“Longing, we say, because desire is full
of endless distances.”

14 September 2009

"With his talismans singing in the astral wind, his three eyes aglow like forges, a drum in one hand, a bottle of moonshine in the other and the smoky froth of chewed mushroom on his gums, the spirit of Balashov's horse would carry the shaman where he wanted to go, by his will and against theirs, to the Upper World, to laugh in the face of the gods."

 
"...a way to take the certainty of death and the great wonder of life and hold them in balance, neither denying the other and each casting light on the other, death and life as both the rim and the core."
into the steps of september.  this morning in cloud valley sun over the east hill  through thick mist and its blinding like heaven perfectly blank space illuminated and on the other side.  cool condensation the good cold mornings i love when summer is over and by afternoon its almost eighty and were surprised, sweating.  everythings gone to seed, the corn orphans i dedicate to the cowboys beloved red squirrels and it all rides the arc of lifecycle down back into the ground where next spring the resurrection will be everywhere.  
  
"we were the history of the moon." 
books and food, the increments of my days.  one day ill get the dishes done, the other i clean the catbox.  theres the world to catch up on and this blanket to be done with.  i vent and he gives me just a little more room and it feels like the whole world.  the dogs are mad with end of summer, everything vaguely rotting, deconstructing itself, self-metabolization.  surrender.  
  
"...at the terminus of a journey from the sum of all our homes." 
the fields and roadsides in evening are glorious.  the rich slanting sun against greens and golds and seedheads, bees making fine time with tiny flowers in lilac.  the smell is new and wonderful, the good smell of leafmould smoke and oncoming cold.  i work and sleep and read and knit and laugh and my tides are making something of the teaselhead of me, abrupt and prickly.  but i recognize it and work mindfully to be gentle with myself and thereby with others.  breathe.  have some water.  smell good. 
  
 "...an experiment...the fundamental mind-set of revolutionary creators of art."
i give thanks for these opportunities.   life lessons and capital improvements.  being of use.  the love of my family.  bookshelves and bodywork.  growing into my life. 
  
"God, Cosmos, Angels and Guides, please clear me of all nonpostitives."
 i smote the datura.
  
"...the dogs as a symbol of the divine protective spirit." 
 comes fall and all the wonderful fall things.  i am a strange woman who knows herself.  my dance card is full of the facets of self, more room on the empty dancefloor for multitudes.  the nights are cool and quiet and beautiful.  my dreams elaborate and slightly terrifying.  they are full again of people i dont know.  but im not trapped and trying to get away, im playing shadowworld cocktailparty and taking the marvels for granted. 
 



   "Art is the medium those of us who see the unexplainable converse in."

44 of 365:

1.  my job.
2.  this book.
3.  my animal companions.
4.  morning dog schnorgling.
5.  a good hot shower.
6.  red wine.
7.  i can knit.
8.  this book.
9.  safe space.
10. cheese.


"All in all, it was a good summer to be an epiphyte from one of the gloomier, more downcast species."

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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)