The moon in her current path shines across my bed at about 2 am. She makes sure I acknowledge her gift.
And of course the moon and the Oracle are old friends…
beneath the shadow
of my dream
language sleeps
in a forest of wind
the moon sings me
into its lightship
soaring on mad tongues
without a whisper of why
the tear
in the chronology
gets larger and frays
into an edgeless rift–
it weighs nothing
this breathing out
this feather
that has lost its wing
we follow the circle
around the burning bush
the light too intense
to hold our gaze—
who is this transparent
being that takes hands
and pulls them into patterns
made whole by what lies
beyond envisioning–
we blur like dervishes
tangled in life’s netting
until our falling and rising
are indistinguishable
until the center is outside
any definition of ourselves
until the hidden reveals
the opening in our eyes–
every nerve becomes
a soundless song
a complete chord
that pauses in nexus–
source proof reason
meaningless irreversible
stilled
For earthweal A Midsummer Night’s Dreamtime.
and linking to dVerse OLN hosted by Bjorn
I am still waiting for clarity–
sometimes I think about
the things I can’t see
and I wonder how
to place them inside my mind–
Out of the dark and still
I am dreaming of colors
liquid currents of sound
moving in all directions
between the gaps–
Do our visions swim
cataracted with refractions–
flooding the invisible
barriers of the portals
into our eyes?
As I told Phil, this week’s Kick-About prompt, fundus photography, was made for my watercolor mandalas. First, photographing the inner eye naturally makes for roundness, and the liquid state calls for watercolor to represent it.
I did 4 watercolors and embroidered on 2 of them. If I exaggerated the colors a bit, well, my eye often does the same.
If I approach before, must I retreat after? The mirror is always turning. The reflection reverts, echos, remembers, forgets. Meets itself, coming and going. Centered, stilled.
on the cusp
earth bows to the sun
abiding
Perhaps the sudden and expanded silence is what heals, releases the mind from meaning. Can words ever really stand in for what they are not?
Without time, I can relocate who I am. I reach for next, but I don’t understand until later how very far it is from now.
widdershins
the circle dances
into fire
Frank at dVerse has us thinking about the Solstice.
And my title has me thinking about Joni.
More art from the archives.
always digging deeper–
roots that grow below, restore–
listening through decay beyond stillness,
a place that is neither
dark nor light, yet full, aware,
gathered germinating into witness,
distilled light casting words
that linger as counterpart–
revealing mysteries in all that is
held on the wings of birds,
circulated through the heart,
absorbed into the spiraling axis
It’s poet’s choice of form at Colleen’s Tanka Tuesday, and how could I resist a syllabic form called “kerf”? I meant this also to be for the earthweal challenge this week, earthcraft, but obviously did not finish it in time.
Once again, art from the archives.
you drift along,
along and along,
without wind or sea–
can you see
yourself moving? or is
everything drifting? is
it all doldrums,
your mind sailing on doldrums,
on emptiness, what is
no longer there—was
anything ever there?
you long to immerse
yourself, to immerse
your body in the sea,
the primal waters of the sea–
to float and forget, to
dive and immerse
yourself in life’s womb, to
close your eyes, to
shrink, becoming
a stone waiting to
be cast and skipped rippling
back to where you belong—
where do you belong?
you drift along…
Laura at dVerse has us repeating ourselves. Not difficult for me, as my mind likes to travel back and forth and revisit what it has already said before.
My images are also recycled.
I drift inside dream rivers open and wild with singing, flowing through unexplored dimensions into rough horizonless seas. How will I cross?
My vessel waits, slowly filling with circular light.
in between what and
if sail the indigo night
gardens of the moon
A haibun with the theme “flower moon” for Frank at dverse.
The Oracle was obviously missing the birdlings.
ghosts linger as dark stars
dazzled holes of lost time
ask the angels how to remember
flying the sky
melting color like sacred fire
dancing with air
if we sail our breath
with wild naked eyes
vast and opened into listening
who will we become?
Also linking to earthweal open link weekend.
