Yolande Villemaire

I wrote these haikus and shared them on a wiki and then on Twitter, at the rythm of one haiku every day, between September 1st 2011 to December 7th 2011. This was my contribution to a 99 Days Project created in a virtual international community I have been meeting regurlarly in a metaverse for the last two years and a half. As we use English as a lingua franca, I wrote these haikus in English. 

 

0

::: An haiku a day

::: Sends the dove into your heart

::: Wind of wings flapping

 

1

::: Narrative fractals

::: A sacred geometry

::: Dancing in thin air

 

2

::: Sitting on a rock

 ::: Under a gentle rainfall

::: The scribe is seeing

 

3

::: A wooden mermaid

::: Springs to life as a blonde girl

::: In a lush garden

 

4

::: Dim hills in the fog

::: Clouds galloping as horses

::: Peach sky in background

 

5

::: Walking up the hills

::: A bear bell at the belt

::: Droplet of being

 

6

::: Sitting listening

::: Birds singing brilliant solos

::: Sending you my love 

 

7

::: Ravens in a field

::: Rain, rocks, moss, fragrant forest

::: Graced by doe and fawns

 

8

::: Yellow butterfly

::: On a bright yellow flower

::: Brings up a big smile

 

9 

::: Over the river

::: Suddenly a great heron

::: Majestic omen

 

10

::: Travelled galaxies

::: Healing circle in forest

::: On Mount Violet

 

11

::: On harvest full moon

::: Waking up into new world

::: Swaying with the flow

 

12

::: Grasshoppers hopping

::: Pale green boreal lichens

::: Huge erratic blocks

 

13

::: In meditation

::: Her hand writing hieroglyphs

::: On subtle tablet

 

14 

::: Moon hovering path

::: Distant bright stars, Milky Way

::: Last night up the hillls

 

15

::: In a dream a stag

::: Magical being of heart

::: Glowing and so real

 

16

::: On way back to town

::: Laurentian shield visible

::: Hills like seated beasts

 

17

::: In urban bistro

::: Overlooking a wild stream

::: In tune with my soul

 

18 

::: Sun plays in river

::: Boats, ducks, birds in a ballet

::: Under the old bridge

 

19

::: Young gothic couple

::: Blinking under the bright sun

::: Frail bats out of cave

 

20

::: Deep indigo night

::: Flowing into silence

::: In droplets of peace

 

21

::: Sharing the silence

::: Feeding a peace egregore 

::: Music of our souls

 

22 

::: A subtle dancer

::: Hieratic priest moving space

::: In the pu
blic place

 

23

::: Traffic noise and rain

::: Day folding into stillness

::: Cat dreaming cats dream

 

24

::: The peal of church bells

::: Downloading a new software

::: Looking at the sky

 

25

::: A cat with gold eyes

::: Golden channel on water

::: Day of gold dust sparks

 

26

:::Poets & healers 

:::Matrix of soul families

:::In lilac-rose ray

 

27

::: A red haired mermaid

::: Telling her mermaid story

::: Silence in green eyes

 

28

::: Cat looks like a sphinx

::: Rain is falling, washing up

::: Darkness and shadows

 

29

::: In downtown cafe

::: Fox and Eden in RL

::: Crossing the frontier 🙂 

 

30 

:::  Rocks and blue cosmos

:::  Roaming through the ocean’s floor 

:::  Cold claws of Horus

 

31 

::: An art stone lion

::: Blessing poetry workshop

::: Fresh voices and joy

 

32

::: Sculpting sounds object

::: Then missing the final haaaaaa

::: Heart closing in awe  

 

33

::: A lion roaring

::: Solar adamant Aslan

::: On the computer 

 

34

::: Waking up today

 ::: In akashik memories

::: A Lemurian cat

 

35 

::: He bytes an apple

::: User friendly door to Web

::: iLove in stardust

             _/!_

 

36

::: Sun plays on river

::: Crystal immaterial ducks

::: Floating in water

 

