The Stellar Connection

It is intriguing to me how small, quiet moments can reveal important truths to our heart and soul.
My husband brought home a calendar filled with beautiful portraits of cats. We have had cats for 27 years now, and I am very fond of our feline companions, past and present. As I was admiring the insightful portrait photographs of the various cats, old, young, male, female, I was struck by how the photographers were able to reveal intimate aspects of each cat's personality and disposition. Some cats looked back at the camera with soulful eyes, others seemed amused, others yet curious, or shy, or proud. Each portrait apparently taken with great respect and patience, revealed a being that was intelligent and had a story to tell. Over the years I have spent a lot of time communicating with my feline friends, and body language through the eyes and sounds of varying timbre and intensity go a long way as to how our cat companions let us know their moods and needs. I touched the photographs tenderly, trying to get a sense of each cat. Looking at them brought back the cats we had lost over the years to old age, illness, a bad encounter with another cat. I saw hints of those cats we lost in the pictures of the calendar. It stirred old hurts and old loves. The calendar included the story of each cat, some happy, some sad, and the pictures revealed as much in their eyes.
I remembered the words of ancient wisdom " Do unto others as you would have them do unto you." And it hit me like a ton of bricks, that we are all connected, that there is no separation. When a pebble hits the water, its effect of ripples goes all the way as far as it can go, before coming back to the point where it started. So it is with all our connections, with all the people and animals we bring into our lives. We are all stardust that comes in different shapes, made from the same batch  of ingredients, way up there where the stars glitter. If we love one, we love all, and all the love eventually comes back to its beginning point. If we hate and hurt, all that hate and hurt will come back and destroy us in turn. It was so clear to me now. No new revelation I know, but it was new to me in that I knew in my bones that this was an undeniable universal truth, constantly being trampled and ignored, constantly being practised and revered. On the cross, as He was dying, Christ asked the God who sent him our way to forgive those who were tormenting and killing him, because "They do no know what they are doing." I understand now that this was true, and remains true. In a law that I know to be real now, whoever tortures and hurts, starves, imprisons, abuses, kills another, will eventually be faced with the same circumstances that caught up with them, whether in this life or a next one, as nature is keen on recycling and balance. Some call it karma, I think of it now as undeniable science, because you are me and I am you. Animals have taught me a lot over the years. A lot about love, patience, forgiveness, intelligence, understanding, time, hope, dignity. I have learned to listen to what they say beyond the limits of verbal communication, beyond the obvious, the familiar. My cat , and dog companions as well, are reminders that there is no such thing as no consequences, no such thing as no connection between all of us on this amazing planet we continue to ignore as it signs us desperately to listen, to open up our hearts and minds and listen. The stars we see in the others' eyes are reflections of the stars above and their laws. Your cat and dog know it, and now, I know it ,too. These laws are in place here, too. So be kind, be patient, be wise. There is no me and you. There is only love that is waiting for all of us to understand.

Incense at Dawn

With the night still black, the rain smells of incense and fallen leaves.
Singing like a waterfall hiding in dense woods, its wetness wraps around
dawn's struggling light, searching for colour among a sky heavy with fleeing stars.

Rain and its dancing drops fill my head with their silver song
as I let sleep take me back to where my dreams walk in the sun.

Music with warm flutes walks its melodies across the patio's willing stones
that welcome the rain's rhythms in shades of moss and mushrooms.

Welcome, autumn with your musty scents and black velvet nights,
as we warm our hearts and souls by hot fire and with hot drink and food,
knowing winter is still to come with its white ice and heavy snow,
before spring breaks the spell once more with bright flowers, and days and nights
filled with singing birds and happy frogs.



Trudi Ralston.
October 26th, 2016.

