VISIONS OF GAIA (p3)
10 Franconia Notch
_
Hold me to your stony breast, O mother.
How one so cold and stark, can be so welcoming
is not logical. But there it is.
Lakes to freeze you- give you the body
temperature of a trout.
Snow plastered up beside your face
Beaver bogs with tea-colored water
This is no Savannah
No sultry south
But the sweep of the land to the eye
And the sharp kiss of the wind
Say Welcome Home anyhow.
Magnificent Vermont rock-
Here- try chewing on some of this.
(*4/12/03; a note on this one. After I was hit by the need to pull over and write this down, I drove on by and then looked back. I was astounded to see the rock face known as 'The Old Man of the Mountain'. I really hadn't known I was near there. It was that day or a day later that the 'face' fell off the mountain.)
Hold me to your stony breast, O mother.
How one so cold and stark, can be so welcoming
is not logical. But there it is.
Lakes to freeze you- give you the body
temperature of a trout.
Snow plastered up beside your face
Beaver bogs with tea-colored water
This is no Savannah
No sultry south
But the sweep of the land to the eye
And the sharp kiss of the wind
Say Welcome Home anyhow.
Magnificent Vermont rock-
Here- try chewing on some of this.
(*4/12/03; a note on this one. After I was hit by the need to pull over and write this down, I drove on by and then looked back. I was astounded to see the rock face known as 'The Old Man of the Mountain'. I really hadn't known I was near there. It was that day or a day later that the 'face' fell off the mountain.)
_11 Show Me
_
Show me your ripeness, your loveliness,
Your beauty.
your scents and your violence.
Show me the bones of your earth,
Your caves, your rocks,
your inner self.
Show me how you draw
And weather the storms.
Show me your creatures
I want it all mother.
Your honeysuckle intoxication..
(*I had written this in Missouri 5/18/03 while responding with the American Red Cross to a tornado outbreak)
Show me your ripeness, your loveliness,
Your beauty.
your scents and your violence.
Show me the bones of your earth,
Your caves, your rocks,
your inner self.
Show me how you draw
And weather the storms.
Show me your creatures
I want it all mother.
Your honeysuckle intoxication..
(*I had written this in Missouri 5/18/03 while responding with the American Red Cross to a tornado outbreak)
12 WILL O THE WISP
_
I am in love with the mist
as it gathers along the folds
and the curves of these mowed fields.
I am in love with
the sweet smell of hay.
I want to see your sweet will o the wisp body
As it dances over the fields of the south.
Not that I don’t love you here- I do-
But your full honeysuckle savour
Is deeper in the south, and warmer
With more fireflies,
And whip-poor-wills.
(*7/15/03, getting in the hay)
I am in love with the mist
as it gathers along the folds
and the curves of these mowed fields.
I am in love with
the sweet smell of hay.
I want to see your sweet will o the wisp body
As it dances over the fields of the south.
Not that I don’t love you here- I do-
But your full honeysuckle savour
Is deeper in the south, and warmer
With more fireflies,
And whip-poor-wills.
(*7/15/03, getting in the hay)
13 HEART OF STONE
_
The last time I saw the stone mother,
I focused on her stony breast.
But today she reminds me
she was not always cold and hard.
She had her time in the fire,
Her beginnings in magma-
Her igneous heart,
Now a heart of stone.
To be the very earth-
Primordial star-stuff
Condensed and fired,
Formed in the earth’s forge
Into rock-
And then exposed, weathered,
To make bits of soil
For life to eke out
Its purpose upon-
Or pressed into sediments
And a new form-
Or returned to the forge,
Re-fired,
A metamorphosis
To another form of rock.
This can have no thought-
As we know it-
Racing electric currents
Through the brain’s
Gelatinous wiring-
But can be loved, and gives us that
Without which we cannot live.
Her breast affords us her soil
Participates in the weather
as the lofty rocks,
wreathed in cloud,
Are washed, hidden in snow,
Torn by lightning
As cloud and rock
Dance in a dyad.
Rock as immoveable as any-
And yet not so
Moving through space in the dance of the spheres
Moving in earthquake and rockslide
Moving as tree root pries and cracks
And gains purchase and toe-hold.
Our organic forms have the greatest
Evanescence in movement.
We are here today and gone today.
But she is our mother.
She carries and nurtures us
We stand upon her stony breast
Upon her sandy shores and listen to
The sea-beat of her watery heart.
She nurtures us,
She cradles us.
She gives the dust
For our formation
And the cradle of the grave
For our forsaken bones
When we pass on.
(*8/28/03)
The last time I saw the stone mother,
I focused on her stony breast.
But today she reminds me
she was not always cold and hard.
She had her time in the fire,
Her beginnings in magma-
Her igneous heart,
Now a heart of stone.
