Wishes, Connection, Frogs and Fireflys
I would be a goat, reaching heights
by confident trails.
I would be a vixen hunting; a drove of pigs
furrowing a field.
I would have mother’s vision, seeing all life in
a baby’s smile.
I would be a Zen sage, reducing wisdom
to a koan,
and draw on our globe, a map upon which
all could find their
clear-cut manifestations of divine ambiguity.
Throughout dark months, I had been in doubt,
does awareness bring outside in while permitting
inside out? Then, one burnished morning,
when sun hovered like a kestrel and ladybirds
promenaded greenhouse glass, I opened
the sash we had shut against winter.
Similar events had happened before at the other
end of the year: sycamore seeds had spun,
and beautiful thoughts had extended a mycelium
under leaf-mold. Then I knew, for most of my life,
peddlers of pedestrian truths had been defining
my world, yet I never could ignore the rustling
of insects revealing their fragments of light.
Each winter draws ladybirds between
frame and sash, mist, a veil under the blue.
Dewdrops glistening on twigs, invert the world.
Suddenly upside-down, I reestablished faith.
Without a doubt, awareness calls outside in,
and at the same stroke, permits inside out.
Frogs and Fireflies
Dusk drains amber and emerald
from ruby skies.
Flickering lights above darkening pond
beckon to follow fireflies.
There are also frogs, a sprung spring-chorus,
a chant of tipsy minstrels.
As voices shift in reeds, I reset my footing,
now finding myself angled
like the tower on Piazza of Miracles.
Soon my soul, damp with immersion
shall merge with collective mind where I sense
extensions reaching like water, like rain.
This grasp will endure, unlike fireflies’
short-lived transcendence, as fluids
meander in aquatic languor, and I belong,
at last, to my family, below
flashing displays in aspiring skies.
By Misha Norland
Mishaâ€™s legacy is immense, his footprints carved in stone in a myriad homeopathic nooks and crannies. He left a wealth of riches for every student, every homeopath, for every school - and so he will be remembered with the greatest of ease. Above all he left his sons to carry on his healing traditions.
Misha was our father, our grandfather, our beacon. Misha was the last bridge between the old and new eras of homoeopathy, yet always a pioneer. Misha was the founder of our schools. Misha was the face of peace and tranquility, the heart of love and poetry, the mind of metaphor.
Misha had a magical way of bringing joy every time he walked into the classroom. No one who met him could forget his smile. And I'll never forget the advice and the lessons he taught me. His wisdom will forever guide me in my homeopathic practice. Misha was a man who set a lasting impression on everyone he met. His deep laugh and kind eyes warmed the room and brought life into the most boring subjects in the class. He was a great teacher and a dependable friend.
Dear Misha, Dear old friend, So vital So full of Love, So curious, So good friendship, So loyal. Thanks for being in my life since 1984. 36 years. We connect sure in the next realm.