luminous yolk

"It is not enough to fight for the land; it is even more important to enjoy it. While you can. While it’s still here. So get out there...ramble out yonder and explore the forests, climb the mountains, bag the peaks, run the rivers, breathe deep of that yet sweet and lucid air, sit quietly for a while and contemplate the precious stillness, the lovely, mysterious, and awesome space. Enjoy yourselves, keep your brain in your head and your head firmly attached to the body, the body active and alive, and I promise you this much; I promise you this one sweet victory over our enemies, over those desk-bound men and women with their hearts in a safe deposit box, and their eyes hypnotized by desk calculators. I promise you this; You will outlive the bastards." --Edward Abbey

"All that I serve will die, all my delights,
the flesh kindled from my flesh, garden and field,
the silent lilies standing in the woods,
the woods, the hill, the whole earth, all
will burn in man's evil, or dwindle
in its own age. Let the world bring on me
the sleep of darkness without stars, so I may know
my little light taken from me into the seed
of the beginning and the end, so I may bow
to mystery, and take my stand on the earth
like a tree in a field, passing without haste
or regret toward what will be, my life
a patient willing descent into the grass."
-Wendell Berry

Stand still. The trees ahead and bushes beside you
Are not lost. Wherever you are is called Here,
And you must treat it as a powerful stranger,
Must ask permission to know it and be known.
The forest breathes. Listen. It answers,
I have made this place around you,
If you leave it you may come back again, saying Here.
No two trees are the same to Raven.
No two branches are the same to Wren.
If what a tree or a bush does is lost on you,
You are surely lost. Stand still. The forest knows
Where you are. You must let it find you.
-David Wagoner

03 August 2009

"Coyote began singing, "I will stick it back on, I will stick it back on." He went into the lodge and copulated again with the mallard duck girl and recovered the end of his penis. The girl was cured.
After that everyone said the medicine of Coyote was very powerful."

"...there ain't no dark till something shines / I'm bound to leave this dark behind / Ride the blue wind high and free / she'll lead you down through misery / leave you low, come time to go..."

everything is embodied visceral the veils fall away sudden realization that maybe its coming close to the end of the lesson washed in the dust of the earth as open as this round allows. peace and a knowing that rustles from behind angel wings wind in leaves a coming flood. the greatest gift is to not be afraid.

"Legs to walk and thoughts to fly / eyes to laugh and lips to cry / a restless tongue to classify / all born to grow and grown to die."

im standing on my feet, tears streaming out of my head, the last month was a book of revelations horseshoe tracks across the dry riverbed of my spirit invoking water and waves a certain bright fire that tempers the good grounding earth wind everything cleanses and makes ready for the seed. on my feet, hands in blessing greeting awareness breath body river spirit running out the high weir wall of forced forgetting, a thousand around me.

the man told me to sit. so i walked up and out to the edge and stood there until it was over. then we went to lie under the moon dipped in golden cream august Lammas moon open out upon the earth blood body spirit tide i was so thirsty and cowboy lost his hat and it seems like everyones been suffering from some prickly madness these last few weeks. i walk it off, concrete canyons or back country roads, walking is the answer the cure the thing. and this is what the roadside sings early august where i am, second cutting disintegrating in rows of reluctant offering to some future summer with less rain. the ears are still slender on giant stalks tomatoes still green stones growing on the capering vine. my coneflowers are filling in their second year the tithonia resplendent.

sat inside on a sunny day and cried watching this.

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"And if the question were asked: What is more real, the mundane or the sublime? most would hesitate before they gave an answer. On the one side, details: say, the aftermath of a breakfast, dirty chipped plates in the sink, their rims encrusted with egg yolk. Against this, the unnameable: small aching heart with boasts, what can you know? Outside the cage of everything we ever heard or saw, beyond, outside, above, there lies the real, hiding as long as we shall live, there stretch and trail the millions of names of God burning across the eons. When all through this our end will come before we even know the names of us.

For many the egg yolk prevails." -L.M.

"Love many things, for therein lies the true strength, and whosoever loves much performs much, and can accomplish much, and what is done in love is done well." -V.V.G.

"The perfection of the Absolute where all Becoming stops and pure Being, immutable, timeless, unchanging, hangs forever like a ripe peach upon the bough." -E.A.

"...and the whole incident was incredibly frazzling and angst-rod and filled almost a whole mead notebook and is here recounted in only its barest psycho-skeletal outline." -D.F.W.

"At the top of the mountain, we are all snow leopards." -H.S.T.

"Only when we are no longer afraid do we begin to live." -D.T.

"Cometh a voice: My children, hear; From the crowded street and the close-packed mart I call you back with my message clear, back to my lap and my loving heart. Long have ye left me, journeying on by range and river and grassy plain, to the teeming towns where the rest have gone - come back, come back to my arms again. So shall ye lose the foolish needs that gnaw your souls; and my touch shall serve to heal the fretted nerve. Treading the turf that ye once loved well, instead of the stones of the city's street, ye shall hear nor din nor drunken yell, but the wind that croons in the ripening wheat. I that am old have seen long since ruin of palaces made with hands for the soldier-king and the priest and prince whose cities crumble in desert sands. But still the furrow in many a clime yields softly under the ploughman's feet; still there is seeding and harvest time, and the wind still croons in the ripening wheat. The works of man are but little worth; for a time they stand, for a space endure; but turn once more to your mother - Earth, my gifts are gracious, my works are sure. Instead of the strife and pain I give you peace, with its blessing sweet. Come back, come back to my arms again, for the wind still croons in the ripening wheat."
-John Sandes, The Earth-Mother (excerpt, 1918)