FIREBALL

I am not planting a garden this year because the Cottonwood blocks the light in my inner city yard & the vegetables do not flourish. Instead I have germinated 144 random sunflower seeds in planters in my kitchen. I know they will take off in my little square of black dirt.… No carrots or zucchinis… but a dozen dozen, sky-rocketing, sun worshippers.. These are the years when the Sun asserts its dominion. I am okay with that. I sit in a room bathed in sunlight… flooded… inundated… permeated… saturated.The little lemon tree I grew from the seed given to me by me teacher is sprouting new leaves in a clay pot on the window sill. Simple… insistent…. The Sun is merely a face of the greater Light. I add light to the Light. I scatter the shadows. My doubt dissipates…. one quick glance out of the corner of my eye over my shoulder…. I know it is alright. It has always been alright.

DRAGON NUMBER NINE -TAO

A dragon & a pearl. The sun ablaze. The moon cool blue. How the layers overlay like the skins of a coiling snake. If I could only  grasp one immutable truth. It lies in the spiral. In the swirl. The still point. Doubt arises like thunderclouds. Like mist. Like a mirage. The dragon. The pearl. The Sun. The Moon. A Here. A Now. To grasp this. Maybe just to glimpse this. A glance. I am outside the circle... the circling... the circling through eons & eons. Inside the centre holds. The dream evanesces... evaporates. The clouds... the dragon... the sun... the moon... & at the centre...perfect... serene... immutable...                      the pearl. 

THOUGHT BOATS ( for Jeanne my teacher April 2016)

Thought boats float on the open sea.

Think i’ll swim out just to see,

Climb aboard the nearest one

Or let them drift like the sinking sun.

Awake from silent, dreamless sleep

I gaze across the depthless deep.

The moon enthrals the rising tide.

The silver sails in cloudless skies.

Like clouds they gather one by one

Or fish in schools on coral shoals...

The schooner ships of pocket holes,

The freighters free for the freedom run.

The off shore breeze will carry me...

The air electric blue serene. 

Or shall i sit in my clifftop cave

& let them pass in waves on waves?

Thought boats float on the open sea.

Think i’ll swim out just to see,

Climb aboard the nearest one

Or let them drift like the sinking sun.

NATARAJA

I crave an image to embody the entropy of my errant thoughts & visions. The Nataraja… the dancing Shiva…. this of all images is the distillation of who I am… who we are… this encapsulates all I know… all I need to know... the right foot steps on the dwarf of the ego.... the cobra is the divine hidden knowledge… the coiled Kundalini that drives up the fuse of the stem of the spine like the loosened flower blossom of life itself..... the right hand shakes the hourglass of creation… back & forth … the oscillation of the masculine & feminine…. the left hand releases the tempered fire of purification…. the offering of benediction…. the eyes shaded in inward concentration the hair spayed like the delta of the Ganges itself… & death ever-present…. death is the guide… the inner eye of awareness always open…. & all flowing through the dance… the cosmic dance of creation & destruction… birth & death…. & the great destroyer… our Creator steps onto the tips of toes & spins the wheel…. & the dance continues…. even as I write this… I feel the Joy rising up through the great axis of who I am … & I want to move… to sway … to swirl….. can you taste the Bliss?…. join the great circle fellow being… & dance!… dance!… dance!

MANDALA

Black Elk Circle Poem

  

You have noticed that everything an Indian does is in a circle, 

and that is because the Power of the World always works in circles, 

and everything and everything tries to be round. 

  

In the old days all our power came to us from the sacred hoop 

of the nation and so long as the hoop was unbroken the people 

flourished. The flowering tree was the living center of the hoop, 

and the circle of the four quarters nourished it. The east gave peace 

and light, the south gave warmth, the west gave rain and the north 

with its cold and mighty wind gave strength and endurance. This 

knowledge came to us from the outer world with our religion. 

  

Everything the power of the world does is done in a circle. 

The sky is round and I have heard that the earth is round like a ball 

and so are all the stars. The wind, in its greatest power, whirls. 

Birds make their nests in circles, for theirs is the same religion as ours. 

The sun comes forth and goes down again in a circle. The moon 

does the same and both are round. Even the seasons form a great 

circle in their changing and always come back again to where they were. 

  

The life of a man is a circle from childhood to childhood, and so it is 

in everything where power moves. Our teepees were round like the 

nests of birds, and these were always set in a circle, the nation’s hoop, 

a nest of many nests, where the Great Spirit meant for us to hatch our children. 

  

Black Elk, Holy Man of the Oglala Sioux 1863-1950 

LORD OF THE DANCE

The first activity that made us human was not speech but dance. We came together around a fire. In a circle. There were drums. We began to move together.  A shuffle. A bob. A swoop. A swirl. Pirouette. One two. One two. Grace. Power. Rhythm. A simultaneous movement. This is who we are. Ecstatic… ecstatic together. Eyes hooded. The mind quiet. The beat of the drum. The beat of the heart. Synchronous. This movement seems lost to us. Especially as we grow old. But it is right there. Listen to the beat. Feel it in your toes… in your heels. One step leads to two steps. Remember who you are. Let the fire light warm you. Let the flow of the dance carry you like a river. Become yourself... Lord of the Dance

FEATHER

The ancient Egyptians knew a lot about the transition from this world to the world after living. At the moment of death the heart is weighed by a being with the head of a Golden Wolf. Here’s the beauty… it was weighed against a feather… a Snowy Owl feather. If the heart was heavier than the feather there was no journey to the perfection of eternity. To be light-hearted… to carry no weight of sorrow… of Samsara… in the human heart… what a brilliant injunction. I finally received the message this week. The brain is not where the soul of man resides. The brain is simply the on-board computer that runs the vehicle of my body. It’s importance is all puffery. The memory in the fibres of my heart that is where the nidus of my soul lives. The heart is a pulsing toric electromagnetic field generator. & here is the irony…. to be free… spiritually free… it needs to be light as a Snowy Owl feather.