the friday song.

 Letters from the Outside, #55

The crazy sound of starlings in a stand of trees along the high road down to the lake.

The welcome, persistent reduction of fear, making space for active optimism and intuition.

The Orchid buds continue to split, alien o'keefe hatches, and the pink Geranium produces its

lovely cone manifolds.  I wrestle the poor hobbled Monstera away from the window, 

hoping to exercise its green bones toward the light.

Even the Hoya begins to bloom again, surely a sign that we turn toward Equinox.

  

And again the miraculous little birds, the feathers so well set they seem made of some 

smooth thing, not a billion barbed filaments.  Everything is the Universe writ small.

The finches begin to fill with gold at the throats.  Late february day stolen from early may

and the next a firm reminder of winter.  We move into march, south wind

roaring up the valley and the changing light hitting a harder note on the tall grass

and branches.  Someone moved into the hobby farm, open-faced and a friendly hand raised.

Two off-beat but entirely anonymous vehicles and a chunky wooden lakehouse replica

porch ornament of the american flag.

 The black dog stands on point as we come up the rise toward the 

widows chestnut trees, and i think about the Great Ladies i aspire to serve and

how each rules an element, Air of unscathed liberation, Fire of joyful incarnation,

Water of compassionate service, and the dark, silent Earth 

from which all Mystery springs.  

The seeds are ordered, and the germinating stand pulled out from under 

a winters worth of rubble.  Regaining balance, "as an attribute of intiation,"

is the theme this month, incorporating into the refuge of Inter-Being.

As tom wolfe said, "I had gotten it backward all along.

Not 'seeing is believing,' you ninny, but 'believing is seeing.'

Spring is rising, the Divine Energy driving the green shoot from the ground also calls

from me the offering of my authenticity; the Universe in cahoots for evolution.

And everywhere signs of resistance to the juggernaut of soul-death and exploitation.

Myself, im seeing the Equinox as some kind of Beginning, prefaced by 

the rainy Virgo moon.  Good things are happening, 

drove south to see a man in a floppy brown hat sweat through his vest

and play a battered black guitar with duct tape over the sound hole

sing the ragged anthems of my happy heart.

Started seeds, tomatoes and peppers, crucifers, lettuce and Marigolds,

Zinnia, Mugwort, Parsley, onion, Calendula.

Birdsong in the early morning and the delay-loop Peeper chorus bead clear, gentle nights.

Venus and Jupiter in rare conjunction, Strawberry Alarm-Clock sunrises and

rainbow afternoons, the Pleiades.

Taking inventory around the grounds, i see that, out of the three Lilac i planted 

two years ago, the big black dog watered one successfully to death,

and anothers been browsed clean of buds by the deer, who have

also helped themselves to the lower branches of the Apple trees.

The Wolfsbane is a happy mound of broad green leaves,

and it looks to be a good year for the Foxglove.

Squill and Daffodils sending good vibes up from the ground to indigo and lemon chrysalides

while my beloved Dicentra makes its humble entrance, pale, unremarkable,

pointed thumbs like some overfed, light-deprived asparagus.

The early mornings still as starry as the late nights, and the dew and chill

give way to this glorious heat that strums our atoms like the strings of light they are.

Lilac leafs-out and Forsythia bloom in their great golden transfixing thickets. 

Wee fragrant patches of Violet on the lawn.  

The Bergamot will prove a formidable swath by the looks of it, and

i fear the Bramble has its sights on my rich expanse of fertile, freshly-turned earth.

 Jupiter shines over a lovely taurus cheshire moon.

Cold enough today to start a fire in the hearth, and the seedlings havent seen sunlight

for days, but thriving nonetheless, especially the tomatoes, who require longer light during

this time in their growing cycle.  It looks to be cold for at least a little while,

cold and rainy as it should be here and now.

 Great and gentle change in my life in the direction I suppose some

strong and long-unattended part of myself orchestrated in conjuction with 

Love and Source and Fate, whatever one would call it.

Knowing i have to grow deeper down into the Gentle Path, 

accept and acknowledge myself, and return from past travails wiser and ready to 

take on the work ahead of me.  

So much around us needs healing, needs to recognize itself as an integral part of this

miraculous whole.  No sentient being is insignificant, no living thing expendable.

 As horror stacks upon horror in this sad, distracted culture, it is literally

vital to remain a being of Peace.  

And thats what ive dedicated myself to in this time of great change and Becoming;

integrating dualities by dissolving false boundaries.

I dont know if these letters have afforded you some small veil of forgetfulness, 

stepping stones across a creek with no bridge of suspended disbelief,

but they have led me, after a lifetime of ink, to the realization that it is time 

i craft a life worth the having lived it.  

i dont yet know where im going, but i know im getting there.

 So thank you.