take me with you...
Awake
Waking today
just before winter
when I try to name the color of grasses,
how I feel of their beauty,
there is no word.
I think of the time before there were
words
when you would know morning mist
by the feel
of your loved one’s skin & hair,
& when someone came from the forest
of dry leaves
you would know by their scent
even if they carried no wood.
Or the heat of their body skin in summer.
Or if they came the winding way
down from the mountains
they would be covered in cloud
returning to the fold
or if they had gone farther, to the ocean,
you’d know them by their far-seeing eyes,
& when some travelers return
& are shining with light
you know, without saying, that they
have been
in touch with other worlds.
I have no wealth to speak of
other than this,
all this, just to praise the dry grasses
& their color that can’t be spoken
in words.
….Linda Hogan
there seems to be a deeper story to be told just under the surface of things….like polishing stones…we find our essential self when we allow the natural cycles of our lives to renew us…our continuity is trustworthy….
Under every deep a lower deep opens.
….Ralph Waldo Emerson
The story within & beneath the familiar story is almost always full of insight & possibility. It may take courage to go another level down, to abandon clarity, however illusory, for an unknown period of confusion & puzzlement. Our habitual stories usually protect us from the mystery of our lives. Whenever a story puts an end to reflection & further storytelling, that story is now serving as a defense. The poetics in a person’s story is its opening toward insight…..Thomas Moore
