A poem for all seasons

Right about this time of year, I am really ready for winter to be over.

Don’t get me wrong — I have no desire to alter the natural course of the seasons. It’s just that in my ideal world, winter — and by winter I mean a glorious snow-filled, blue sky, sparkling air winter — (not the endless dreck of gray skies and icy rain) would only last for… mmh I don’t know, about a month….

Reading helps. Big fat nineteenth century novels work wonders to pass the long dark evenings, as I wait for spring’s warmth and abundant light.

Or sometimes the miniature, silvery note of a perfect haiku is enough to lift me out of the winter doldrums.

But here’s a poem for all seasons, and one I return to again and again when I feel in need of solace.

Written by Mahmoud Darwish, a Palestinian poet and author who wrote frequently about the pain of exile, dispossession, and the loss of his homeland, there is something quietly evocative about this particular poem, infused as it is with a sense of sadness and resignation, coupled to a spark of optimism and a hint of rebellion — all in the face of loss.

Isn’t that how we all must live? Rebellion in the face of loss, a willingness to keep going (with our heads held high), in spite of what may be waiting for us at the end of the line?

It’s a good poem for these chilly winter days, or any time of the year.

I Can Speak about Love

                    –by Mahmoud Darwish (translated from Arabic by Fady Joudah)

And I can speak about love, about trees on a road that leads
to others’ goals, and to the weather conditions in other countries. I offer the city
pigeons a fistful of wheat and listen to my neighbor’s noise dig under my skin

And I am capable of living to the month’s end. I give it my best
to write what convinces my heart to beat and my soul to live after me.
A gardenia can renew my life. A woman can determine my grave

And I can go to the end of my life as a couple: alone, and by myself.
I can only collude with words I haven’t yet said, to ransom my stay
on the edge of the earth, between the siege of space and the hell of falling

And with the strength of daring I will live, as it pleases my language for me to be.

The architect of your own life

I haven’t made any resolutions for 2013, unless you count ‘eating cheesecake for breakfast’. Literally meant, but also code for ‘go a little crazy, have some fun’.

I do feel, though, that 2013 requires a little something to give it structure. So in lieu of resolutions for the new year, I’ve come up with a theme :

Be the architect of your own life.

While we can’t control everything that happens to us, nor always steer our life in the direction we’d like it to go, we do have tools at our disposal to better our lives, whatever our circumstances, and to create a wonderful life — one that is balanced, strong, happy.  A life able to withstand whatever gets thrown at it.

Even when circumstances are challenging, by practicing gratitude, embracing ambiguity, accepting change, and nurturing compassion — not just for others, but for ourselves – we can have a pretty great time of it, wherever we are on life’s path.

And if life is a journey, then stops along the way can be thought of as milestones, or places of rest, or an opportunity to study the lay of the land before changing direction or continuing on to our final destination.

For anyone who loves train travel, the stations at the start and end of the trip – as well as those en route – are part of the whole experience. Some stations are dank and poorly lit, while others are architectural masterpieces with arched ceilings, tall windows, and mosaic tiled floors. Some have beautiful edifices with nondescript interiors, others are not much to look at from the outside, but the interior space is peaceful and filled with light.

By being the architect of our own lives, we have a chance to work on all these structural components: foundation (sturdy or crumbling), walls (strong or porous), roof (soaring or low), interior (a place of beauty or dank and musty), exterior (showy or classical, well maintained or neglected).

And while we’re working on these different facets of structure and design, let’s not forget about balance.

A good architect will consider the big picture by artfully balancing all the elements of a structure into a cohesive whole that, somehow, just — works. Too much, or too little, of one component or another can make for a very odd structure indeed. To wit:

Consider the Oriente train station in Lisbon, designed by Spanish architect Santiago Calatrava for Expo 1998. While the overarching glass and steel fretwork is striking, the station itself is oppressive: a vast hall of poured concrete. Dingy, dark and damp, it is not a place you’d want to spend a lot of time.

 Oriente Train Station, Lisbon

Or how about the palatial, neo-Baroque extravaganza of the Antwerp train station? Designed by Louis Delacenserie and decorated with more than 20 types of marble and stone, the building was criticized for its extravagance upon its completion in in 1905. Extravagant it may be, but oh what a glorious place to spend a little  time, as one of the many way stations on your journey.

Antwerp Train Station

As the architect of our own lives, we can, in a metaphorical sense, do many of the things a real architect would do: work on the foundation by eating well and taking care of our health; on the walls by nurturing our support network (friends, family), and establishing clear boundaries for interactions with others; the interior by nurturing our soul; the roof by allowing our creativity to soar; and the exterior by taking care of our appearance, and embracing the patina of age.

And as we go along, let’s not forget to step back from time to time, to get a view of the big picture, to tinker here and shave a bit off there, as we finetune the balance toward a cohesive — and breathtaking — whole.