37

::: In Indian summer

::: Multiple layers of sounds

::: Music of the world

 

38

::: Silent in the wind

::: A pyramid of sunlight 

::: Moves golden droplets

 

39

::: Greeting the new day

::: Eyes closed listening inside

::: With a thankful heart

 

40

::: Sunset of pure gold

::: Almost full moon hovering

::: Over our dreams

 

41

::: When it’s beyond words

::: Silence is a healing cave

:::            _/!_

 

42

::: Poetry cocktail 

::: At the Russian consulate

::: Cyrillic time-cap 

 

43

::: Under a warm rain

::: Walking a happy small dog

::: In whirlwinds of scents 

 

44

:::  Chamanic meetings

:::  A lecture on fractal time

:::  And the global heart

 

45 

::: A subtle lilac

::: For the sacred feminine

::: Essence of roses 

 

46 

::: Telepathic souls

::: Aphrodite’s tiny dots

::: Applied with my brush

 

47

::: Vast vortex of ease

::: Spiraling through shooting stars

::: Anchoring the day  

   

48

::: Sacred feminine

::: In our dancing bellies

::: Ave Maria 

 

49

::: Writing is an art

::: Of elegant clarity

::: Through complexity 

 

50

::: Waking up at dawn

::: Hugging a virtual friend

::: Through the Atlantic

 

51

::: Through and through white clothes

::: Ironing for tomorrow     

::: Energy workshop

 

52 

::: Clairsentient panther

::: Dancing with subtle bodies

::: Grounding healing hands

 

53

::: Reading what is real

::: A world of dancing colors 

::: Beyond the senses

 

54

::: Travelling through time

::: Through the seventeen high doors

::: Through the black light key

 

55

::: Home just for one day

::: With sparkling joy in his eyes

::: My loving brother

 

56

::: Rajput karma loop  

::: Diwali with Indian friend

::: Timewave sweet ripples 

 

57

::: Living in the dark

::: His soul fragrant with lilac

::: He breaks up his chains

 

58

::: Drums dances blankets

::: At #OccupyMontreal

::: In City of Cold

 

59

:: Making video

::: Posting it online to share

::: What’s happening here

 

http://bit.ly/tXwEc0

 

60

::: A wave of sadness

::: Washed away by ghosts, robots

::: Princesses in pink

 

61

::: Even though it’s late

::: Showing up for poetry

::: Friends of friends linking

 

62

::: Stretching like a cat

::: On el Día de Muertos

::: Going with the flow

 

63

::: A bubble of noise

::: Drills, electric saws and then

::: Needles of silence

 

64

::: Dawn’s rose rays welcome

::: The darkening of the light

::: With inner blessings

 

65

::: My happy old Dad

::: Travelling with lady friends

::: To a cuban beach

 

66 

::: Breathing in sun rays

::: Young boys playing street hockey

::: A sky of pure blue

 

67 

::: Floating through the trees

::: An etheric cross of light

::: Pulsing in the wind

 

68

::: An old gentle soul

::: So dear and so much loving

::: Passing through the veil

 

69

::: In a waxing moon

::: Rocking myself in the swing

::: Backyard lullaby

 

70

::: To feel is the key

::: Intelligence of the heart

::: Full moon high tides blues

 

71

::: Filming all day long

::: At Occupy Montreal

::: Magical people

http://onedayonearth.org

 

72 

::: A telluric dance 

::: In the underground city

::: Of howling shadows

 

73 

:::  Someone on Twitter

:::  Offers a smile, I smile back

:::  Friendly hieroglyphs

 

74

::: A new English word

::: Popping up twice the same day

::: « Stowaway » haiku

 

75

::: Moving to iCloud

::: Closing eyes in the subway

::: Tuesday afternoon

 

76

::: The opening night 

::: At the Montreal Book Fair

::: Meeting friendly souls

 

77

::: It’s a turning point

::: An epiphany of truth

::: And simplicity

 

