Explore
Gaia Soulmates
 Advertising keeps Gaia free! Interested in sponsoring us?

Being a Practicing Bird

Posted on Apr 16th, 2008 by Violet  : Dharma Mare Violet
 

Being a Practicing Bird
 
 
Birds, flying as fish swimming, skim the branches and cry out their calls.
Dim in the trees, the sky a tarnished glow, rain darkened limbs and ground,
There is plenty to eat. We are blessed.
 
Some strange sound of tromp and scrape, jet-eyed Starling nesting in the gutter. She flies,
 
Beak stuffed with straw. I watch from my window because it is wonderful in the trees.
 
Jay's Yi Yi Yi  of danger comes in loud. Some cat I've seen before creeps the yard.
 
Being a practicing bird, I chase it away. Predator to predator. The cat ran into the thicket.
 
 My desk is up in the limbs of the second floor where they rest and fly.
I am a blue bird with silvery green wings. My top-knot is dark and red.
Imaginary nest. Practicing my bird way,
 
As birds are, without a thought for tomorrow. Jay soars toward me,
Returns, drops down and swoops back with his beak of yellow corn.
Pico de Gayo. The beak of the chicken.
 
All this-- which is a mystery and a holy song:
 
Light flickers through the lines of limbs,
 
Quick flint of black as Crow flies by flapping 
 
Below the roof line. Never so close in.
 

The suspension of flight which hangs in long crow seconds. Jay

Flies up again, or his brother. They are bright as any tropical fish.
Swimming in light. Practicing beauty.

4/16/08
Access_public Access: Public What do you think? Print views (130)  
Tagged with: Poetry, Bird, Shamanism

Saturday Night with Rain and Memories: REM

Posted on Dec 15th, 2007 by Violet  : Dharma Mare Violet

Watched the REM concert tonight. The voice I've loved for so long...

I ran a coffee house/open mike for a time in Knoxville at The Torch restaurant. Zoe and NIck.  Good people. Beautiful daughters. Saturday nights we had a stage and a mike and some crappy sound but the people who came and shared their music and poetry were golden light angels shining and singing their guts out.

Slashtifer and Keel. My great friends. The first time I heard Losing My Religion was a cover, before the song got popular and was everywhere. Keel singing those amazing lyrics and me just amazed with the words. It made me remember back to that other Saturday night.

Just this week I dreamed about John, a man I loved. In the dream he told me he liked my dog. The love I had for him then was clear in my dream. The loving goes on and on. He's been dead a long time but I remember him exactly.

I saw a young man last summer at a red light. His profile like my dead brothers. He had the light and he turned in front of me; I watched him and remembered so clearly my brother-- I wanted to follow him, stop him and somehow make him be something that he couldn't know and couldn't understand. My brother. My dead dead brother, William Ray.

And this is a night of memories. A night of angels and the sweetness of love.

Access_public Access: Public 1 Comment Print views (123)  

The Limits of Mozart and David Byrne; Given That

Posted on May 13th, 2007 by Violet  : Dharma Mare Violet
The Limits of Mozart and David Byrne

Thick sadness. Redemption implied in the strings. 
Mozart spins golddust sound into hallowed ground.
His Burning Bush sings. I don't need wings to soar his sky
Above sandstone and green. Longing, thrilling piano sound.

I know the feeling well. I didn't dream I'd think of you every day.
Suddenly, the way I don't need to feel. Wanting and can't.
I could say pierced, as melodramatic as all that.
What did I think? I could just walk away from you?

David Byrne always cheers me. His Latin sound is lusty. Now he makes me sad.
Mozart is sublime but he can't heat it up. He can't even make me cry.
Squirrels chase each other around the yard. Does this make
Any sense? I should chase you down and ease my pain.

All the reasons in the world. There is no why and no damn sense to it.
Mongrel squirrel comes right up to the porch. I sit in sweet memosa shade.
I heard that ravens take years to trust enough to come into the yard with people.
How long will I need? My horse instinct to run first thing. But where would I go

That you wouldn't be with me?

05/13/07

*

Given That

I remember myself with long brown hair.
The sleeve of my dress hooked at my elbow.
My shallow of my shoulder blade, a line of middle.
How good it felt to be in my body.

Yellow light. Inside and too warm windows wide
Sleigh bed with sheets kicked to the floor.
Your leg to mine. Hip and belly. All and all
Held like a breath holding sacred fire.


05/13/07
Access_public Access: Public What do you think? Print views (293)  

Blue Day, A Poem for Sarah

Posted on Nov 12th, 2006 by Violet  : Dharma Mare Violet
Blue Day

This spine of a ridge runs south for miles to Chattanooga.
I feel so alive, sweat running down my back, down my legs.
This is walking a line. Your leaving has broken my heart.
You were a short time friend and then you died.

It is amazing to look over and see the green.
This is a lesson in turning yourself over, of
Standing at the edge of things. Time and the seasons
Worked their magic here. This is plate tectonics in the raw.

Time found its way through in a line of crystaline stone.
Ridge and valley roll along, fold up and fall away in a dazzling
Hot afternoon.  Did you ever stand stand close to the edge and consider
Going over? Did you ever hold that thrilling moment in your hand?

I dig deep in my pockets for rat change. I've found enough to get along.
Where I've been from sounds like a good idea. You broke through.
A bird calls out from a long way off. It waits a long time and calls again.
I run my hand across the warm rough cheek of the stone.

Cattle recline with their calves or graze. I'd graze in the sweet grass, too,
If my life was theirs. I'm letting my sweet life play. What happens is one line
On my hand followed to its end. I find a bush of blueberries and fill my hands.
The fantastic taste of blue. The stain left on my fingers. The stain of you.
Access_public Access: Public What do you think? Print views (343)  

Surrealism to me is reality.

