A few times a week, I walk on the beach, and lately I've been seeing these poems written in the sand. This one is "Natural History" by E.B. White. Sometimes, I see the man, writing them neatly in the sand, using an umbrella. I have named him the Beach Poet.
Today, I stopped to talk to him. He was very friendly and pleased, that I've been looking out for his poems. "The writing is so neat and beautiful, it's like a work of art. How long does it take you to do this?" I asked. "Not sure" he said. "I lose track of time. It's very meditative."
I shared with him that his sand poems remind me of Tibetan mandalas that Buddhist monks create with colored sand. It takes days or sometimes weeks for a mandala to be created, and after it's finished, the monks destroy it. "The tide is rising" I said. "It won't be long now, until the tide takes your poem."
He smiled.
I shared with him that his sand poems remind me of Tibetan mandalas that Buddhist monks create with colored sand. It takes days or sometimes weeks for a mandala to be created, and after it's finished, the monks destroy it. "The tide is rising" I said. "It won't be long now, until the tide takes your poem."
He smiled.
The spider, dropping down from twig,
Unwinds a thread of her devising:
A thin, premeditated rig
To use in rising.
And all the journey down through space,
In cool descent, and loyal-hearted,
She builds a ladder to the place
From which she started.
Thus I, gone forth, as spiders do,
In spider’s web a truth discerning,
Attach one silken strand to you
For my returning.
- E.B. White, Natural History
Unwinds a thread of her devising:
A thin, premeditated rig
To use in rising.
And all the journey down through space,
In cool descent, and loyal-hearted,
She builds a ladder to the place
From which she started.
Thus I, gone forth, as spiders do,
In spider’s web a truth discerning,
Attach one silken strand to you
For my returning.
- E.B. White, Natural History
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