To be the very earth-
Primordial star-stuff
Condensed and fired,
Formed in the earth’s forge
Into rock-
And then exposed, weathered,
To make bits of soil
For life to eke out
Its purpose upon-
Or pressed into sediments
And a new form-
Or returned to the forge,
Re-fired,
A metamorphosis
To another form of rock.
This can have no thought-
As we know it-
Racing electric currents
Through the brain’s
Gelatinous wiring-
But can be loved, and gives us that
Without which we cannot live.
Her breast affords us her soil
Participates in the weather
as the lofty rocks,
wreathed in cloud,
Are washed, hidden in snow,
Torn by lightning
As cloud and rock
Dance in a dyad.
Rock as immoveable as any-
And yet not so
Moving through space in the dance of the spheres
Moving in earthquake and rockslide
Moving as tree root pries and cracks
And gains purchase and toe-hold.
Our organic forms have the greatest
Evanescence in movement.
We are here today and gone today.
But she is our mother.
She carries and nurtures us
We stand upon her stony breast
Upon her sandy shores and listen to
The sea-beat of her watery heart.
She nurtures us,
She cradles us.
She gives the dust
For our formation
And the cradle of the grave
For our forsaken bones
When we pass on.
(*8/28/03)
_14 SUMMER AT LAST
_
Summer comes and sits on our doorstep,
In short pants and sandals,
Her braided hair a coronet,
Pinned above her brow.
She little cares how we have missed her,
How seldom we have seen her this year.
With her eternal youth,
Her generous flowers,
And her smiling warmth,
Her winds’ breath is a soft caress.
(* late summer 2009)
Summer comes and sits on our doorstep,
In short pants and sandals,
Her braided hair a coronet,
Pinned above her brow.
She little cares how we have missed her,
How seldom we have seen her this year.
With her eternal youth,
Her generous flowers,
And her smiling warmth,
Her winds’ breath is a soft caress.
(* late summer 2009)
_15 THE WIND
_
The wind, nothing less than earth’s breath
A live presence
Tossing the tree tops wildly
Moving into the inner spaces of my house
All the doors are set wide open
And the wind comes brawling through
Energizing my cleaning,
Drying my pans in an instant
I stand guilty as charged,
Having neither line nor pins,
And missing this opportunity
To dry my clothes in jig time
I hope the dust removed is more than the dust deposited.
Yesterday’s cheese batch had a fleet of particles
Brought in on a gust
All stuck in the setting curd.
I see your striding presence.
The wind, nothing less than earth’s breath
A live presence
Tossing the tree tops wildly
Moving into the inner spaces of my house
All the doors are set wide open
And the wind comes brawling through
Energizing my cleaning,
Drying my pans in an instant
I stand guilty as charged,
Having neither line nor pins,
And missing this opportunity
To dry my clothes in jig time
I hope the dust removed is more than the dust deposited.
Yesterday’s cheese batch had a fleet of particles
Brought in on a gust
All stuck in the setting curd.
I see your striding presence.
_16 The Motherland
_
Lands who of their compassion
feed the naked apes.
Feed the fragile ones
who would otherwise die.
The Motherland,
who allows the harrowing of her breast.
The planting and sprouting of seed,
The rippling growth of summer,
and the harvest.
Who nurtures the tribes
and gives them shelter.
We need to feed her in our turn.
No wonder they called her Mother Russia.
It is not the name of the country,
but of the nurturing land.
(*2009, threshing grain)
Lands who of their compassion
feed the naked apes.
Feed the fragile ones
who would otherwise die.
The Motherland,
who allows the harrowing of her breast.
The planting and sprouting of seed,
The rippling growth of summer,
and the harvest.
Who nurtures the tribes
and gives them shelter.
We need to feed her in our turn.
No wonder they called her Mother Russia.
It is not the name of the country,
but of the nurturing land.
(*2009, threshing grain)
_17 UNDINE
_
Undine didn’t come as a poem. Undine came as a dream/vision. I believe it was at some time after Hurricane Katrina.
I was in bed asleep in Maine, but I was standing in a room with a large window, allowing view of a broad lake or inlet. It was stormy, and I saw several waterspouts; some single, some twinned. As I watched, one came quite close to the glass. Not knowing why, I put out my hand to touch the glass. As I touched the glass, the waterspout transformed into a woman, and she reached out to the glass and touched it at the same spot as my hand.
Fool that I was, I did not focus on her appearance (or what she was wearing..) I have the impression that she was good to look at, tall, and not unclothed, but the apparition was so striking that I had no spare attention for peripherals. She did not speak, and my waking memory has no specifics of communication beyond the occurrence itself. But it was real as visions are real, with that special knowing that this is important and not to be forgotten.
Undine didn’t come as a poem. Undine came as a dream/vision. I believe it was at some time after Hurricane Katrina.
