i believe fire opal red coral rising water rising rising moon this is where it is when i am this
“Longing, we say, because desire is full of endless distances.”
"You are on a rock suspended in a ray of sunlight floating through space. Take a deep breath and relax."
"What goes on inside, is just too fast and huge and all interconnected for words to do more than barely sketch the outlines of at most one tiny little part of it at a given instant." -David Foster Wallace
"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
Your fairy is called Yarrow Elfwand
She is a cheerful sprite.
She lives close to vixen and badger sets.
She is only seen when the seer holds a four-leafed clover.
She dresses in black and white like a badger. She has delicate green wings like a cicada.
"I don't know exactly what a prayer is. I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down into the grass, how to kneel down in the grass, how to be idle and blessed, how to stroll through the fields, which is what I have been doing all day. Tell me, what else should I have done? Doesn't everything die at last, and too soon? Tell me, what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?"
"You don't have a soul. You are a soul. You have a body."
'Freedom is something you assume. Then you wait for someone to try to take it away from you. The degree to which you resist is the degree to which you are free.'
Die when I may, I want it said of me to those who know me best that I have always plucked a thistle and planted a flower where I thought a flower would grow. -Abraham Lincoln
"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
"If something is boring after two minutes, try it for four. If still boring, then eight. Then sixteen. Then thirty-two. Eventually one discovers that it is not boring at all." -John Cage
The Moon is a card of magic and mystery - when prominent you know that nothing is as it seems, particularly when it concerns relationships. All logic is thrown out the window.
The Moon is all about visions and illusions, madness, genius and poetry. This is a card of great creativity, of powerful magic, primal feelings and intuition.
"My school," he said, "is everywhere and always in session."
time with you is like a prayer. sometimes heads bowed eyes closed we hold hands we travel together alone to wherever it began i dont know. the world is prayer manifested by Love through Time. everything takes on the weight of significance. liberated from solitary confinement by some miraculous invisible intercessor, i am saturated with the world. again, like having been given back my skin. the air itself no longer burns, my soul holed up in some hollow bone. here, heres the little bird in your cool palm the bright eyes and broken wing whats left from a million leavetakings from my truth that led me back to you.
"You'll know her more by your questions than by her answers."
walked out back in the warm morning the gravel coast along springs snowmelt footpath three inches of water and a scrim of ice. getting ready for seed in the ground getting ready to have survived another winter. and how different my world is with you in it the space about me howling without you we wonder at the life we spent away and i offer up thanksgiving that i was given this second chance at all. that all my pain and errors have come to this perfect union. that its all been a honing, a tempering to bear the Beautiful Truth. and after great feeling digs deep into the dirt of our hearts and sows seeds incorruptible and sweet there will be a relaxing of passions. there will be an ease as we watch what from the Garden grows. and our love will be a quiet one, the prayer of breath, the sacrament of touch, a gentle tending to promote growth and keep away the bitter strangling weeds. for now though its a surge a slow soft crash into one another inertial and all i crave. craven, wanton, as this season before us. wet regions calling us to fall into its elements, baptized into its wisdom, muddy and laughing.
"You can't be up to your eyeballs in bones and not believe in enchanted places."
i watch you, amazed. how Everything is so easily contained in one form, a man at work, in his car, at the shops, on the lawn. only me, youll say, and i will say Only. only the poem of morning song of night and in between the call of some unseen bird in a tree singing you back to me always back to me please now and forever after back to me for you have left me bereft of my lie that none of it matters you have denied me my self-loathing you have stripped me bare of my hairshirt and i feel wholly reborn. but now a babe in your arms i would surely fail without you, a thought ive never entertained before. and the price paid for true life, like so much blood, or the blinding veil.
"What she saw, she felt. Her eyes went straight to her heart."
like spring, where what was always there is revealed with warmth and resurgence. under the deadfall of snow the grass (perennial as love) the garden, and death makes way for everything that desires to be born. the stillness and waiting for now is over. now the work for which weve waited. may we be blessed with Time and Love with which to do it. in the second skin of you i am more myself and offer with a full and open heart all my energy has to offer to keep you close to me, and well.
for the Beloved, for everything.
17 March 2010
"An individual must grow into something that is utterly fundamental to their true nature."
some are born hollow. divinitys road wide and open through them rides them like a racehorse drives them day and night unceasing sounds and colors drowning out time and sense down the road at midnight blood screaming through naked portals the worlds air dissolving into every cell moonlight on the new skin of a now that is forever. born hollow, a reed in the syrinx of Life itself earthbound eyes raised to kingdom sky where broad transparent angels drag strings of stars through our hearts to sew us together.
frost on the knoll and the eastern trees turn toward the sun the morning shining on my eyes turned away from where ours hands come together miracle of Time and Love moving between us a song in the mind as it plays clear from very far away. palimpsest of words to the tune the world has written to comfort her children wandering outlanders from some celestial eden. how the music moves through me the festal and the bittersweet a wind on the water these tides of feeling i watch the frost give itself back to the air of this day i feel my hand in yours remember your good-smelling self against my skin as night ferries us blind into dreamtime.
