Sheer Bloggery

About Me

Let's start with my name: Elizabeth J. Swanson. The J. stands for Jeanne, a spelling affectation of my mother's who meant to name me after a more plainly named aunt, Jean. The extra "n" and "e" deprived me of an inheritance as Great Aunt Jean somehow assigned blame to me, as though I seized control of the naming process as a new born.

I am a retired lawyer, having failed to find a path to writing lyrics for Broadway shows. It was an interesting career. One that I found stimulating and a solid platform for my ability to communicate.

In retirement I published a book, Beyond the Rabbit Hole, a title that I am not sure that even I understand. It was a way to find my way back to writing for pleasure rather than profit. For several years I published a blog beyondtherabbithole.ca.

I share my life with my husband of 40 years, my adult children and their children and dogs and with friends that I have found along the way. I love them all.

I am a want--to-be-optimist who always plans for the worst. I am more likely to laugh than to cry. I am a warrior in a constant battle with chronic pain that robs me of energy and easy movement.
I am overly sensitive to the energy of others and need alone time to recharge.

I know where I have been but am not always clear about where I am going.

Beautiful Words By Others

I Worried - Mary Oliver

I worried a lot. Will the garden grow, will the rivers

flow in the the right direction, will the earth turn

as it was taught, and if not, how shall I correct it?

Was I right, was I wrong, will I be forgiven, can I do better?

Will I ever be able to sing, even the sparrows can do it and I am, well,

hopeless.

Is my eyesight fading or am I just imagining it, am I going to get rheumatism, lockjaw, dementia?

Finally I saw that worrying had come to nothing.

And gave it up. And took my old body

and went out into the morning

and sang.

The Guest House - Jalaluddin Rumi

This being human is a guest house.

Every morning a new arrival.

A joy, a depression, a meanness,

some momentary awareness comes

as an unexpected visitor.

Welcome and entertain them all!

Even if they are a crowd of sorrows,

who violently sweep your house

empty of its furniture,

still, treat each guest honorably.

He may be clearing you out

for some new delight.

The dark thought, the shame, the malice,

meet them at the door, laughing

and invite them in.

Be grateful for whoever comes,

because each has been sent

as a guest from beyond.

Why This Poem?

Most of you I suspect know of Rumi and of this poem I include it here not as a novelty but because of its importance to me.

These words challenge me to be stalwart in the face of adversity, to calmly face what confronts me. Good or bad, to welcome them all and invite them in.

I love the imagery created by his words. A crowd of sorrows. Can't you just picture them at the door, a motley crew dressed in top hats and rags, sneering and raging?

And there is hope in this poem. A hint of delight to come, a purpose beyond understanding .

- Elizabeth

Empty Mirror- Kenneth Rexroth

As long as we are lost

In the world of purpose

We are not free. I sit

In my ten foot square hut.

The birds sing, The bees hum.

The leaves sway. The water

Murmurs over the rocks.

The canyon shuts me in.

If I moved, Bashos frog

Would splash in the pool.

All summer long the gold

Laurel leaves fell through space.

Today I was aware

Of a maple leaf floating

On the pool. In the night

I stare into the fire.

Once I saw fire cities,

Towns, palaces, wars,

Heroic adventures

In the campfires of youth.

Now I see only fire.

My breath moves quietly.

The stars move overhead. In the clear darkness

Only a small red glow

Is left in the ashes.

On the table lies a cast

Snake skin and an uncut stone.

Why this poem?

I am looking for help with this one. What is its meaning? What is it about? On the one hand it seems to speak about freedom that comes from having no particular purpose like a mirror that does not reflect images or a cast off snake skin or an unpolished rock. But the tone of this poem, is for me, one of despair. Of loss of vision, of hope - Once I saw fire cities...Now I only see fire. While this poem makes me think, I don't think I like it.

- E

Nobody Wants the Rain

Jarem Sawatsky

Everybody wants green scenery

Nobody wants the rain.

Everybody wants food on the table

Nobody wants the rain.

Everybody wants the colourful rainbow

Nobody wants the rain

Everybody wants water in their bodies

Nobody wants the rain

I went to the prairie,

The Expander of Horizons

To ask about the rain

I stood on the edge of the world

And watched the rain coming all around

And the prairie proclaimed a vision

Each time the gift of rain was offered

the people ran in fear

Heart's fear perverts darkness into evil

Missing the gift of life hidden in the cloud

Let it rain down, let it rain down

Let it rain down on me

Everybody wants green scenery

Nobody wants the rain.

Everybody wants food on the table

Nobody wants the rain.

Everybody wants the colourful rainbow

Nobody wants the rain

Everybody wants water in their bodies

Nobody wants the rain

I went to the mountain

The Giver of Wisdom

To ask about the rain

I knelt on ancient rocks

Fifty billion years awake

and the rocks spoke to me

The rain shapes and molds us

and turns us to sand

These rain - shaped rocks

Feed the earth as their dust becomes soil

The mighty mountains are transformed

By but a tiny droop of rain

Let it rain down, let it rain down,

Let it rain down on me

Everybody wants green scenery

Nobody wants the rain.

Everybody wants food on the table

Nobody wants the rain.

Everybody wants the colourful rainbow

Nobody wants the rain

Everybody wants water in their bodies

Nobody wants the rain

I went to the ocean

The Alpha and Omega

To ask about the rain

I sat on the ocean's edge

As but a tiny grain of sand

And the ocean questioned me

Where is my beginning and

where is my end?

Ocean's edge is hard to find.

On shore? In sky? Inside my body?

The ocean's end is its own beginning

Let it rain down, let it rain down

Let it rain down on me

The Context

From Dancing with Elephants:

We cannot learn to revere life if we cannot wrap our hearts around the idea that suffering exists. The art of dancing with elephants is not the elimination of suffering. We don't kill the elephant .

We learn to dance with it.

Come and learn to dance

If you walk on thin ice you might as well dance

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