{#healinghaiku: 12♦1}

“…this is. And thou art. There is no safety. There is no end. The word must be heard in silence. There must be darkness to see the stars. The dance is always danced above the hollow place, above the terrible abyss.” – Ursula K. LeGuin, THE FARTHEST SHORE, Chapter 8

That is both the loveliest and the scariest quote, from the loveliest and scariest scene in that particular story. That moment is of failure – near-failure, anyway – to acknowledge both a friendship and a debt — and then, the redemption of that moment.

We have already failed. We have not acknowledged. We are in debt. And now for redemption.


My cousin Mary Lee is doing daily haiku-ish things (senryu, etc.) celebrating the season, commonplace marvels (which is a lovely idea) — and some in this group are doing holidays, etc. When we identify the project as “healing,” this isn’t a “slap-a-bandage-over-hemorrhage” type of thing. We acknowledge the world is craptastic, but we’re going to write a haiku anyway – and give ourselves a bit of breathing space by acknowledging the beautiful. So, maybe it’s more health-giving haiku. Holistic haiku. Whatever. This is good ritual and practice; we’ve done gratitude, and now we’re moving toward grace.

Hayford Mills 245

    frosted morning roof:
    autumn’s proof of life. Above,
    belted Orion

One Reply to “{#healinghaiku: 12♦1}”

  1. “Craptastic.” Yes. But inside the breathing space of haiku there are friends and cousins, word warriors and word sculptors, constellations and galaxies. Sending virtual hugs until such time (when?) when we find ourselves in the same room again.

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