time now to go into that garden and wrestle with dry demons of barrier and neglect, to make space for what will be, a scatter of seeds and the gentle earth, you set down the small chair in welcome. out in the morning the crocus mouth opens to frenchkiss the sunlight honeybees rub bellies on bright intricate pollengods. butterflies from latitudes away instigating sri lankan typhoons in this glorious day given just like a gift to those with hearts to receive. behind the shed it smells of ramps and water and the compost is sweet. real earthworms and rubber snakes in the garden among green fingers of some waking deva. i build a stone causeway to the brushpile and ache to take off my shirt. the mud sucks at the stones as i pass over lo and behold it is springtime.
the neighbor dog only barks a little and i go in to write love letters. you couldnt be more perfect. wise gentle and affectionate, fullhearted softspoken and how we laugh. how ive never laughed before and when the world becomes too much for me to hold you hold my hand and sweetly draw the drowning rush away. and i for one, who has lived her whole life in fear and degradation feel the weight lifted like waking from nightmare. i stand on the sacred earth and want for once to be real.
"..labor in love of this garden, growing it outwards in all directions..."
16 March 2010
"Even as we are, we are becoming."
little crocus in the yard. a strong march wind that isnt hateful cold. people out tentatively picking in the dirt, like gravediggers fingers in the pockets of the dead. cats out hunting. a hammock and a little river through the grass. i am at ease. i am expanding into the space of myself. there is food and a fire. this is our Reconstruction. the rebuilding of what we have been and who we were apart and now again together.
"She was elusive. She was today. She was tomorrow. She was the faintest scent of a cactus flower, the flitting shadow of an elf owl. We did not know what to make of her. In our minds we tried to pin her to corkboard like a butterfly, but the pin merely went through and away she flew."
an old song running through my head we meet for gyros and good greek coffee what a surprise T. says, "nobodys perfect but shes well done."
and the earth is good and deep and brown and he wanders in the kitchen steam and we kissed over the garden gate like kids again and we labored good and hard in the gloaming me waiting in the afternoon sun on the stoop with a book and a bottle of wine i made a welcome ward for spring on the driveway with chalk i found eroded in the dirt i dug away from winters mulch of last years leaves and the little green so wise and strong up from sleeping into knowing who we are at last.
"i think you came the other night / you stroked my brow / your eyes were full of light / may have only been a dream / but i would walk with you / to places i never have been."
15 March 2010
propaganda monday, in honor of this weeks christian glory holiday and Ben, wherever he is.
11 March 2010
"assert your multiverse-given right to non-monotonous incarnation"
In early observance of WTF day, we play hooky and go to breakfast.
bills get paid, trucks rented, more of my life goes into cardboard boxes, the detritus in bags.
house rolfing. the more you remove the more comes up from the deep.
books. its all books, plants and art supplies. linens and bits to cover my nakedness.
photo albums, cigar boxes full of photos, photos in frames.
"love is a photon"
like a glass that fills and empties fills again, the waves on the beach, a million metaphors for this Human Experience we go dancing through.
Blessed Be at Long Last leaving Dresden behind.
we stood there in the miasmatic desperation and he told me to breathe
he told me to extend my heart out to the waves of suffering that threatened to kill hope
and he had gunpowder green and a trunk full of candy
and i laughed and i cried in his arms.
Thank You.
10 March 2010
again, for my friends in the Jewish Mafia, who keep me safe, and sane.
04 March 2010
for me.
if youre out there, wish me luck cause here i go.
03 March 2010
"...why on earth am i pretending?"
dedicated to Great Love everywhere
and to the Divine Grace that has moved Ever through my Life
Blessing, Keeping, Guarding and Guiding Me.
i totally missed Propaganda Monday
"it describes the tension between moral autonomy and political authority... force is the weapon of the weak."
"catholic anarchist pacifist draft dodger two world wars tax refuser vegetarian
one man revolution in america"
02 March 2010
awhile back i posted quite a bit on the Gentle chaplet-weaving, circle-dancing aspects of Latvian paganism. Heres another side.
again, for the Golden Boy, my own personal Latvian Headbanger.
we were some of the very last to succumb to the Death Cult of the Nailed God
and many of us have yet to succumb
doubt
taproot
life deep
dandelion
flush to the grass
waits spring next
grows again
after winter blind
reaching deeper
down
doubt
the dress bad wisdom wears
what you know and
wont believe
my life
traveling show
same play
different faces
to and from
the roles
roads
relearned
long enough
to leave
doubt
doom tatted into
resignation veil
give it up
whatever they want
make it sacred
prove self an illusion
doubt
stronger the
weaker i get
in a blink the bloom blown
while root reaches ever deeper
down
doubt
"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.
"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)
