Oh marvellous error!

So much this year has been about learning to let go of what no longer serves, not with harshness or any sense of lack or deprivation, but as a gardener, with love and patience and the long view, turning it all to compost, turning it back into the mix in ways that are generative and nurture new growth.  This one is for all of you who are feeling into the broken places. And especially to all my Waking Down friends.

Last night, as I was sleeping,
I dreamt--marvellous error!--
that a spring was breaking
out in my heart.
I said: Along which secret aqueduct,
Oh water, are you coming to me,
water of a new life
that I have never drunk? 

Last night, as I was sleeping,
I dreamt--marvellous error!--
that I had a beehive
here inside my heart.
And the golden bees
were making white combs
and sweet honey
from my old failures. 

Last night, as I was sleeping,
I dreamt--marvellous error!--
that a fiery sun was giving
light inside my heart.
It was fiery because I felt
warmth as from a hearth,
and sun because it gave light
and brought tears to my eyes. 

Last night, as I slept,
I dreamt--marvellous error!--
that it was God I had
here inside my heart.  

Antonio Machado
Times Alone 

 

May 31, 2011 Eclipsed

Before the fireball Genesis 1:2

King James Version: And the earth was without form, and void; and darkness was uopn the face of the deep. And the Spirit of God moved upon the face of the waters.

Midrashic translation by Neil Douglas-Klotz

The storyteller continues:

Now particles--the Power of Limits--

didn't really exist yet n our reality

and were still only "things" in principle.

They were like the germ of a solution

within the shell of a surrounding problem,

the inkling of an answer

to the question of "What next?"

a kernel of purpose embedded in

a dream of the Universe's heart.

This "earthiness" of all the elements was still

unformed and waiting.

Meanwhile...

on the surface of the Primordial (yet unawakened) Womb,

that billowing edge of the abyss of existence

where phenomena, time and space had yet to appear,

a struggle raged:

A spark of cosmic desire wanted to

return to the Source immediately,

leaving behind the realm of constriction and contraction.

This self-involved fire forgot its purpose.

It set off the first violence of a being

that wants to be somewhere its not.

Its barren wanting strangled its own voice until

The breath of Universe Being touched

the face of Beloved Possibility.

Pure expansive power stirred the primordial soup.

The Being of Beings

inspired, animated and reminded Flow,

that same edge of possible phenomena,

of the expansive growth awaiting it.

One could say that Cosmic Breath

moved with pregnant possibility

into the deep and massive nether of Chaotic Dark--

awakening Womb for what?

An intimacy yet unknown.

Opening to the Spring within

Acer macrophyllum (Big Leaf maple) leaves unfurling from the bud.

Opening to the spring within

a newborn cry

pink flesh

curled and knotted like worms in the garden

writhing with the unbearable shame

of imperfection 

of failure

of self

something this soft and tender shouldn't have teeth

rock it, rock  it, rock it

hushaby baby

stripped bare

fine hairs raw and vigilant looking for

dragons

or 

sunshine

there's nothing here

but the fear of unfolding

 

the spring within

is moving, pushing, inexorable

the light is too bright

the dark even brighter

no more a haven of sleep or rest

the dark is shining through all the walls

until there is only the choice of transparency

gossamer

leaves

thinner than skin

wrinkled, sticky, clinging

pushed into the light

of spring

exposed

for hoursdaysmonths to

light and heat

unfurling 

a patchwork of broken traceries

that shines golden

like joy

like the heart of God

snow march 2006

snow march 2006, originally uploaded by the view from in here.

Looking east from the driveway. Morning sun through this year's snow...

Beautiful You Rise Upon the Horizon of Heaven

Beautiful you rise upon the horizon of heaven,
O living sun, you who have existed since the beginning of things...
The whole world is filled with your lovliness.
Your are the god Ra, and you have brought every land under your yoke,
Bound them in with the force of your love.
You are far away, yet your beams flood down upon the earth.
You shine upon the faces of men,
And no one is able to fathom the mystery of your coming.

Akhenaton, Egyptian, 14th century B.C.E.

Lost in the Forest

backyard sunset, originally uploaded by the view from in here.

Sunset in my backyard.

Lost
David Wagoner

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 bush does is lost on you,
You are surely lost. Stand still. The forest knows
Where you are. You must let it find you.

The fire

the fire, originally uploaded by the view from in here.

Fire at an Open Space event in the Cowichan Valley on Vancouver Island.

Fire – Judy Brown

What makes a fire burn
is space between the logs,
a breathing space.

Too much of a good thing,
too many logs
packed in too tight
can douse the flames
almost as surely
as a pail of water would.

So building fires
requires attention
to the spaces in between,
as much as to the wood.

When we are able to build
open spaces
in the same way
we have learned
to pile on the logs,
then we can come to see how
it is fuel, and absence of the fuel
together, that make fire possible.

We only need to lay a log
lightly from time to time.
A fire
grows
simply because the space is there,
with openings
in which the flame
that knows just how it wants to burn
can find its way.

Fall approaches

maple turning 1, originally uploaded by the view from in here.

Big leaf maple - Acer macrophyllum beginning to turn. Fall is approaching.

For All

Ah to be alive
on a mid-September morn
fording a stream
barefoot, pants rolled up,
holding boots, pack on,
sunshine, ice in shallows,
northern rockies.

Rustle and shimmer of icy creek waters
stones turn underfoot, small and hard as toes
cold nose dripping
singing inside
creek music, heart music,
smell of sun on gravel.

I pledge allegiance

I pledge allegiance to the soil
of Turtle Island,
and to the beings who thereon dwell

one ecosystem
in diversity
under the sun
With joyful interpenetration for all.

~Gary Snyder