Zen and the Art of Serendipity: How a hideous attack by terrorists led an octogenarian artist to study Judaism and create paintings to illustrate my first poetry collection, ‘Gentle Currents: Poems of Pause & Peace’

Happy December to you and your loved ones! I hope Thanksgiving brought you joy and gratitude, and I wish you peace and happiness as we move into Hanukkah, Christmas, and the New Year.

I have good news: My first poetry collection, “Gentle Currents: Poems of Pause & Peace,” will be published March 3, 2026. And I am excited to announce the book will include 25 gorgeous watercolor paintings by a fabulous artist, Edward Kane, who will be 83 years old when it is published!

The story of how he and I met and how he came to illustrate the book is the epitome of serendipity! Edward was born and raised in San Diego. But on Oct. 7, 2023, when the Hamas atrocities occurred, he was in New York City visiting a close friend of his from his college days who is Jewish.

When the atrocities happened, there was a service at his friend’s synagogue. Edward went with him and came away from the experience curious about Judaism. Back home in San Diego, he looked into Congregation Beth Israel and started studying the Torah. He saw a notice about my Morning Mindfulness classes on Zoom and started attending those.

He practices Zen meditation and really enjoyed the way I teach. One day when I was reading one of my poems, he asked me, “Have you ever thought about publishing them in a book?” I smiled and said, “Yeah, I’m shopping my manuscript around.” And he said, “Oh, I’d love to illustrate it.”

My publisher, The Poetry Box, is a husband-and-wife team. She’s a poet and graphic artist, and he’s a photographer. They welcome illustrations and paintings in their books, and we were allowed to submit 25. That’s really remarkable, because they are very selective about what they publish.

Edward has read all the poems and selected the ones that called to mind an image he could paint. He used to teach college graphic design, so he takes each painting and puts it on Photoshop to give it a background. They look beautiful! The Poetry Box has sent me mockups of a couple of covers, and one of them has four of Edward’s paintings in different-sized squares, with both of our names.

I am planning to have a book celebration in San Diego on March 15, and we are going to have a display of all his paintings there. It’s going to be so pretty! And guess what? I have another poetry manuscript ready to publish! I had submitted it to a different publisher, and they responded that they wanted to publish it, but I have not signed the contract yet. I want to see if The Poetry Box wants to work with me on another collection. If so, I’d love to have Edward illustrate as many of those as he would like.

My second collection is called “All the Best Noises,” because for me, all poetry begins with mindfulness. I am always looking and listening and noticing things for inspiration, whether it’s birdsong or the river or the ocean, and sometimes things are noisy in all the best ways. I’m already working on a third poetry collection I hope to publish in 2028. I’m writing poetry all the time. Here are a couple from “All the Best Noises,” including the “title track”:

I am noticing everything
all at once, all the time —
so much so that some things
lay down on top of others.

Last night, sitting in the courtyard after dinner,
listening to what my husband was saying —
his words, the tone and timbre of his voice —
I was struck by the tempo of the crickets:
one-two-three-four, one-two-three-four,
keeping four-four time,
deliberate and steady as a metronome.

Meanwhile, the two big dogs
lay on the faded terra-cotta tiles,
breathing in one-four time —
a big breath in, then beat-beat-beat,
a big breath out.

Madeline on her side,
her shaved belly from the vet that morning
rising and falling like a bellows.
Eloise, four feet away,
snout on the ground,
snoring in one-four time.

When I mentioned it,
my husband said he never would have noticed,
but now that he did,
the crickets reminded him of his childhood
in the Midwest, outside Detroit.

Yes, I said —
Cleveland, too —
but in those places,
we would have fireflies.

I wish we had fireflies, too.

I am busy. From the outside, I might not appear as such, yet I dedicate this time to me — this precious time when the house hums its mechanical hum, a musical track embedded in low static.

Birdsong fills my ears. The wrens — soprano one and soprano two — are joined by the Spotted Towhee, whose croaking tune my ear now recognizes instantly, like turning a doorknob in my mind. The Song Sparrow is aptly named, and I’m cheered that it, too, is here.

There can be more and more, all included, none denied, I think, as a Mourning Dove layers its low coo into the loop. They have all the time in the world.

This cherished time, which is anything but quiet, is noisy in all the best ways.

My mug feels warm in my cupped hands, my heart beats its low, slow rhythm in my chest, my back and hips comfortably supported in my favorite chair — cane frame and soft cushion welcoming me each morning.

Picking up a book of poems, I’m filled with love that humans arrange words for each other, gifting lines born from treasured time — just like this.