Hai-Transfigua-ku

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Jesus climbs mountain
Glory of God on him shines:
“Jesus, I love you!”

(KF Axberg: Transfiguration)

I have rediscovered the art of Haiku.

I remember learning about the Japanese form of poetry known as Haiku in High School. When it is written in English, it uses three lines of poetry containing five, seven, and five syllables each.

The Japanese form tends to focus on nature and seasons; and instead of syllables, Haiku has 17 “moras (or ons)” (according to Wikipedia).

I am not an expert on poetry or Haiku, and I remember when I was in school that anything poetic used to just bore me to tears; but as I toddle on into late middle age, I find myself thinking and writing more rhythmically, producing sentences for the ear more than for the eye; listening for the tonal qualities of the words I choose, more than for their technical accuracies. I am no longer bored by poems, and that is scary!

I don’t know; I just feel more spiritually alive doing it that way, and the results are much more delightful and personally satisfying. There is a sense of accomplishment when one writes anything well, whether for a technical journal, a white paper presentation, or an editorial opinion; but there is a particular joy in writing or delivering a poem that cannot be fully expressed or explained in a column such as this. It has to be felt.

I have no idea if I am any good at writing poems. Newspaper columns don’t really lend themselves, visually, to the proper display of a poet’s work. News and opinions are placed neatly into columns so readers can read their papers quickly, easily, and efficiently.

Poetry isn’t prose, and art doesn’t really like to be squeezed into columns, which means it probably doesn’t belong in a newspaper as such, but Haiku is an art form that appears to work, and it is an interesting way to write (and should fit).

The joy of poetry (in general) is found in developing the discipline and patience needed to slow down one’s thinking; to pause, considering the subject; and finding the words that best express what one wants to say, using a particular form in a precise manner; and following the rules of that form (in this case, Haiku) to the best of one’s ability.

The success of a poet is not defined by the silence or accolades of the reading public, but the satisfaction welling up from within the writer; Spirit bearing witness to spirit – well done, good and faithful servant. That’s priceless.

I think that what I am discovering (and I have always been a slow learner), is that art helps people express that which is otherwise impossible to apprehend using words alone: our connection with God and with one another.

Art, in whatever forms it takes, or by whatever media is used: paint or oils on canvass, stained glass, poems, clay, doodles or sketches – art is what happens when the infinite God escapes from the confines of the artist’s soul.

When we care about what we are doing, we are artists; we are allowing God to escape from our clutches, because “caring” is one of the great gifts God has given the human race – a key to happiness and freedom.

When someone is hurt on the Serengeti, they are nothing more than a dinner bell calling to vultures, lions, hyenas, flies, and ants – animals don’t care; but as human beings, when we see people in pain, we don’t (most of us) hear dinner bells or ponder profit margins; rather, we care.

We bring relief, provide shelter, protect the weak, and feed the hungry. It’s not rocket science; it’s art. It’s taking that which is common and profane, twisted, torn, and crude, and transforming it into something or someone who, when you see them, you want to go, “Wow,” and behind your “Wow” you hear God go, “Wow!” That’s art.

Art is seeing God in what we see; hearing God in what we hear; and finding God in what we do in this, our valley.

I began this column with a Haiku telling the story of Jesus’ Transfiguration (Matthew 17), but I close with a Haiku dedicated to Barb, my wife, my love:

Her eyes look away
and in an instant you see
beauty within – Wow!