Light bouncing off the white water tank
My sore and sleep deprived heart
A soul that knows its line of enquiry
A little jerk to confirm
Take me deeper in
Let me lie with the birds in my ear
Let me sink into the void and wait for further instructions
You rush too much
They say
Worry less
Be OK
Once upon a time the land had become restless and uneasy. The Grandfathers had been neglected and, seeking peace, nourishment and reconciliation from their descendants but finding no connection, had taken away all the homes on the land in order to reach them. While they wandered, they would be looking, and while they were looking there was a chance they would find them and all would be put back in its rightful place. And so it was.
A grand daughter had been homeless for years, wandering, from the ocean to the gold ,to the river that winds like a snake, to the place where the hills jut out under a hot sun in the naval of the land. One day she found herself again by the ocean where she had begun. She came to a little house where a wise woman with white hair lived. The wise woman looked at her shells and told the granddaughter that a great movement was underway. The grand daughter was needed to do her part to put right all the mess that had been made. It would be a long and difficult journey and she would need to make many offerings, going deep into the earth to recover the connection that had been lost and find her way home again. The wise woman told her that the only way to heal the land would be for the grand daughter to die and be reborn.
They made a long journey, flying in iron birds and riding iron horses to the place where the mountains met the stream and the Great Mother had whispered into the memory of the land a greeting into a tree with long red roots to invite the grand daughter back into the earth she had forgotten. The Monkey King came with his people to see them safely through the gate.
The Great Mother chose the Keepers of the Land carefully so they would recognise the wise woman and the grand daughter when they came. A great feast was prepared. The keepers of the land made a fire and stood guard as the grand daughter lay down in the grave she had prepared, ready to die so she could be reborn.
The wind blew. Creatures who lived in the earth crawled and connected. She sank deeper, inhaling grains of sand and dust. As she descended, the keepers of the land and the wise woman sang songs so she would not get lost. The spirits that had gathered came forward to be seen and known, their stories told. The old man who had been buried at the top of the hill came first, followed by those who had died in the wars. The Earth was heavy and cool; it enveloped her, comforted, as she surrendered into the loamy scent.
When the Death Arrow landed, it pierced her side so all of the sadness poured out, and the Great Mother laughed and laughed as she rocked her child back Home. A great rage rose then, coursing through like hot blood. All the subjugation of the entire world, all the women who had been made to submit through violence. She shook and shook and shook and a great sound wrenched out and vibrated around the entire cosmos.
Then the Three Grandmothers came, so she could weep.
Only when she was emptied. Only when she was emptied the Grandfather’s took their place. She called out to the one who held back to witness and speak out the story that had kept him hidden and shamed. You are our ancestor too. And so it was. Taking all the burdens of all the sons she placed the bundle in his hands and said, take care of this one. We have been waiting for you to find us the Grandfathers said, waiting for you to remember our names so we could do our work. Make homes that are sweet and strong and true. An end to the wandering. And it was good.
A great crowd had gathered around the tree, spirits of all the lineages, of the wise woman and the keepers of the land and the old old ones. The gathered so they could take their places in constellation around this buried girl. They gathered to welcome her home so she could be born again.
And the fire came and ate the clothes and everything was still again and empty.
It is enough that you have been born whispered the wind and the river when she came at dawn, a foetus slipping out into the birthing pool. The blue light. The hard ground. The soft cloth wrapped around her.
Warm hands. Sweet stories and a great love spreading out into the world. The Monkey King knew she had returned and sent a great greeting party to welcome her back. They jumped through the grass and stared and cheered and laughed.
The Life Arrow pointed the way out, calling the black dog to come in the dreamtime. Flying over the cusp of the hill at the centre of the Earth. Flying Home. To keep doing the work. And keep doing the work. The Garndmothers and Grandfathers smiled. And so it was.
Last night the yellow prayer tie that I have worn around my left wrist for the past year broke.
Sometimes stuff happens and it’s like we’ve come full circle.
I like that.
Coming full circle means inhabiting a wonderful sense of completeness.
And the nature of circle means that its completeness and ending is infused with dynamic movement. Coming full circle is not the stagnant finish line. It is part of the ongoing cyclical.