I was in bed asleep in Maine, but I was standing in a room with a large window, allowing view of a broad lake or inlet. It was stormy, and I saw several waterspouts; some single, some twinned. As I watched, one came quite close to the glass. Not knowing why, I put out my hand to touch the glass. As I touched the glass, the waterspout transformed into a woman, and she reached out to the glass and touched it at the same spot as my hand.
Fool that I was, I did not focus on her appearance (or what she was wearing..) I have the impression that she was good to look at, tall, and not unclothed, but the apparition was so striking that I had no spare attention for peripherals. She did not speak, and my waking memory has no specifics of communication beyond the occurrence itself. But it was real as visions are real, with that special knowing that this is important and not to be forgotten.
_18 TRAVELS IN ARIZONA; Dust Devils, The Gatekeeper, and the High Court
_
My son had his choice of 3 universities- UNH, UConn in Storrs, and Arizona State. He selected Arizona State.
We made the trip numerous times both by car and by air. Each time, it seemed, there was something truly awesome to experience
The first trip we flew to Las Vegas and picked up a rental car, then drove through the desert to the Grand Canyon and then on to Painted Desert and Blue Mesa. While there are many things on the trip to describe, what truly struck me were the dust devils we encountered as we approached Phoenix. They seemed the spirits of the desert, embodying the heat and quality of the air. One could never fly a kite in a tornado, but it seemed to me that one might be able to approach this with a dust devil.
‘The Gatekeeper’ was my term for a thunderhead that we saw in Flagstaff Arizona on the second trip out to Arizona State. We had been passing thunderheads all afternoon, and when I saw this one, I offhandedly said to my son, ‘that’s the gatekeeper’.
About 20 or 30 minutes later that puppy was right over us, and the floodgates opened. Hail, lightning, so much rain that the streets were awash. It was a formidable welcome to the area.
The next time I flew by jet, as always I kept an eye out for more thunderheads. You see them from a different perspective when at their height. What incredible energy and organization they have.
During the third visit, I had a dream. It was about my son, and a meeting of a high court- literally high, far above the earth- sitting in judgment. Much like a final exam. I don’t know if he was actually in the dream, or if I just knew that something of significance for him was occurring. It was not a lucid dream; I didn’t know during the time I was experiencing it that it was a dream. But often, when I walk along a high walkway over a road or in an airport, I am reminded of the dream, and the awe that I felt. It is a mystery which I have not yet solved.
Who was being judged? Who were the judges? Why was my son involved? Why was I there? I was in fact involved in a court case at that time. Was the decedent pressing his case to ‘a higher court’? How, if in any way, has this impacted my life, my son’s life? I feel it was a case of ‘suspended judgment’. ‘Throw them back and see how they do’. Hmm…
This dream preceded 9/11/01 by not too many months.
My son had his choice of 3 universities- UNH, UConn in Storrs, and Arizona State. He selected Arizona State.
We made the trip numerous times both by car and by air. Each time, it seemed, there was something truly awesome to experience
The first trip we flew to Las Vegas and picked up a rental car, then drove through the desert to the Grand Canyon and then on to Painted Desert and Blue Mesa. While there are many things on the trip to describe, what truly struck me were the dust devils we encountered as we approached Phoenix. They seemed the spirits of the desert, embodying the heat and quality of the air. One could never fly a kite in a tornado, but it seemed to me that one might be able to approach this with a dust devil.
‘The Gatekeeper’ was my term for a thunderhead that we saw in Flagstaff Arizona on the second trip out to Arizona State. We had been passing thunderheads all afternoon, and when I saw this one, I offhandedly said to my son, ‘that’s the gatekeeper’.
About 20 or 30 minutes later that puppy was right over us, and the floodgates opened. Hail, lightning, so much rain that the streets were awash. It was a formidable welcome to the area.
The next time I flew by jet, as always I kept an eye out for more thunderheads. You see them from a different perspective when at their height. What incredible energy and organization they have.
During the third visit, I had a dream. It was about my son, and a meeting of a high court- literally high, far above the earth- sitting in judgment. Much like a final exam. I don’t know if he was actually in the dream, or if I just knew that something of significance for him was occurring. It was not a lucid dream; I didn’t know during the time I was experiencing it that it was a dream. But often, when I walk along a high walkway over a road or in an airport, I am reminded of the dream, and the awe that I felt. It is a mystery which I have not yet solved.
Who was being judged? Who were the judges? Why was my son involved? Why was I there? I was in fact involved in a court case at that time. Was the decedent pressing his case to ‘a higher court’? How, if in any way, has this impacted my life, my son’s life? I feel it was a case of ‘suspended judgment’. ‘Throw them back and see how they do’. Hmm…
This dream preceded 9/11/01 by not too many months.
19 Get out of the Way
Give her room,
She needs to dance.
The sun's heat is moving her
The earth's warmth and water cradle her
And she goes wild.
Give her room
Give her a place
To cut her path
Her crazy spirals
Clear the floor
She needs to dance