Beautiful culture

Anyone can detect that which is less than ideal. My eye is amazing at picking out the detail of imperfection – whether in what should be a straight line, or a “perfect” smile. Culture trains us to discern nuance. What is stylish; what is acceptable: what is beautiful; what can I do without?

The reality is that I have been sculpted to gravitate towards those who fit the mould labeled “valued”. It takes grit to turn my heart from superficial fickle appearances to the undiscovered beauty that awaits discovery behind eyes that lie empty.

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An apple seed contains the future tree in all its glorious splendour. Interestingly, it bears no resemblance to its promise. The tree’s tremendous complexity and fruitfulness is encoded within its depths. This future reality is difficult to perceive and identify. I value a seed for what it will be as much as for what it is. The two are vitally linked.

A seed planted and nurtured opens the power of a harvest that is well worth waiting for.

Beautiful culture that is rich and rewarding requires my investment in the seeds of those around me. Unless we cultivate the treasure of each other, we will consume our inheritance in the desperation of the moment. What we create is a barren desert for those who come after us. All the while I criticized the imperfection of seeds that were never given the chance to germinate!

Author – Bill Tidsbury

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Blind eyes

When living in the hills of Honduras, I know that steady rain drizzling down at night gives me very muddy water from the tap in the morning. Small things that shift my daily routines!

Tropical sun blazing as the morning unfolds, foretells that soon this day will shrivel my soul with heat.  Just one of the challenges that unfold in life as you drift closer to the equator.

It is interesting how our perception of natural things shift from one nation to another, or even one culture to another. Our realities vary!

Yet wounded feelings that flow from hasty words receive global recognition. They warn that I have apologies to make so as to guard what is precious. These crucial decisions must flow from a love for which we all long.

Then there are angry words that accuse and kill. These assaults violate trust and assail every soul. It still amazes me how fear incites all humanity to take death’s scythe to bed with them!

Why is it so easy to forecast consequences in our natural world and yet live with blind eyes in regard to that which binds us into the wonder of belonging?

Author – Bill Tidsbury

Canadian waiting room

People peer and people hide, people scurry around inside.

Busy lives occupied, and then collide! – caught in a waiting room.

Different journeys all coincide, they pull us together, side by side.

Some are sick and others tired; one is supporting while another strides.

All together in one room, waiting their turn to leave this doom.

 

Eyes are glued to cell displays, some are earnest with video games,

All can feel each other’s vibes, crowded around yet locked outside.

Brief encounters cause a smile, especially when caused by an innocent tike.

In spite of proximity, silence reigns, then there’s a giggle that doesn’t end.

Transparency’s blessing brings relief, as one small child distracts his friend.

 

Busy lives wrenched by chaotic waves, yet walls erected keep things “safe”.

People drift in with worries and fears, shrivel within because no one dares.

Kept apart by fearful restraint, tumbled lives twirl with no incident.

Alone and silent, each in turn, take harried hearts in for pills that burn.

Each of us miss the  treasure beside us, because we insist on the silence that hides us.

Author – Bill Tidsbury

Strange new space

Mountain sunset leaps on the scene as the light plays through the gaps in far hills. Colours, gradually fade as the day draws into the dusky promise of rain. With a sigh the darkening sky warmly accepts days end.

Sitting alone in mountainous Boaco, Nicaragua, I’m enveloped by the onset of rain. Rain that drums and lashes its way across the roofs below me. The fine mist blowing off the roofs, fills the air, while lightening crashes silhouettes the hills that surround this beautiful town.

I sit alone, yet not in silence. The valley echoes and resounds to the marimba lilt from the bar  many streets below. I ‘m enjoying the sound until I realize the incessant beat – dum dum dee, dum dum, dee –  can only be appreciated in small quantities as it overpowers all other aspects of the night!

The air is fresh – unexpected in the tropics! Refreshing after various days with sweaty arms and the humidity that makes you sticky! Strangeness infiltrates the atmosphere as I ponder on the realities of being once again in this place of the unknown. Adventures form in the presence of strange new space!

Author – Bill Tidsbury

Mountain town

Cobbled streets, hillsides steep, a mountain town is up or down!

Pouring rain, leaping gutters, rushing waters clean this town.

Vultures soar, wind sweeps clouds, from the heights the mundane shrinks in size.

Birds that sing, trees that bow, life’s exuberance wakens me to rise.

 

History steeped; buildings speak – of times before technology.

Cathedral rises, old claims shout, grating new realities.

Saint’s procession, draws the dancers, gaining promised hope’s deliverance.

Exhaustion reigns, pain’s endured, while freedom’s gift lies in abeyance.

 

Fireworks boom, fiesta laughs, as families spend the day in song.

Evening strolls, hands held dear, couples avoiding summer’s throng,

Child’s laughter, safety’s theme, village shouts we have this in common.

Quiet listens, bird chirp ends, dreams appear when normal is forgotten.

 

Peace is real, hope is shared, when faith is seen in eyes that shine.

Pain departs, startle’s real, when spirit’s roar draws a line.

Something felt, change that’s seen,  creates a contrast with dogma’s creed.

Sweetly still, enjoying life, promotion’s grace stirs mountain souls to lead.

Author – Bill Tidsbury

A Different Me

Culture, a way of being. It seems so settled, till we meet another living differently! My way seems so secure. “Of course, it all makes sense!” Until another – sees another me. How can that be! Who am I?  The one I knew or the one they see? It’s not a fight, it’s  just a change -both/and not either/or. So I live, alive and well, still learning more of what I will. I grow in light and see you there – a different me!

Culture, a way to see, a way to speak. It frames my thoughts and tunes my ties. It is and so am I! I live with you and we agree, to walk beside and dance with tunes. My feet are free- never stepping on your toes! Then somehow you appear beside, wildly suggesting a new dance tune. The dance is strange – so I must change! My habits deep, now disagree, this cannot be the way to dance with me! And yet I sense the joy!

Dancing with you, changes me! I’m alive to see my feet once more. They awkward feel and yet they seem – alive again! Soon, I am learning to be me, alive with you – and different within me! I now am learning, more of me. I see the world through different eyes. My world has changed! It’s grander still. Life is to be lived – not boxed! So now I bless this day, that opened eyes, and gave me more. I rest with arms spread wide!

Author – Bill Tidsbury

Day’s heat

Heat beats down, scorching earth below.

Who would believe that shadows bring such relief?

Sweat trickles slowly down my spine.

Hazy heat wraps me like a shroud.

 

Walking shifts the scene as time slows down.

Many choose to stroll, wiser to the pace of life.

Distance comes towards me through the humid haze.

Trees are such a breath of life to me these days.

 

People here seem quick to smile, eager eyes are seeking peace.

Hearts aren’t frigid, just seeking life, hoping still – in spite of strife.

Lazy conversations flow; laughter flows like sun warmed air.

Breezes stirring, so now must break, this stifling vice of oven heat.

 

Time is gentle, when you stop and see. Life is meeting you and me.

Day’s song builds and then it fades, as night caresses ocean’s breeze.

To adapt to all our phases, never running when its better walked.

Holding hands, slowly learning, dancing through this life we brave.

Author – Bill Tidsbury