I welcome the sun's return
I'll admit it, I'm not entirely of the Christian bent anymore. Not against it, but I have come to the realization that there's another focus that speaks to me more deeply and more immediately. I suppose I've always wanted to live in the woods, where I can immerse myself in the natural world that divine providence has made, uncluttered by the undue influence of the technological human. druid labs east is probably as close as I'll come to that - we're not getting any younger to seek a life off-the-grid and away from the conveniences that our old bones will soon require.
hobbitt has always wanted to live in a loft in some fabulous city. We probably will never do that, either. The clear energetic feel of open fields and woodlands is a bit too important to us now.
The changing of the seasons, and more precisely, the celestial events marking these turning points, is honored and remembered in our home. No, we're not "going native" but we do believe there is a powerful connection between where we are and who we are. I for one celebrate the return of the light, just as I do its retreat. It's perfect, this ebb and flow: the tides, the planets, the sun, all swirling and swinging a dance to some unfathomable sacred music that I can hear sometimes, faintly.
My friend Triskele posted this beautiful piece that resonates in my heart.
And earlier this year, on what would become the day my mother left us, I had a vision of spring:
My bones tell me spring
is out there, pensive, hidden.
It’s a knowing that cannot
be explained. The deer are
mindful of this fact even
in November. Of course
I understand the seasons,
and the calendar gives clues
but that’s not the spring
I’m thinking about – this
cycle, the turning, something
deep within speaks of life
and miracles. Maybe broken
hearts are better receptors,
or my fatigue draws the
curtains open to that light,
but how else can the
perfection of tall white oak
begin with nothing more
than what fell, heedless,
and gathered by squirrels,
stashed, forgotten, put down
roots in the cold earth
and reach toward what
it does not know? I ask you
this: how? I am so tired
in what should be my time
of rest, and still I know
that spring is out there,
that roots will plunge,
fawns will emerge,
and step into the light
with gratitude for all
that is made, and for
whatever mysteries await.
9 January 2004
4 Comments:
C, you and your friend both write beautifully. And altough, as a younger rebel, I too always wanted to live in a big city loft, I'm now with you. The woods, or at least in our case, an encapsulated yard with plenty of trees is what we yearn for.
Ah to heck with it, let's all move to the PNW and say to hell with humans.
oh my gods....i wrote that?? wow......thanks for the reminder!!
...um.....blush...nevermind....i should read more carefully.... having been in that same state you were in when you wrote your poem, however, it stuck very deep chords with me, and i thought...wow...i don't REMEMBER writing that, but it sure feels familiar....
so...sorry i got confused....ignore my first comment!
Oops, P, you're right. That looked a little ambiguous and the poem was very reminiscent of something you posted on that other site. Sorry! I corrected the paragraphing so it should be clearer.
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