The mind sets itself, darkening, wandering through a self-contained maze.
But here’s the sun, shining on my face– melting the brittle brumal pathways that detour spirit.
In the middle of the afternoon, on a clear day, the sun shines between the buildings across the street right into my windows. The other day just as I took a break and lay down on my couch, savoring the warmth, this version of John Denver’s “Sunshine” came on the radio.
Which of course made me think of George Harrison’s “Here Comes the Sun”.
You meet me only on your own terms, describe me and put me into categories based on the systems created by the human mind. You expect me to respond like you do, refusing to grant intelligence or even sentience to my interactions with others of my species, with the world I know, inhabit, understand. You deny me even the dignity of knowing who I am.
The sea calls to you—it is where you came from, what you carry in the cells that form your body. Before history begin, we were all one. You believe in your own superiority, the pinnacle of a tree with many branches that was seeded in the ocean. But the branches are subtle, complex. Our paths are so divergent they intersect only on completely different layers of reality.
You consider the possibilities; I am all potential. You struggle to reconcile body and mind; my brain is everywhere in my body, fully integrated into my entire being. We have no physical equivalence. What makes you think your dreams are better, or more real?
what is a thought? can words capture it? images, colors, patterns—this
is music—transformations into chords of utter joy
It took me awhile to figure out what animal to give a voice to for the earthweal challenge this week from Sherry, when animals speak. But I kept going back in my mind to a book I read last year by Peter Godfrey Smith, Other Minds, about the octopus but also about how life came to be. Cephalopods are truly alien forms of life.
They are their own canvas, their own clay, with malleable bodies that can change their skin both in color and pattern. Their mind is located throughout their body and arms, and they seem to both learn and play. Is it possible to ever truly understand their consciousness?
Too much and too little of everything, this disembodied crowd of kings and fools– the culmination of faith is a leap into the unknown– the spaces between are all that remains.
The details of life become blurred and distorted, fragments scattered into ghosts reflecting the collision of bottomless dreams and desires– too much and too little of everything.
Plans go astray, linger unrealized. The path is long and winding and there is no map — what makes us think we have finally found the truth? (this disembodied crowd of kings and fools)
Does only night reveal the secret of the star? The past follows us no matter where we go– how little is really necessary! The culmination of faith is a leap into the unknown.
The earth embraces us, teeming with life– what are we looking for? where do we belong? Will we recognize it when we reach our destination?– the spaces between are all that remains.
memories are woven into tales– time and space expanded and compressed—fragments scattered like ghosts of what is
no longer there—we know why we seek this thing– Divine Light– but there is no star, only an endless procession
escaping from its past—still we always come back again, repeating the well trodden paths of Holy fools–
and when our destination finds us what will we see? grace reflecting the gift of life? or the gold of kings?
I wrote these two poems (a cascade, and a shadorma chain) in response to a painting of the daylight travels of the Magi followed by multitudes of richly garbed men which was part of the Ekphrastic Review Holiday Challenge. These did not make the cut. But when I saw the Earthweal Challenge for the change we are, I thought they fit.
I know my prompt responses often seem to veer off course, and maybe this one is also in that category. Perhaps it stems from my sense of things not fitting properly in the world–myself included–which gives me a general inability to feel I am accurately responding to anything. But I also feel that’s where “we” are at this Solstice 2020. Changes are all around us, but it’s hard to find the proper light in which to tell exactly what they are.
the window reflects only me, but I know that beyond, in the dark, the branches cast their shadow against the sky—a patterned whisper, a voice like wrinkled wind. Outside is far away from the artificial glitter of a wire-wrapped tree, sparkling a mere imitation of stars, pretending to echo in a vibration of what the night has to say—the messages passed amongst the members of the nocturnal choir. The listening of the landscape requires attention—the trees’ murmuring, air displaced by invisible wings, thin threads woven in soundwebs—stillness shivering the leaves.
A golden shovel poem for the dVerse prompt from Peter for endings. I’ve used a line from M L Smoker’s poem “Mercy”–a source for a number of pages of writing in my journal.
“But the shadow voice is a mere vibration amongst the trees’ thin leaves.” –M L Smoker, Mercy
in the beginning, dark– isn’t it always?—then inside the seed, the egg, illumination—orbs invoking each other, imagined, conjoined, kin– instruments of (re)birth
The musical selection of seasonal carols that is the Kick-About challenge #17 made me think of the cosmos–not just the return of the light this season celebrates, but the vast circles of time and space to which we belong. But how to show this in a concrete way?
I turned to sacred geometry–the Seed of Life and the Egg of Life, images based on seven circles as a framework for the whole of creation, forms that also echo the tones of the musical scale.
For my collages I used images from 2 of my reference books–Majestic Universe and Space Odyssey. It was a learning process, fitting all the pieces together like a puzzle, but I eventually approached the images I had in my mind.
And for the poem, a seven line form–appropriately named Pleiades. Its six-syllable lines also reflect the 7 + 6 circles of the Egg of Life mandala.
“That what you fear the most Could meet you halfway” –Victoria Williams, Crazy Mary
we live both predator and prey our expectations threatening– attack, suppress, retreat or stay, we live both predator and prey to welcome or to turn away each action, choice, a reckoning— we live both predator and prey our expectations threatening
Sherry at Earthweal this week challenges us to think about our relationship with sharks, or the idea of sharks. I chose to focus on the fear, a good stand-in for many of our anxieties about living in and being part of a connected world.
Ever since Laura at dVerse posted her prompt with a link to eight line poetry forms, I have been fooling around with some of them. This poem is a triolet.