Kelly Lawrence's Articles on Lions Roar

Kelly Lawrence on how writing haiku has helped her appreciate the beauty of the present moment, interspersed with haiku examples. The present moment, we are often told by those in the know, is all we have. Yet it generally feels like the one thing I don’t have…I have tried to capture this elusive present in meditation, in my yoga practice, on shamanic healing retreats and in chanting circles, only of course to realize that as soon as you try to hold on to it… poof! It’s gone. I have had to admit to myself that that blissful sense of timelessness, that here, now; free from ruminating over the past or worrying about the future is more easily accessible to me lying in a bubble bath with a glass of red wine after the children have finally gone to bed, than it has ever been on my meditation cushion. But of course the whole point of mindfulness is to live in the present, not capture it like a photograph – which then becomes a memory. It’s a paradox that left me despairing of ever discovering this power of the present moment until I discovered the Japanese art of writing haiku – three line, seventeen syllable poems that perfectly preserve a single moment without somehow diminishing it, so that when you read them you are again suspended in that single, elusive moment. I devoured haiku collections with no real intention of attempting to write them myself until I found words popping into my head unbidden during — of all times — the rushed morning school run. Cathedral spire Always on the horizon Like watchtower, or parent Ice crushing underfoot Does not sparkle as bright As my daughters eyes I have often been able to lose myself in writing, to feel that sense of flow that is perhaps what we really mean when we talk about living in the present – that expansive feeling of part of a creative process where our notions of beginning and end slip away. Until of course the phone rings or the doorbell chimes or we remember that pets or kids or spouses (whichever of those, if any, we have) and ourselves need feeding. Haiku to me sums up that expansive feeling — whether it describes a sudden flash of inspiration, or a single moment that might otherwise go unnoticed, a smell, a taste, a look, a routine part of our day suddenly seen for the gift it is. Blow out the candle flame On the window sill Yet the fragrance remains Rain caresses the streets Reminds me of your hands On me this morning Haiku is also grounding. When going through difficult times, where the past is a burden and the future seems bleak, it can keep you firmly anchored in the present, reminding us to take it one step at a time, not just day by day, but minute by minute. I do not believe faith Moves mountains But it makes them easier to climb Life is a series of these moments. The mundane and the magical, the odd and the ordinary, the painful and the poetic. I need a spirituality that is practical, relevant and grounded, and haiku helps me achieve this.

From The Under 35 Project: “Harnessing the Here and Now”

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