The Passage of Time

Over the weekend I got to see a friend from my undergraduate college days in Fort Worth, Texas. The last time I saw my Salvadorean friend was 32 years ago. As soon as I saw him, it felt as if time had both stood still and moved fast forward at warp speed. I had only seen a few vague recent pictures of him, but there was no mistaken my friend. A gentle, quiet person with a ready smile and warm, intelligent eyes, I was looking at the middle aged man my young college friend had become with the undeniable passage of time. When I was younger I was under the erroneous impression that older people understood better the mysteries of life with that passage of years and time. Being middle aged myself now, I realize that is just not so. The incoming grey hair and appearance of wrinkles only make it look like we know what the hell we are doing. Inside I feel still 27, and perhaps that is where the puzzlement comes. Our hearts do not age, neither does our love for our friends and family, yet when we look in the mirror certain days, it takes all our effort not to take it down or run the other way. To me, with each passing year , the mystery of life only seems to deepen. It is a journey with no maps and no clear ETA as far as our final destination, which is a land from which no one returns no matter the claims or imaginings to the contrary. Cemeteries remain utterly quiet to this day, as far as I know.
My friend and I and my husband had a very nice visit together. We spent hours just talking, sharing and it truly felt like time ceased to exist. It was a wonderful feeling. Perhaps those are the only chances we have at cheating time, by spending time with friends and loved ones,sharing common goals and dreams, thereby forgetting time and its constraints. Destiny is another strange bedfellow. Is there such a thing? Some people weave into the fabric of our lives like bright coloured stitching. I have a friend in France and another in Morocco I have not seen in a lifetime, yet they have remained in my heart and soul and are very much part of my will to thrive , to keep believing in life, in love, in friendship across time and continents. In that sense, the passage of time has not taken the upper hand. These friends are a part of me, of my heartbeat and hope, of lessons learned, of dreams longing to still be fulfilled, of dignity triumphing in the face of sorrow and loss. I have always enjoyed science - fiction, because it explores the possibilities of both technology in the future and man's adaptability and resourcefulness intellectually and emotionally, whether it is in the face of a dystopian future or the marvel of a hopeful, peaceful future. One of the constants in the challenges in these scenarios, is the manipulation of time. Instant teleportation from one planet to another, traveling at dizzying warpspeed, parallel universes, reversal of time are all enthusiastically explored, much to the viewer or reader's delight. Modern communication has done incredible things in shortening the distance between humans across our planet. Instant messaging and access to video communications across the globe allow people to stay in touch and maintain connections that otherwise would be challenged with the demands of both distance and its controlling cousin, time. With patience, respect and an open heart and mind, I have deepened  friendships with people that are far away geographically speaking, yet feel as close as were they living in my town. Perhaps there is an aspect of illusion there, because there is nothing better than being there in person, but, there is a certain poetic beauty in communicating with someone dear to you that you know is far away and that you have not seen in a long time, and that you may not see again still in perhaps more years and time to come. Perhaps it is the poet and writer in me, but instead of finding the distance daunting, I have learned to embrace it with passion and optimism. In this case, too, then passage of time is at a disadvantage, because it always loses when it comes up against people who care about each other. The past can be a beautiful bridge to the future, where the present is patient and tenacious, shortening the distance with each communication, until that distance becomes almost irrelevant. The passage of time then becomes a smiling accomplice in sabotaging its premise to keep us prisoners of its laws that want us to believe that all things pass. All things do pass, but the love we share becomes part of our spirits that leave our bones behind when time catches up with us to go meet our friends again beyond the brilliance of the silent stars.

Shadows and Rain

Silken soft the sun glides, rustling her quiet fingers through
the falling leaves in sparks of yellow, green and red.

Pushed aside by the heavy curtains of charcoal gray rain,
the sun takes her leave to try again another day.

Hard like a hammer and nails, the rain pounds the soft, wet grass,
scaring into the ground all creatures small and frail.

Shadows walking their steely boots crack across the land,
draining all colour and hope with their hard clenched hands.

"Violence masks itself through lies, and lies can only keep
their mask through violence", Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn knew this well.


Shadows and rain, standing shoulder to shoulder in menacing refrain,
the shepherds weary flee their flock, and in come the wolves, teeth bare and red.

All hail the dead, all scorn the free spirits who question the fists,
only those who know how to sing in silence and fly on invisible wings will stay free.

Shadows and rain, drowning out all colours that are not gray,
all voices that are not mute, all eyes that are not blind, all ears that are not deaf.

" Pourquoi cette pluie ?" asks the poet Idir in one of his soul piercing songs.
We should be careful that we, too, soon will not be asking why so much has gone wrong.

