Here comes my magical strain again. In this first poem I am offering a partnership with (just who is this who has found a Way?) anyway, I am offering spirit power as my contribution. The odd thing, I actually think we do have spirit power, more or less accessible according to how we live and how conscious we are, and also if we want it or not. Sometimes rituals are critical to really focus this power but in more diffuse ways nothing but honesty, openmindedness, willingness, and trust, with perhaps a dash of love and tolerance is enough to make real magic, or miracles if you will. That is precisely what happens in AA, why sober drunks can work miracles with each other.
Testing
Testing the open
Field of dreams swaying weaving
Reaching past far hopes.
Can anyone go with you
As you test the way you found?
I will weave the path
With strong vines - incantation
Takes me past the gate.
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This poem came from a photo of a spoked wood wagon wheel leaning against a weathered fence, a western ranch motif, very well done by a true professional. I absolutely love that pictures like this speak to me as they do. I have no idea when it happened that I could experience this kind of imagination. I swear that something of it is not me at all. I dance with the words of my poems. They often lead.
Philosopher
Me, I am bone white,
Splintered and woven with vines
In my woody spokes.
Anyone would say I'm old.
And I don't turn on a dime.
I lean on this fence
And ponder life's long meaning,
Picking my way out.
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I get a bit overwhelmed with the richness of what I find here, it's really like nowhere else, like moving in differnet air. How do you contain all this, and how do you get it all out so? You have been places, for sure, but you go beyond them too.
ReplyDeleteAl-anon was a life saver for me once, and brought me to Tom. It was very important, of course, a remedial, watershed time which I do still carry with me, but in many ways it's behind me. The spiritual awakening isn't, though sometimes I can only remember, hold onto the knowledge that it happened. Other times it's as real, or realer, than ever. It might have happened anyway? Who knows, all our stories are different. Tom still holds the programme much more as his foundation, he spent longer with it, and worked harder at it, though his spiritual life's gone different ways since.
Oh yes, and thanks so much for the bird poem at mine. I've been thinking over a post about what it is about birds for me, and you touched on things I hadn't been able to put my finger on; the pitilessness of their lives, for sure, but the fierce joy too, and why we must love them for it. If I get around to putting it together, I may use your poem, if that's OK.
You may use my poem, but of course I need to know if you do, since I might inadvertently use it when I shouldn't. I chafe a bit under these rules and I don't quite understand them. I just submitted to Ouroboros. Jo said go ahead. But not this poem.
ReplyDeleteThank you for your thoughts. I can only say I'm still the little boy who started this journey some 60 plus years ago, and I've knocked about some. The rest of it, I have already written.
I don't know how I do it. It is a mystery to me. I don't think it's me in some critical ways.
Jack London said,
ReplyDeleteYou can't wait for inspiration. You have to go after it with a club.
Lovely poem as always my friend.
ReplyDelete