I listen to the wind, to the wind of my soul.
maybe we should all wish for the wildest love to come up heavy and leave us as light as the rush of wild birds whooshing through our hearts……blindly scorching the air with tendrils of shifting illusions…..
We must assume our existence as broadly as we in any way can; everything, even the unheard of, must be possible in it. This is at bottom the only courage that is demanded of us: to have courage for the most strange, the most inexplicable……Rilke
In her poem, The Turtle, Mary Oliver writes: “The turtle breaks from the blue-black skin of the water, dragging her shell with its mossy scutes across the shallows and through the rushes and over the mudflats, to the uprise, to the yellow sand, to dig with her ungainly feet a nest, and hunker there spewing her white eggs down into the darkness, and you think of her patience, her fortitude, her determination to complete what she was born to do- and then you realize a greater thing- she doesn’t consider what she was born to do. She’s only filled with an old blind wish. It isn’t even hers but came to her in the rain or the soft wind, which is a gate through which her life keeps walking. She can’t see herself apart from the rest of the world or the world from what she must do every spring, crawling up the high hill, luminous under the sand that has packed against her skin. She doesn’t dream, she knows she is a part of the pond she lives in, the tall trees are her children, the birds that swim above her are tied to her by an unbreakable string.” I often wonder just how advanced humans really are. Why is it that we question our being- our existence? Who am I? Why am I? Does our ability to question life and self put us at the top of the ladder of species, or at the bottom?……
There are times when, If the circumstances are just right, Like a full moon, A light rain, Twilight, or Fog,
There is a momentary crossing
From time to timelessness,
Form to Formless,
Blood and bone to earth and rock,
Past and future to present
Where the atoms, the molecules of me
Forget to stop
From fusing into the earth and other places
Where I am not lost, but found,
Not part, but whole,
No longer longing for myself.