Yestereve I gave words to what scared me, spoke words that were heavy in waiting, and my period, often irregular, came at long last. And in my dreams I came into a dark and beautiful landscape of deciduous green forests and untrodden fields. In such peace my companion and I passed through abandoned school playgrounds on this frontier where hope was forsaken, for better than hope had been found. We traveled further into this unknown land, the unmarked trail our guide, until we fell into a happy festival of friends and singing. And how we cried for those we loved and missed, but we were not lonely, nor any longer heavy-hearted. The music of friendship and laughter alighted around us, and I lay in happiness as harmless stampeding souls thundered around me in a great wave of hilarity. It was the eve of the end of days within this World Who never ends as I climbed the limbs of unknown trees. There is no map to this place beyond every map’s end, heartaching Pilgrim, but that you are the compass, aligned. – Gentle Jeffrey Pine.
Nonhuman friends like the Coast Redwoods, Sequoia sempervirens, know how to drink the darkness of fog to make for us small creatures -a breath of amazement- dappled sunlight higher above us than any other creature’s making. They do not mind who walks below them, or what goes on in our human minds with such heaviness. Sequoia sempervirens does not mind, nor has care of mind, nor thinks in the worries of mammalian minds at all. No mind, doesn’t mind.
Slowly enough to be steady, rowing sturdy canoes,
old-speak appearing in the fog on the water
first language, hand-spoken, fur-hackles
predating the migration of babble.
The land that we love should not be carved into prizes.
Nobody owns a place until their dead are laid down in it.
Are you a wild god of fury?
Are you untamed, as suspected?
There is no safety with you, then,
You are the end of safety,
but somehow you are comforting.
You would know, if you are here.
You must know, if what they say of you is true.
You too must have also suffered
a severance from family and tribe.
You must know the sadness
of all songs.
This time, O Lord of Burnt Offerings,
We have come bearing a trial of lanterns
to hunt you, whispering your darkened name
and your old shadow reclaims you,
curls in relief
down in toward wooded night comfort
slinking back into thickets
evading intrusive light.
This time, God,
we have come ready to find you,
wherever you are.
This time, Mother,
whoever you are now.
When I write, who will come to visit me in my words?
Rumi, I also wonder who says words with my mouth.
But when you, Friend, come to my door
I will know to open it for you, and your name
will be the name of all songs.
And by many names do you come!
And through countless faces
you look out at the world in love.
Let me be your abiding place
where you come to stay without worry.
And by the good words that come
from the core of the happy heart,
may your breathing be the life of all lands.
Great World, Great Soul whom I love,
I run into your arms
without perfect words, a mind-full
but never quite perfect words
recited by mortals, save birds.
Where, my love, are your hands?
Your hands that will hold us?
I sit in the rain and the snow,
meditating, finding you there.
Surely you are more clearly seen
by the hoofed ones, and by the creatures
of feather and fur.
They do not spend their lives in worry of grief.
Be at peace, heart of fire.
This human anguish– fall now into the arms
of the dark earth, the surest of all loves.
“In mythos and fairy tales, deities and other great spirits test the hearts of humans by showing up in various forms that disguise their divinity. They show up in robes, rags, silver sashes, or with muddy feet. They show up with skin dark as old wood, or in scales made of rose petal, as a frail child, as a lime-yellow old woman, as a man who cannot speak, or as an animal who can. The great powers are testing to see if humans have yet learned to recognize the greatness of soul in all its varying forms.”
― Clarissa Pinkola Estés
The + sign means “together with”.
Together with God, with each other,
with the strings
of the atom.
crosses and circles.
“Adding a negative
is the same
is the same
Last night I dreamt I was a traveller in a strange land. I was at first with an old friend, Aaron, but we were not ourselves. We were walking through an old industrial part of a city, where there were brick buildings from over a century ago. They had metal ladders trailing upwards beside them. Looking out west, over a field in this city, the sun was rapidly setting amidst red and yellow clouds. But most notably there were large cylinders, part of a large factory refinery of some kind. These large cylinders were like the water or milk towers we see. I asked, exclaiming out loud, “Where is that music coming from?” A haunting symphonic melody floated out over the landscape from the refinery’s source, like from a music box.
Aaron said, “That’s the Wind Bellows making the music. Whenever the wind blows, it powers the large arms of the machinery, by the power of immense bellows, and there is also a music maker inside it, so that every note of this ghostly music is created by the particular wind as the motion of the factory functions.”
Rapidly the sun set behind red clouds, and all became darkness, and the sound of the music quieted to silence. In such darkness we knew it was time to seek shelter for the night.
We came to a tavern, an inn of some kind. We were all set at long tables in preparation for dinner, when an army of assassins burst in. They demanded to know who were the Jews, and I was one of them. They said, it was my choice, they either take me, or the whole inn is killed. I went willingly to save my friends, but I had a plan, so I was not frightened. In this plan I escaped without my shoes, or bag or anything else except the blue “blouse” and skirt I was wearing, and I walked into a bright white city at noon day. The sidewalks were clean and easy to walk barefoot on, and I knew I had come into San Francisco. But it was the 1950’s. I knew I had to get to the other side of the city where they were waiting for me, and as I travelled on foot across the city, the decades went forward, so that I was now in the late 1970’s thereabouts. People were dressed in the styles of that time. This is all I remember.