Bless the poets and the innocents, may they not be abandoned for their fire and their courage,
for it is they who will collect the ashes, hoping a phoenix takes mercy on the broken lives and broken dreams.



Trudi Ralston.
October 18th, 2016.

Second Layer

Caught between light and shadow, the fabric of our lives slips through
time's fingers, quietly, with soft shoed steps and cadences.
Its layers elusive to the naked eye, the fabric feels deceptively one and solid.
Not unlike our vision's eyes and dreams, it is only the traveler there who can see
the invisible once night flees before the call of dawn.


The stitches on the fabric's patterns a language all our own, with markings
that reveal only what we can tolerate to be seen , our naked souls shivering
bashfully without the warmth of blankets to cover our deepest fears and longings.
I could not bear for you to see me so revealed, so vulnerable and real,
as you too, pull tighter the clasp on your own crimson robe .

Second layer, deeply hidden within the smooth first layer of our heart and mind,
rarely revealed, rarely shared, will you ever notice it is there, in all its golden shimmer
and searing delight? Will time ever look the other way, as the fabric rustles past
the forest where everyone hides beneath the sturdy oak of oath and pride?

Passing over me like an eagle's shadow on a bright blue sky, I wonder if you too
look up into the wideness of the air, and catch a fleeting scent of my breath reaching
to touch yours in your own muted flight?


Trudi Ralston.
October 10th, 2016.

Standing Watch

A valley holds a lot of space, holds meadows and mountains, too.
It has a wisdom all its own, as it quietly moves through the seasons of time.
Standing at its edge seems to temper its magnitude and awe, that have seen
their weight in sky, gods and stars.

And so time passes its shadows across the clouds and lands,
witness to our passage through this measure of life that is briefly ours.
Standing watch at opposite sides of the globe, our steps echo only to silence's call.
The distance so wide, from your mountains to mine, from your voice to my dreams.

There was a time when the distance between our paths was measurable and held some spark
of both delight and learning, before distant shores called you home and I found a home of my own.
A bond of culture and history made us friends, with me eager to learn more.
The distance did not vanquish you from the visits you made to my imagination's dreams at night.

Standing watch still after all these years,with many a poem and story shared on its trail
between your shores and mine, a source of pride in a book of poems that now bears your name.
A valley holds a lot of space, holds meadows and mountains ,too.
It has a wisdom all its own, as it quietly moves through the seasons of time.

Times wears like dust off the desert's stones, and we do not notice it wears off us, too.
I hear you walk still and hear your voice in my dreams, where time can both stand still
and reverse its chime, while in the waking hours it is becoming clear to me,
time has, in the end, its way with us all. 


Trudi Ralston.
October 3rd, 2016.
For Driss Ouaouicha. 

Keepers of the Realm

It is a quiet place, where both light and shadow roam, in peaceful harmony.
Night follows day in obedient synchronisity, and birds delight in each dawn.
It is a place where home keeps a bright and warm fire, secure and safe.
A place that keeps a song in my heart and a purpose to my soul.

We are the keepers of the realm, the ones who made it to the other side,
away from the current of that treacherous river that could have taken us down.
Free, strong and our own clan, we stand together, far away from delusion and cowardice.
It is our quiet place to enjoy and share in modesty and dignity.

It is a quiet place, where a humming tune never is far, where grapes and strawberries
and Asian pears and blueberries grow, along side fragrant Sweet Peas and Moring Glory,
where squirrels take delight in rustling our hazelnut bushes, and Blue Jays take off with
the cherry's sweet fruit and fragrant juice of plums.

Keepers of the realm, so we are,the three of us, of our home at the edge of lake and forest,
where the Bald Eagle soars in glorious skies leaving its strident call as signature and name.
The tall trees guardians all around, at the campfires we enjoy under summer's stars,
and the swimmingpool's sweet cooling water a soothing drink to their thirsty roots.

It is a quiet place, where both light and shadow roam, in peaceful harmony.
Night follows day in obedient synchronisity, and birds delight in each dawn.
It is a place where I wear my solitude as a crown, hard earned and proudly shown,
it is where my name is new and feels now to be my very own.


Trudi Ralston.
October 3rd, 2016.