78

::: Sun salutations

::: In the lightness of being

::: Nurturing the heart

 

79

::: A murmuration

::: Cloud of starlings in the mind

::: Moving twirling thoughts

 

80

::: Basking in the warmth

::: The blue waters of Cuba

::: Dad came back smiling

 

81

::: As going to bed

::: Indigo envelops me

::: Taste of subtle world

 

82 

::: Translucent dryads

::: Flames of souls in bare branches

::: Filaments of light

 

83

::: The first snow angel

::: A two year old in the park

::: Lost in wonderment

 

84

::: Falling back to sleep

::: Dreaming of the word « daedal »

::: A wild bull roaming

 

85

::: Talking of Egypt

::: With young reporter leaving

::: Her mom is worried

 

86

::: First a funeral

::: Then he’s leaving for Paris

::: Day of detachments

 

87

::: Songs of innocence

::: Doves sent flying at church’s door

::: Quantic leaps of souls

 

88

 ::: In winding spirals

::: Hours long conversation

::: With youngest brother

 

89

::: November birds chant  

::: A rose ray bathing my heart

::: In loving kindness

 

90

::: A Tibetan meal

::: Tsampa, steamed vegetables

::: Warm goji berries

 

91

::: Deep deep deep under

::: Blue ray of motherly love

::: On this spaceship earth

 

92

::: After all the rain

::: Purple sky with a half-moon

::: A dream lingering

 

93

:::  With clairvoyant eyes

::: « It’s difficult to explain » 

:::  He says and I see

 

94

::: In sunny living

::: The  amber lights of winter

::: Sipping hot black tea 

 

95

::: A mystical mist

::: Rises over the river

::: And dilutes the world

 

96

::: Healing hands on nape

::: Deep breathing being

::: Back into body

 

97

::: A pearly grey light

::: Squirrel nests and damp dead leaves

::: Thin web of branches

 

98

::: Drifting into sleep

::: A purring cat on plexus

::: Cosmic sphinx of peace

 

99

::: Ninety-ninth haiku

::: Sends the dove into your heart

::: With a video

 

 

 

Yolande Villemaire

©TOTEMPOETRY2012

 

201201240625There was an ice-storm yesterday night and we were only 40 or so at the channeling: the attendance is usually around 200. It felt quiet and intimate. The topic was joy, how important it is in these times of difficult passages. The medium I met almost a year now, guided us in a meditation where we got in touch with a moment of pure joy in our lives. These sensations in our bodies are sorts of radars leading us to the best choices for our health and general well-being. I was so tired, I might have slumbered until he mentioned how important it is to add a cycle of 90 minutes of sleep at the beginning of our nights and how nurturing joy and being kind to ourselves is crucial in these times of turbulent energies bringing up karmic knots that can be released gently by being in touch with ourselves, not denying what we feel, yet not lingering in the pain, taking hot baths, rocking ourselves and maybe nibbling on a bite of chocolate…He made us laugh, saying some of us might have heard he was saying to feed ourselves on chocolate only and I was now completely awake! There was a longer than usual session of questions and answers. The questions were poignant and his answers so full of nuances, with deep silences and delicate hand gestures, beaming a wonderful smile at times. He keeps his eyes closed until he stops channeling at the end of the evening and it’s a delight to just look at him tune into the person asking a question. I’m getting used to see him in trance now, I remember how weird it seemed a year ago: after all I have known him as a regular little kid when were growing up, on the same street. He can be utterly funny at times: there was a moment of pure slapstick where he would get very animated, his tone staying very gentle and loving but with sweeping movements of his arms, to the point where his assistant, sitting on the other side of the little table where there is always a large vase of fresh roses, got scared he would hit the flowers. She started moving the vase out of his way further and further towards the edge of the table until the first row was shaking with repressed laughter. We didn’t want to startle the medium out of his trance. He got so effervescent when someone had asked about the Year of the Dragon and he seemed to be foreseeing a time of great expansion, an excellent time for creation, a time for love. Joy is going to see us through the narrow passage. As I’m writing this on my electronic tablet in bed, my cat is walking delicately towards me on the down comforter, purring. Moment of pure joy. Going back to sleep now as I came home too late to have my extra 90 minutes sleep. Ah…REST. #timestampPosted 08:55, 24 Jan 2012 on Play as Being Wiki (as Eden) at http://bit.ly/Asbobt

