SNOW

The Emperor of my country... the Divinity if you will, is Snow. Snow informs every day of my life. Even in the depths of summer on the hottest, muggiest day I recall Snow & how soon it will soon be drifting down out of the grey, grey clouds. Go to the Arctic. There Snow reigns supreme. Snow & the cold. Our toughness as Canadians & I daresay our gentleness comes from our ability to love the Snow. The White Raven is in fact the Snow Raven. The Snow Raven is in fact the Snow God. The Divinity is nothing if not white. Imagine a world that overnight turns white. That is my land. That is where I belong. Snow isolates us in our furs. Walking in the Snow.... it is me in my cloak & the big, wide, white, world. Only in Snow can you see your breath. Snow proves I am alive. Shiveringly Alive! Toques off to the Snow Raven!

RAVENS ON STUNTED BIRCH

Too cold too cold too cold

the air cracks and ticks

with bone emptiness.

Inuvik’s streets are bare.

February’s new sun

pauses north-northwest,

reaches streaks of red

over ridges of stiff snow.

Flagstaffs of smoke rise straight

from lines of rowhouses, painted

the colour of tropical fruit:

mauve mustard emerald.

At the town dump:

twelve ravens,

each atop

a crooked birch.

Smears of tar in a tree,

feathers balled out black,

they wear white bibs

where beak-breath frosts.

Dark as winter lakewater, 

they, at least, stay put.

Twenty four eyes shine jet,

inspect me, curious:

What is this creature 

out here in the cold?

 - Inuvik, NWT

ONE

I separate myself from you. I separate myself from the world. I separate myself from the Divine centre of all that is. I separate myself from myself. When I say I have my Divine Self & there is a Divinity in the Universe I finally approach the meaning. There is no division in Divinity. Oceanic. Indivisible. I go there when I fall asleep. I go there when I die. Hello. I am there wide awake. The great final failing of Science: it pretends the world can be known from a distance. That it can be observed. The lonely monad sitting in his glass tower jotting down notes on his observations... concocting theories & systems. Jot away, oh monad! The tiny idea of division simply gives the offset to the Truth. There is no division. There is Divinity. There is but One. There is One. ONE.

SYMBOL

We are seduced by pattern. We are seduced by the constructs of our own minds. We go to war over the stripes on a flag. We stare at the cracked paint on La Giaconda. Two lines cross at right angles, one short, one long somehow summarize the whole complexity of the Creation. That it is a logo for excruciating torture gets lost in the morass of associations. As a poet, symbols are my metier, my raison d’etre but I know their nature. They fit nicely in the niches of my toolbox. A symbol like the Crucifix has the weight of Uranium. It is too full of meaning. I have experienced spiritual ecstasy. When I am with the Divine there are no symbols. Clear spring water. Empty sky. Thoughtless thoughts. I make my Cross with empty space. I am removing the symbols from the walls of my mind. Ahhhhh.... eggshell white all around.

GNOSTIC

The One who knows does not understand. The One who understands does not know. My obsession with words has always got the best of me. I am always putting my thoughts into pleasant little boxes. I enjoy finding titles. Figuring rhymes and rhythms. Letting the image rule the idea. Call it a poem. Call it a moment. If I had the stamina I would sit in the desert or under the Boddhi tree. Sit at the top of Squaw Butte with no food or water for four days. Just stop thinking. Stop the endless mind chatter. I am empty as the winter sky.  I am speechless. Words fail me.

LAMA

My friend Boddhi told me that Lama means spiritual friend. Yesterday I met a lovely woman Isabel who is a nun of the order of the Sisters of the Immaculate Heart in Kansas. What is a saint? What is an avatar? What is an angel? Siddhartha. Yeshua. Red-Cloud. Each speaks to me. I am both guided & protected. My wings of understanding are ever stronger. They are my own wings. I am a swimmer of the Fifth Age. I no longer look backwards. I look at my toes & at the horizon. I am moving forward. I bless the avatars of the past. I no longer need avatars. I venerate the saints. I no longer need saints. I do however need spiritual friends. I have entered into the true self. I AM. ME. I AM.

DREAM CATCHER

I seek an answer elsewhere. Yeshua. Siddhartha. The answer is under the toes of my feet. The Ancestors, the Inheritors have lived on this continent for 15,000 years (or more) The Woodland Cree. The Grassland Cree.The Soto. The Sioux. The people of the North. The Metis. The BlackFoot. The  NezPerce. I feel profound shame. I am humbled. I am on my knees. Forgive me. Forgive us. I am fasting. I am entering my emptiness. The people of my tribe were blind. The people of my tribe are blind. Ownership. Our creed is greed. We tried to destroy the true people of this land of Mystery. How can you own the wind? How can you harness the sky? How can you fence the grass?. It took me half a century. The scales have fallen from my eyes. If you will allow me I ask to sit quietly at the edge of the Lodge. I will follow the smoke of the sweet grass as it curls into the night. I am a Brave.