Posted on Oct 29th, 2006 by Violet  : Dharma Mare Violet
John_and_yoko
"Surrealism to me is reality."  John Lennon.

Looking out the window into the shifting patterns of leaves, color and light, the wind bringing the limbs back and back-- No heat in the house. No hot water, either. Leaving no doubt as to the change of season, I'm writing in a jacket and scarf, a little chilly but can't type in gloves.

How many leaves fall, hang in the air, caught in the light? It stops and starts like the sound of the trucks on the highway.
Bird sound and the sound of the wind in the crisp oak leaves.
Crows flying over.
Vastness of beauty. Vastness of longing.

Watched a SNL video of Nirvana doing Smells Like Teen Spirit this morning. The music now more understood for the time lapse. His angst a ripped page from the book of lost intentions. Always wondered why... Why do our poets give up the trying?

...from a few years ago

Hold Up

Difficult morning. Motor sound in the background,
Sky a dull light. Almost no color left to the trees.

Stick branches hold the mockingbird's nest together.
What holds me is unthreaded. The snag end of time gone by.

Fallow
Serene

Time falls away leaving the absence of summer.
Desire picks up the fragments of gone days.

Puts things together the wrong way.
Tries to find something that fits.

                                  L when I was a G

And so, another autumn on the wing.
Access_public Access: Public What do you think? Print views (172)  

Blue Butterfly & The Tale Of The Maiden With No Hands

Posted on Jun 5th, 2006 by Violet  : Dharma Mare Violet
Blue_morpho

 

    

When I was in Costa Rica in February, my friend Patsy talked about a movie she’d seen, Blue Butterfly, which had been filmed in the Costa Rican rain forest. It concerned a 10 year old boy who had been diagnosed with brain cancer and the thing he wanted most was to catch a Blue Morpho, the Blue Butterfly. The movie is based on a true story.

Without giving too much away, I found that the story was very similar to a healing story, an archetypal story, that I use in therapy. The healing comes out of the determination to act, in both cases, to save another! A young woman whose father, a widower, becomes frustrated with her because she has become willful and independent, and he cuts off her hands. The young woman is wandering around, in pain and afraid, almost crazy.

She finally begins to search out food and water and after a time she finds an orchard of ripe pear trees. She can stand and eat and so she is discovered by the gardener who tells others about her and finally the King hears about her. Intrigued, he hides near by and waits for her to come and eat the pears.

When he sees her, he is overcome with compassion and he approaches her, inviting her to come to the castle with him, and because he feels great love for her, he asks her to be his Queen. She refuses him, saying she cannot, doesn’t have hands, can’t do what she needs to do, but he simply tells her that as his Queen, she will not need hands, that there will be someone to take care of anything she may need. So she agrees to do this. After awhile, they are married. And after another while, she discovers that she is pregnant.

The King’s mother had become jealous of his wife, the new Queen. Hearing that she is pregnant, his mother is determined to regain her power and authority back. At the time she delivers, the old Queen mother sends everyone away but her handmaids.

The young Queen has twin babies but as soon as she’s delivered, the old Queen mother gets her up and takes her and her babies out of the castle and into a carriage where they’re taken far away from the castle, and the King.

“If you return,” the old Queen tells her, letting her out of the carriage and the deserted road, “I’ll kill your babies.” When the old Queen returns, she tells the King that his wife died in childbirth and the babies were monsters that had to be destroyed.

He is sick with grief.

The young Queen is also sick with grief and struggling to carry the babies, a child under each arm, staggering into the darkening woods. She comes to a stream and carefully puts down the babies and tries to lean into the water to get a drink. In doing this, she pushes one of the babies into the water. She leaps to her feet and looks around, not knowing what to do. She suddenly realizes there is an old woman sitting under the shade of a tree and she calls out to her, “Please, save my baby!”

The old woman just looks at her and says, “Save it yourself.”

She can’t believe this woman is refusing to help her and so she begins to beg her and in her hysteria, she pushes the other babe into the stream. Now she’s hysterical! “Please help me,” she begs. “Save my babies!” She’s crying and down on her knees pleading with the woman.

The woman remains where she is and again says, “Save them yourself.” She looks at the young woman, crying out to her and tells her, “Plunge in your stumps and save your own babies.” And when she does, miraculously, she is healed and whole and she is able to reach in and save her own children.

The wise old woman tells her, “Go back to the castle and to your husband. He loves you very much.” And of course, when she tells him what happened, he banishes his mother and he and the young Queen and their two beautiful children live happily, as they should do.

-- Story told by Angeles Arien ~~~~~

 

Access_public Access: Public 2 Comments Print views (229)  

Finding the Whirl [ [ I ] ]

Posted on May 21st, 2006 by Violet  : Dharma Mare Violet
In thinking about what kinds of things happened early on in my life to inspire my searching, seeking after the Other, the connectedness of Spirit or somesuch Mystery, I
remember a strange occurrence that seems like a no big deal memory-- but it caused something in me to wake up or crack open.

As a teenager, I was a different kind of girl than the kids I knew and only fit in with them on a surface level. I loved being in the woods, riding the trails on my horse, Britman, the feeling was like being taken over or taken into another reality. This was extremely boring for my friends and so I rode alone most of the time, in a kind of altered state of consciousness that was incredibly freeing.

On this day, I was walking alone in a field of tall grass and a wind began to twist in front of me-- a dirt devil but much larger, much more powerful-- whirling the grass as it moved its way along for a few moments. It seemed so strange and it was gone so quickly. I had nothing to hold on to. Awesome and nothing.

And what this did was open a space where I didn't have anything to put there. A wide open space that stayed empty. Awesome and nothing. The spirit moving. The whirling and then the calm.

Access_public Access: Public 1 Comment Print views (162)