We are on a country road, at night. There are two lights hovering over the road in a short distance ahead of us. He says: «Let’s go there». As soon as we start walking, we seem to be walking in mid-air. Soon, we are going through thin veils of yellow, dissolving like clouds around us. I say: «These are beings!!». I’m marveled! Now horses are running towards us, flowing around our heads, drawing of horses really: I see only the contour of their heads and manes, like an orange line, of fire maybe, like prehistoric horses on caves, on both sides of the road, like they are flowing in from the middle of the night sky over the road. Then, suddenly, the horses are in front of us: I see their bodies now, their galloping legs: they are moving through us. They have phosphorescent blue/violet eyes. I whisper: «They have phosphorecent eyes…». I’m wondering why he doesn’t say anything. Then I hear a sound, not a purring exactly, but a sound made by a cat. I wonder about that sound and then light pours in and all the wild horses in movement solidify into pale fragments of roman ceramics on the ground and I’m wide awake.

 

Cette histoire commence dans une échelle. Un rayon de soleil illumine l’espace d’une shed, au Québec, vers le milieu du XXe siècle. La petite fille dans l’échelle n’a pas encore trois ans. Elle est enchâssée dans le temps et voyage dans l’éternité, scribe intemporel du côté hiéroglyphe de ce qu’on appelle le réel. Elle tremble, un tremblement de fond qui secoue tout son être. Elle voit jusque dans les profondeurs indigo du Temps. Dans sa robe du dimanche et ses belles bottines blanches, la petite tremble. Il y a, en haut de l’échelle, une voix, une voix qui l’appelle. 

 

C’est la voix du réel. Une voix qui scellera son destin. Il était écrit qu’il y aurait cette échelle chromatique et ce tremblement des sens qui ferait d’elle une claireaudiente comme sa mère, sa grand-mère et son arrière-grand-mère avant elle. Il était écrit dans la Maison des Rêves des premières nations de ce territoire qu’elle entrerait un jour dans la Maison de Mica de la paix. 

 

Elle en ferait un jour un livre. Un livre-sphinx comme ce lion de feu tapi dans le désert, protégeant les cités souterraines d’humanités disparues. Elle raconterait des histoires comme elle se l’était promis petite quand il lui avait fallu rendre à la bibliothèque ces petites filles de l’arc-en-ciel qui lui allaient droit au coeur. Ah! pouvoir les suivre dans les passages secrets d’un château comme il n’y en avait que dans les livres quand on avait vu le jour à Saint-Augustin comté des Deux-Montagnes! Elle entendrait longtemps l’écho de leurs pas jusque dans le profondeurs de la Terre et dans les moraines de ses livres d’enfant comme dans les labyrinthes de ses cours de civilisations anciennes. 

 

Oui, elle écrirait des histoires. Maman lui avait donné, le jour de ses onze ans, un agenda avec sa pierre de naissance et un délicat fermoir doré qu’on pouvait verrouiller avec une clé minuscule en lui disant:«Tiens, tu vas pouvoir écrire tous tes secrets.»

 

Elle se retrouverait un jour à l’autre bout de la Terre, juchée sur un tréteau dressé pour une lecture de poésie en plein air, à chanter le son du Soi, tandis que le ciel rose se déploierait au-dessus d’une des plus grandes villes du monde. 

 

 

extrait de La rose des temps, roman

 

Photo by Vani (via Christian Feuillette)

Happy New Year!

Envoy?? de mon iPad

Filming at Occupy Montreal on 11/11/11 for One Day on Earth Project