What coming full circle offers is a moment to pause, and consolidate what has passed. It is a place of digestion and awareness in which deep reflection is possible. This is so important, because the pause is where the foundation for what is to come is laid down. Consolidation is like tilling the soil after harvest. In my life, I don’t live a rural life in which these metaphors of soil and harvest make sense. But this year me and my daughter grew tomatoes for the first time, under the communal washing lines in the back yard. The end of summer means picking off the ones that ripened (this year not so many – a rainy summer), putting the green ones in the airing cupboard where the warmth will hopefully help them tip over into a blush. It means finding a recipe for fried green tomatos! It means pulling up the plants and digging out the soil, taking care to leave no trace of the plant so that the foundation for the next cycle is solid and clear of anything that may contaminate the new plant’s potential for growth in the Spring.
So too with the yellow prayer tie.
In its travels, no matter where a pigeon ends up or how it gets there, it knows the way home. It never gets lost, for even when it is unsure of its surroundings, the bird listens to the rhythm of the earth, smells the power and hints in the air, and can find its way back to where it belongs. Pigeon teaches us of security, and how to make a home of our own. We learn to use all of our senses in an equal and balanced manner, to guide us on our path to wholeness. Set your sights and attention on your goals, visualize exactly where you want to be in your life, and trust your instincts to guide you there.
Exiting the silence
Breaking open the Great Gate of Noise
Lingering in sinful atonement
Amidst clamorings of righteousness
Calls for justice and education
Meanwhile, across the water,
issuing instructions by loudspeaker
But stopping at our street
Let them sleep, let them sleep
Will this separate status?
Cost us our safety?
Ocean roars
Closer than close
Arrived on the wind
And I, exhausted, insomniac
Get ready to melt
Thundering surf, half moon light
A fragment of foam
As cities burn
An archeological layer in a story of sadness
The world will not have it
This idleness, empty space
Laying down, luxuriant, in the warmth of the womb
The world will not have the dark
The flame or the softness
The world would make us busy
Working so our thoughts are monsters
Clinical, thorough, precise
My resistance is cushioned by lock down
In the gluttony of rest I find a still point
Round and elegant
Here the real work begins
Not of this world
But the Other
This world would not have it
But I, watcher at the womb door
Welcome the shadow when She comes
I saw into the future Saw my descendents Mer-Beings, Two Spirit Slippery bodied, dark and supple Fleshy, soft Born in the water I saw into the future Saw the surf of 100 000 years Had pummeled plastic particles Into … Continue reading
Bred by thunder
A rainbow rising out the oil slick
The golden woman
Made flesh
Pupils dilating in Cairo
Fleet footed
At the continent’s southern tip
She made heaven open
Singing joy
Singing bliss
Transforming pain into all of
This
When the damn thing breaks
She sings
And me, on the grass, I listen
On the grass and the leaves and the coal
Drawing orange light from the Power Source
The True Warmth within
This is not snake oil
This is Kundalini
A rising and release
Motion questing for expression that this language can not hold
This ones for a deeper plane
A higher place
Bathed in your love
I can only find it in a disjointed and glorious
Re-Assemblage
Light Breath Dance Be
Francis Bebey meets Dawn Chorus
The forest is waiting for you, my child
Singing in all our languages
Known and Unknown
Named and Unnamed
Solid Melting
The Groundless Ground
Found Her
A Madonna, Black
In the playground
Next to
The church ground
In between
The chicken shop
And the housing estate
She guarded the sacred water
Which we sniffed
Did not drink
Waiting on health & safety
Knowing that She
Enters us pilgrims
Regardless
Once the road has disappeared
Once the path is all done
We are children
Waiting for elders
With true hunter gatherer souls
Though Our Fathers
Hold us tight
In patriarchal embrace
Leaving us rooted
Without nourishment
Only extraction
Of the wonderful spirit
In all its messy glory
That is our birth right
Here I practice
Maximum foraging returns
Riding house sits and lucky breaks
Caught in the gap between
Native & Settler
There is no sense to be made
In all of this
I exist regardless
I exist regardless
