TOAD

How does the lowly toad fit into my life? Lowly? The Toad is the ancient lizard king of my pre-human memory. I  ascribe him status in the heart of my limbic system. No, toad reminds me more of the ground, of the solid pebble core of who I was, who I am. I notice toad only when I use my soft eyes. I see the mouldering leaves. The clumps of debris, the fallen bark below the trees. Suddenly I notice a living creature nestled quiet in a gully between trunks. Breathing in, out. Miracles of miracles he is looking at me with his distant dispassionate eyes. Shamans have been known to smoke toad venom to receive visions of the Divinity. Toads are of the ground but their gaze speaks of the wingbeats of angels.

ROBIN !!!!

SEAHORSE   Devendra Banhart 2007


I'm high and I'm happy and I'm free
I got my whole heart
Laid out right in front of me
And I finally can see
The way it's always been
The need for peace
Starts from within

So I leave my possesions to the wind
And I'm done with ever wanting anything
Well I can die satisfied
No desires do I hide
Not today, not today
Nor for the next one thousand lives

I want to be a little seahorse
I want to be a little seahorse
A little seahorse

I want to be a little seahorse
I want to be a little seahorse
I want to be a little seahorse...

Well I'm scared of ever being born again
If it's in this form again
Well I wanna know how why where and when and then
I wanna see you be the bright night sky
I wanna see you come back as the light
I wanna see you be the bright night sky
I wanna see you come back as the light

SEAHORSE

The beauty of the Creation is astounding. From the perfect coiled packing of the DNA in the nucleus of a single cell to the Dragon Nebula, in the constellation Serpens. From the infinitesimal to the infinite itself. Humans ascribe such importance to themselves. There are vast webs & interstices of complexity & perfection that do not include us at all. Gaze at the strange brilliance of the SeaHorse, a creature of magnificent delicacy. We are living in the Garden of Eden. We never left. We choose to see ourselves as fallen. Open your eyes. Take a deep breath. Are you not in love with your life?

INDIGO BEYOND

The ether, indigo beyond our view.

No fragrant Frangipani petal fall.

No soft caress of lip in darkened hall.

No word, no dream, nor mortal thoughts ensue.

A silence still serene in open space.

No water taste of salt on tip of tongue.

The air of song, a song that’s never sung,

Reveals the mirror’s deep & depthless face.

The waves of light that enter go straight through.

The mind demands an avenue, a wall.

The heaven beyond begets no time or place.

The bell that peals its peal cannot be rung.

We live in ether’s empty endless void domain.

We live a mystery in mystery’s ethereal plane.

JOY

To discover joy, you must go to the far north in the middle of winter. I propose a journey up the ice road from Inuvik to Tuktoyaktuk in late January. They houses are small. All are painted the colours of tropical fruit... of Popsicles. The sun has not risen yet. Twenty four hours: no dawn. The stars are brighter than you can imagine. Hera spills her milk across the blue bowl of the heavens. Aurora Borealis sways in curtains of Chartreuse, phosphor, ivory, gold with tints of red. Bertha from Sach's Harbour whistled to make the Northern Lights dance. You whistle. The sky dances. For four hours every afternoon the sky lightens to dusk... purples, mauves, lavenders with hints of avocado green. The edge of the horizon aches to release Old Sol our star in the sky. In twilight ice fog hugs the ground. Smoke climbs straight up. All is still. The air is brittle. Moving through a pastel landscape.The edges are soft. The wolf fur of your parka hood holds the silver mist of your breath. This is the air the Ravens call home. You feel Joy. Pure Joy.

BIG BLACK BIRD

Death, be a Raven. Be a big, black bird with an absurd, rough call. Fly black & awkward & observant into the blue, arctic air at the town dump to land on the highwires & chimneytops. Be intelligent Death, with the malicious intelligence of Raven, whose every movement is a raucous insult to life in a colourful, clapboard house. Death, be a Raven, big & black & fearless. That's what I fear about you Death: that you are as inscrutable & humourless as a rock's shadow or an expired breath. Death be a Raven for my catnapping mood & my fifty-odd years on the grass below the trees. Fly to the rooftops of other peoples' houses &  I will respect your coalfeathers & your prancing tapdance of mock doom. Death, be a Raven on the rooftops but do not perch at the foot of my bed to preen your horrid, inky wings, not tonight, nor tomorrow night. It would not be funny, not at all  Go away, big black bird... & leave the dog alone!

SELF

I have spent most of my life trying to release myself from myself. To achieve ecstasy. To be beyond or outside of my body. The Raven teaches me to seek the great joy of being embodied. My ego, my identity, my personality, my aging body, my smile, my thoughts, my memories, my dreams. These are the attributes that cohere to the core of me. Each raven is so individual, so contained, so perfect in who He or She is. I was mimicking the warble-song of the rooftop Raven. The Raven hops down to the edge of the eavestrough to spy me out. I spy him out. One sentient being gives the nod to the other. You are who you are. I like you who you are. You are not me. You are the one, the  only you. As Boddhi taught me "There was never ever anyone like me in the history of the Universe. There will never be anyone like me again." Revel in your you-ness. Greetings, Raven. I am the Me.