CONSCIOUSNESS

The Burning Leaves of Autumn

Yesterday was a gentle walk in the woods.  September days are quiet, soft in their own right, messengers of times to come, days of change.

Sunny days in September are a double blessing: light and warmth without the intensity of August, yet the amazing colors of a turning seasons included, free of charge.

I carry a camera with me on many walks, watching and aware of those moments that hold a portrait, those moments where light, texture and form tell a short story worth acknowledging.  On this particular day, the woods were quiet and deep, shadowy and thoughtful.   Little photogenic content; merely a day for feeling the sweet earth and breathing in that mysterious oxygen.

But one leaf caught my attention.   It was a single Maple leaf, bathed in a solitary beam of sunlight, against the shadowy background of evergreens.

Something about this leaf, the change of seasons, made me think about my own life and the changing of my own seasons.   It has occurred to me before, that what we see ‘outside’ in Nature, is often a reflection of our own self, our own life: our beauties, our strife, the wideness of our compassion, the blossoming of our own soul.

When you get past 50 – and you see your own body changing – these things take on new meaning.  We’ve all heard this, and we all know this.  Aging.  No one wants to be reminded of this inconvenient little clause built into the contract of human life.

And it’s struck me before: why do we see such beauty in the aging of Nature, yet we see ugliness in the aging of humans?  We see the Cycles Of Everything – coming and going: seasons, jobs, relationships, homes, children, cars, friends, lovers.  And somewhere inside of us, we cling to our fabricated immortality of these things, and we suffer, we cry, we hurt … when these things change and move on.

There’s something in Nature that Gives.  And, relentlessly, IS.  We, anchored in all our “holdings”, our small-town religions we’ve fabricated, look through our tiny portals – from our unnatural world, into the natural world – and we breath a sigh of relief.  There’s something real out there.  There’s something out there that speaks of Life and Giving and the true Divine Plan of things.

Somehow, we’re all a part of that plan.  No one is exempt.

Why is it, that only later in life you see the inevitability of things?  There’s some measure of sobriety that’s gained from sensing deeply your own mortality – the mortality of life itself – and also the mortality of persons and things that you love, that you surround yourself with.

In the folly of my youth, I was surrounded by the folly of other youth.  I was not mentored by wisdom, by those steeped in self-knowledge, by ones who had seen deeper than the facade of life.  Perhaps this is a thing of the world, and world itself is coming of age.  The world itself is mortal, and this fragility and mortality is being spelled out graphically in front of all our eyes.  It will all go, and it will all change, even if this is enacted over eons of time.

But … our tiny little time?  Our sweet and short encounter with breath on this planet?  Our transparent skin, our falling hair, our disappearing resources, our ticking clock.

One day, our children may be taught to appreciate this – at an early age – from those who “get it”.  From those who see.   Until then, it’s up to us: our own thirst, our own knowing, our own seeing.  Our own understanding.

Bullet-Holes of God

there is a time for going back
and a place-holder for Infinity.
i will remind you of the Road For Angels
and the Bullet-Holes of God that are
placed lovingly in your flesh

but first you must commence
the Lonely Voyage,
the one and only Journey
to your own core,
until you understand
your thirst
your value
your fragility
your connection
your capacity for sweetness
and your ability to forget
all that you know
for the taste
of  sugar

Thirst

The Ocean in You; The Ocean in Me

There is something about the Ocean.

For those of you who have lived its Bigness.   It breathes full. It contains many landscapes.  It births many dreams and consumes many sailors.   It is both entity and identity; moving in subtle mists and pounding in terrifying torrents.

We think this thing is “us” … we trust this thing knows us and supports us and favors us.  We tiptoe at its shore like skitterish little birds, playing it its arms, knowing that caresses and death are but a thin, red line.    Nature is our kitty-cat, but also our cougar, and never at a convenient time.

But, dangers and archetypes aside, the ocean is simply amazing.   To be near a body of water where the bigness of the ocean can be appreciated: sniffed in, savored, sipped – like a delightful wine – is indeed a gift.

The elements at play are huge, and remind us of our sweet insignificance.   Major elements, in major proportions.  The Sky: vast, spacious, open; a blue and pearl dome of cool, infinite and soothing dimensions.  The land: shore, sand, rock: sculptures of mortality and magnificence.  The immoveable that has been ground to dust.  The shifting sand that dances and disappears underfoot.  The unyielding high craggy cliffs that groan and crumble every million years with invisible voices to timeless ears.

And the Ocean Itself.

That which is in us, that longs for and craves the solace of the eternal … strives to measure the infinite by the only little rulers we own.

And of these Little Rulers, the Biggest Little Rulers are the perceptions we carry of the Voice of Nature.  This Ocean, in its expanse, it’s blue-ness, its unrivaled contrasts of softness and violence, its lullabye sound, its caress on our skin … all this speaks to the deeper longings of us humans.  It becomes one of the most powerful facsimiles of the Infinite.   It speaks to the Soundless Sound within; the Deepest Depth within, the bravest Sailor in our skin.

We romance that sea, in both our calm and turbulent times.

It is both serpent and sage.  The undulating deep and primal power, the soft mirror that shows radiance, compassion, reflection.  We, those tiny birds on its shore.  We, those delicate Dancers of Dust, on this shifting Stage of Sand.   The thing of immediate history, holder of memory, shaper of continents, tosser of tiny boats riding gigantic waves.

And all we can do is look.  Breathe.  Sigh.

Sit like seagulls on our old logs and wait for our ship to come in.

Bathe in the crashing, the roaring, the cold & foggy mornings, the ancient Egyptian sunsets, the tiny bits of shell and jewels that this monarch spits up on our shoes.

Another day in superb creation.

Another gift that we can open our eyes and see.

The Heart with No Name

Dear Baby,

I am the Harpoon Hunter
I am the Whale that got away
I am Good Friday waiting for Bad Monday
so my Mediocre Memories of  how-to-play
Get lost in the picnic frenzy of “Workahol” – the Drink of Everyday Man.

I am the Opening Door
that closes only for you
Only for the Light that sees right through
Only for Rose-colored Spectacles that Paint my world Blue
I am the Academic Scholar
that fell below his White Collar
and slid down the Shiny Breasts of Mother Maya
into the Belly Button of Nature’s Lost Fire

I am the Only One who knows My Way Home
so I journey there Alone
while dialing on my Telephone
The Crystal Number of your Name keeps coming up
(is it still the same?)
And before I fall into Melodies of Silence Insane
and become a victim of Love’s Purple Flame
There’s only One Thing that I Remain …

Yours Truly:
The Heart with no Name

The House of Breath

The House of Breath
We go out and play
we save our tear-drops for a Rainy Day
We Play
We visit Others – our Cousins, our Brothers, our Lovers, our Mothers
We live on their Doorsteps; we Stray
We save our Dances for a Sunny Day

The House of Breath
Chance, Circumstance – finds me at your door
(have I been here before?)
You seem so familiar – the Curl of your Hair
Your hot summers’ Air
Your Roaming Fingertips of Despair
I linger and Lurk: you must think me some kind of Jerk

This House of Breath
This house of Living Life and Dying Death
This House I left behind, the only thing ‘mine’
This House of Colors, Fullness, Feeling Filled, Softness, Stillness, Willing to be Thrilled
This House calls me home at the End of the Day
This House of Breath is the only Place
My heart wants to Stay.