserable, what shall— what should I do? And the sea says in its lovely voice: Excuse me, I have work to do.
You do not have to walk on your knees For a hundred miles through the desert, repenting. You only have to let the soft animal of your body love what it loves. Tell me about your despair, yours, and I will tell you mine. Meanwhile the world goes on. Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain are moving across the landscapes, over the prairies and the deep trees,6 the mountains and the rivers. Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air, are heading home again. Whoever you are, no matter how lonely, the world offers itself to your imagination, calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting -- over and over announcing your place in the family of things. —Mary Oliver
Dmitri Matheny's THE SNOWCAT is inspired by the ancient Asian parable of The Oxherder, in which a herdboy's quest to find his missing ox is likened to an individual's journey through life.
With origins in India, the parable became popular in medieval Japan and was depicted on 13th century handscrolls as the 'Ten Bulls' or 'Ten Oxherding Pictures.'
The scrolls traditionally divide the hero's journey into ten stages, each accompanied by a circularly framed image and a simple verse.
Rendered in the graphic style of Japanese narrative illustration, the story is as accessible and visually compelling as a modern comic book.
As in the ancient parable, the hero of THE SNOWCAT finds her companion and returns home to appreciate the beauty of nature, play music and have fun with friends.
She maintains hope, optimism and determination in the face of adversity, discovers the gentle power of sitting quietly, and embodies the spirit of sharing and gratitude that makes the holidays such a magical time.
Join us for the Arizona premiere of Dmitri Matheny's THE SNOWCAT A cool cat tale for the whole family
Holly Pyle vocals Dmitri Matheny flugelhorn/storyteller Andrew Gross saxophones Nick Manson keyboard T-Bone Sistrunk bass Dom Moio drums
“In this spellbinding performance, jazz flugelhornist and composer Dmitri Matheny and his band weave a magical, musical tale of a little girl searching for her missing white cat on a chilly afternoon. Based on a medieval Japanese parable, The SnowCat reveals the spirit of sharing and gratitude that makes the holiday season such a wonderful time of year.” —Town & Country
Roads go ever ever on, Over rock and under tree, By caves where never sun has shone, By streams that never find the sea; Over snow by winter sown, And through the merry flowers of June, Over grass and over stone, And under mountains in the moon.
Roads go ever ever on, Under cloud and under star. Yet feet that wandering have gone Turn at last to home afar. Eyes that fire and sword have seen, And horror in the halls of stone Look at last on meadows green, And trees and hills they long have known.
The Road goes ever on and on Down from the door where it began. Now far ahead the Road has gone, And I must follow, if I can, Pursuing it with eager feet, Until it joins some larger way, Where many paths and errands meet.
The Road goes ever on and on Down from the door where it began. Now far ahead the Road has gone, And I must follow, if I can, Pursuing it with weary feet, Until it joins some larger way, Where many paths and errands meet. And whither then? I cannot say.
The Road goes ever on and on Out from the door where it began. Now far ahead the Road has gone. Let others follow, if they can! Let them a journey new begin. But I at last with weary feet Will turn towards the lighted inn, My evening-rest and sleep to meet.
Still 'round the corner there may wait A new road or secret gate; And though I oft have passed them by, A day will come at last when I Shall take the hidden paths that run West of the Moon, East of the Sun.