the only divide of
land and water
is the negotiating table,
with the motions
of the moon.
if i could see a drop of rain from the inside i would still never understand water even in my bed at night my body somehow leaks moisture and i am left thirsty, forced to trek from my cocoon for another drink in a glass of water a pencil becomes a bended ray of light pointing at impossible angles and when removed is again straight the glass no less changed than before water is not the air i breathe yet it is a part of each breath water shapes the world the morning dew from which bees drink, the slow drip that smooths canyon walls and hollows mountains, the summer waterfalls over desert cliffs the deep springs lapped from the lips of deer water is more necessary to life than air we are born in water, and that is where we will return. we are not dust turning to dust, nor ash to ash, but we are water turning to water.
You do not have to be good.
You do not have to walk on your knees
For a hundred miles through the desert, repenting.
You only have to let the soft animal of your body love what it loves.
Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.
Meanwhile the world goes on.
Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain are moving across the
over the prairies and the deep trees,
the mountains and the rivers.
Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air, are heading home
Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,
the world offers itself to your imagination
calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting- over and over
announcing your place
in the family of things.
wandering star don't let the dust fool you, it's always the view from afar that sees spectacle in your mess -- but isn't that what the beauty of life is? the perspective from here, behind a telescope lens you shimmer and dazzle sweet sprinkles the kinds that make candy of the soul glazed window into the heavens the lens is specked with colours unseen peacock flume, your wispy arms scarlet, crimson ultra violet waltz, pink pearl cotton atmosphere amid your shakeless pirouette a green only known as life what would you be on earth i cannot say only that you are what the robins and bees prefer
god, are you a cloud small vaporous wonder lightly drifting thought encircling forever the globe constant mass changing volume condensing rain release as you rise climbing mountains filling streams taming valleys canyons the great abyss how do you make deserts if not by uprooting trees making space for most impossible life the rich biosphere that lives underneath my toes are you an ant carrying crystals of salt the miracle of life amidst a dry ocean sand or the unthinkable porous magma ocean under land
love is in the present i hope you can feel it it's in the moonlight dancing with the moths blowing gently through the trees it's by candlelight on the touch of a lover's kiss the soft lips in the musical hum the wings of a bumblebee the nectar of a hummingbird's bill it's in the private wish at a sunset glow in the gift of the sun the last bursting rays that return at day love is in the leaf of a tree in the air of spring just a little bud the blooming delicate petals (pink pearl blossoms) closing at first snow bound in the roots of the forest digging deeper like the earthworm a tunnel into a richer existence nuzzling in your bosom a gentle caress touching closer, closer, closer golden honey drops that never spoil like wine better with age
if a picture is a thousand words then your voice is uncountable in- sur- mountable a peak and V- alley lush with game and forests and sheep you are a mother of all things & through four seasons you are a newspring lake a deep water well a magic a power a force and though i'll never understand you never have you in all your forever i bid you the best an anti-eternity can provide if all the stars are an end then you are my one beginning
just when my mind begins to race
imagining disasters in the ten-fold
i remember that time moves slow enough
to catch yourself caught in the moment,
that ‘it’ is just right…
that mom’s hands never really age,
forever giving you enough to hold onto
if only wrapped around her one finger..
the first heartbeat you’d known
that dad’s tears are real badges of parenthood,
there when you screw up
and succeed… more than words,
saltwater lessons of life
that brother’s love is always there,
even when he was smarter, stronger, faster
he wasn’t trying to be better,
he just was…
that sister’s care is always stronger
than a proud defeat,
and she is always mother’s touch
even as miles – or inches – away..
and family is a root
a leaf floating gently down
at the kiss of wind..
a wellspring of hope
a fountain of youth
a history, a language
and a name.
maybe the written word is like moss,
growing everyplace in the forest
that the eye can’t see
unless it is still, and careful…
and the more words i write
the more dirt i make,
soft green tendrils curling
in the shaded forest light
sitting atop mounds and mountains
and reaching around trees,
perched on logs:
afloat on a windspoken rain
drifting down a trickling stream
to be planted subplanted and transplanted
only picked fresh to make a bed
or to offer a drink of caught rainfall;
going where it is allowed to grow old.
To be connected with the land is to find a home within the wilderness. If we always think of our surrounding ecology (for those fortunate enough to live where there is still wilderness beyond their walls, or for those who live without walls) as something to be at battle with, we will never be at peace. Yes, that’s a truism, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t true. Ever since reading Trauma Farm, I’ve been more aware of my connection with everything. To live peacefully with the land is to accept that the Land is something we are a part of. To know our place is to know that it is our choice to settle in that location, but it is the natural ecology which will outlast our lives and choices. Like a kitten that finds the inside of your elbow as a place to sleep, we can find a place to live and thrive within our wilderness. Whether it’s the physical landscape of the country or the philosophical natural chaos from which we get our diamonds or sustenance, accepting our wilderness is key to our survival.
This article was inspired by this blog post from An Ecology of Home.