moon appears as reflection–
sun mirrored into night
but brighter, closer
and how far is far away?–
forever, sometimes, as if
never were always the answer
to the question of when
third eye digs deeper,
dreamclosing the distance, the interval
between asleep and wings
It was cloudy when the moon was eclipsing last night, but later on it cleared into mist, and woke me up, as it is wont to do–the top photo is how it looked through my bedroom window about 3am. And above is a close up. The mist allowed me to get some detail–when it’s very clear all that shows up in photos is an intense light.
A quadrille using the word sleep for Sarah at dVerse. I’ve borrowed the dual title idea from David at The Skeptic’s Kaddish–I ran across the word avigation (it means aerial navigation) recently, and I’ve been wanting to use it for something ever since.
The moon was misty last week too.
My message from the Oracle. The almost-full moon woke me again last night. And at dawn–robin, blue jay, mockingbird, cardinal, mourning dove, crow–they are still here.
birds grow quiet
as
the spirit wanders
between why
and the ancient moon
that wakes me
shining through this season
of night
I ask dawn for song
listen
as dark becomes light
Another one of my Redon-inspired collages, and some birdlings from the archives.
after the bitter blows
storms of blood rain
we whisper please
but death does not reply
the sun rose as if dreamed
the moon still inside the sky
This message from the Oracle recalled the Dylan song One Too Many Mornings (and a thousand miles behind). Sometimes it feels like that’s where we’re stuck right now.
And if I am also someone else? Bearing the ship, the fools, the edge of the cliff above the valley, the shadows, the death—acres and acres of endings. An echo, turning inside out and upside down.
What are my real parameters? Where is that world located, the one that is opposite, a mirror of this one? Do I even know anything about navigation, understand what it is? A moon wrapped in brown paper, perhaps, opening and closing the holes in time. A compass completely reversed, remattered.
Sometimes I catch a glimpse of that other me, a brief flash on the edge of the dark, invisible, yet fully present. All at once, nowhere, I become the voyage itself, shored with lunemares, sailing without destination, spinning beyond gravity.
Outside my life remains uneasy, breath held, waiting for the whirling center to draw it in, under.
Brendan at earthweal asks: What then is this wild dark?
Carol Ann Duffy replies, via Bjorn at dVerse: It is a moon wrapped in brown paper
She thinks of summer, the beach. She remembers the full moon rising above the water and shining a path from horizon to sandy shore, like the deserted backroads of a lonely night. She wonders if those drives are only memories of dreams, condensed into something far more infinite than the actual roads she may have once traveled.
Her boundaries seem to follow her everywhere.
She remembers sitting on the deck, looking up into all the places she will never visit in this body. Her mind drifts with the rising and falling of dark waves.
What is never anyway to the ocean that rocks her, the heavens that reach out to her retrospectively from that vista imprinted on her mind? It spirals her like a galaxy, coiling her longing into stars.
trails of sparkling dust–
secrets of ghost owls echo,
shadowing the moon
For earthweal, where Brendan has written about wild mind, the one that needs no device to set it free.
Even in the midst of a snowstorm, the Oracle is thinking of the moon.
raw soaring storms sing
the music of wind—we swim
dreaming beyond sleep
we ache for the still shadow
of the black moon whispering
bare beneath sea-sky
all the mother languages
held inside light
The Oracle is still wandering with the moon.
I usually get up between around 6 am, and I’ve been photographing the sky out my windows, front and back, for a few months now. Last week was only the second time I’ve seen it out the kitchen window at that time.
The very next morning it was out front, to the south, as usual.
between never and spring
roots cycle thick beneath earth
listen
trees sing of always
and birds climb winter wind
into this wandering moonlit dawn
walk here
amidst the deep season
of sacred now
The Oracle was quick, short, and sweet today.
deep blue wanders dawn
in wind wild with winter song–
I follow beneath
the cover of almost full
moonlight—ancient poetry
The one word the Oracle was certain she wanted me to use this morning was coffee.
drink stars in your morning
coffee
ask for sky voices to wake
the heart
remember the magic lingering like oceans
dancing
on rhythms of never
mind
give time the eye
of breath
listen with flying
colors
sail open the dark hole
of night
We aren’t meant to understand everything.
(obviously)
K. 