I am grateful for my teachers, they surround me. Heaven above. The earth below. The sun. The seasons. My loved ones. The passing minutes, months, years, all contained within the word experience.
Then there is my camera.
It says, where you point my lens, is where I will focus.
It says, where you direct your eyes, is where your attention goes.
Like hunting for red. If you move around in the world looking for red, you will find it. (Go here to do a small experiment.)
And there are poems.
I live in the midst of Karin Boye’s words - Yes, Of Course It Hurts.
She talks about spring, about buds. About how it hurts when buds are breaking. For -
Why else would the springtime falter?
Why would all our ardent longing
bind itself in frozen, bitter pallor?
After all, the bud was covered all the winter.
What new thing is it that bursts and wears?
I have walked some paths this spring, pointing my lens at buds bursting. Those outside of me. And those inside.
Karin Boye - Yes, Of Course It Hurts, from For the Tree’s Sake (1935)
Translation by David McDuff
Photos © Grete S. Kempton