The poetic tale of two nice trees

Going to the edge always necessitates change. Growth. A death of sorts. Get close enough and nothing will ever be the same again. Just like always.

These two dear trees. I visited them frequently for an entire year. They watched me as my belly expanded and grew a tiny being.

The first poem written in the summer of 2015. The second in 2016. A lot can happen in a year.

"Twin Compasses"

Sacred bank of the creek

White Mud

Sculpted by Time

Wind and water wandering

All the while

They've been watching

Warm in the Sun

Wrapped up in one another     

Two Spruce

Together through the ages

Branches intertwined

Caressing trunks

With space enough to grow

Strong.

Tall

He holds her firmly

Did she always know?

That with the stacking of moment

Upon timeless moment

She would venture

Ever nearer to...

The Fall?

But, He holds her still

Though the water will

Inevitably carve the earth

From beneath Her rooted hearth...

And yet, in this Now,

Centred, they remain.

And while it is He who stands behind

Allowing Her splendour to shine

Fully against the Sun

Steadying Her, anchoring Her.

She is the One, who

Has wrapped her roots true

Sending them wide

Far inland from the Creekside

She always knew.

And He did too.

His depth keeps them grounded.

And upon Her breadth is founded

Their intimate balance.

Standing strong.

Sacred heart song.

Rhythmic vibration.

Forever and all along.

July 5th, 2015

And then, one fine sunny day, July 23rd of 2016 in fact, I wrote the following:

"Terran Radix Sky and I walked through the forest today. When I came to the "Twin Compasses" they were lying across the creek! Farewell, dear ONes.

"Fallen at Last" 

You let me go.

Falling fast? Or slow?

The water called to You

Washing our roots clean through

No ground left to stand on.

Lay down. Rest here.

While the waters wash clear.

Clearing all that no longer serves.

We can rise again!

No thoughts of when...

Of back then. Of before.

But can?

Can you let go?

Steady as the river flows

Intertwined together we did grow

Let's try anew

Blessings renewed

Me and You

Free to let be

Fallen trees

Side by side

Which one died?

Together. First. Same time. 

Lying across the creek

A mother and son doth seek

Solace. Respite.

A calm after the crash

Would I could have heard that bold bash!

Twin compasses cracking and bursting

Both parched and angry with thirsting

For Truth. For Love.

Found here. And above.

Decompose. Rest awhile.

Return different

And with a smile.

Too blessed to feel sad.

Death brings renewal.

My heart is glad.

Still here.

But different now.

Excited to burst forth

Dancing this sacred course.

The ebb. Rivers flow.

Take us both! 

Fast. And slow.

Until when?

Will we know?

For now,

Time is made to grow.

July 23rd, 2016

"Journeys to the Self"

It's been so long! Since I posted on here. I'm in a coffee shop with a very old journal. I found this unfinished poem from December 21st, 2012. I share it now, and, perhaps, finish it later..?

I thought I was alone
Mukluks crunching in crisp diamond snow
Sun low - Solstice Day
She walks with me
Silent, weightless

Floating amongst the salmon coloured willows
Atop the thumping bullrushes.
At times, she lies flat
Yet moving still
Gliding across the snow covered river marsh

Alone but together
She pats the shadow dogs
A reminder

The Light and all that is given
Together as one
All that throbs and ebbs beneath the powerful Sun

...

Half a world away
In both time and space
That same shadow girl
Crumbles with each crashing wave

Yet, she never dissipates, only shimmers
Wavering beneath the full blood moon
Running backwards as toes scrape
Dancing upon wet ocean sand

Phosphorescence shimmering in long green lines
The passage of life, the movement of time
Am I still that girl? Somehow in some way?
A shadow of everything that while in flux,
Will always stay.

"Bless the Water"

Perfect. It just isn't true
Except: that it is
renew. Renew

You
and Me.
Sacred Water, too.
We carry.

Learnings. Experience. Remembrances.
Times of Joy
Some moments scary
Traumatic even
Secondary.

Our perfection shaped and added to
Covered over and subsumed
These patterns that shift us
Sometimes drift us
And mold us too
Into Who; into What
We are: Always. Becoming.

Sweet Constance. She lies beneath
And above
Throughout or within...
Beyond Space. Beyond Time.
Once too thick, then too thin.
Words can't express this deep surreal love

And Love
Is the key
Unlocking
and Blessing us back
Towards Free

Perfection. Complete.
It is no small feat

Lifetimes of concentric circular knowing
All the while, the Water keeps flowing

Bless Her. Bless Him.
Bless the Water, within.
Bless the frozen, the ice, the evaporated and congealed.
The transforming, the polluted, the boiling, the healed.
Bless All.

Love and gratitude.
We are what we Are.
Unconditional blessings upon You
Upon All
Through touch, vibration and song.
Intention, energy and Love!

Before too long...

Bless the Water!
Remember the heart songs.
The joy and the laughter
Within all along.

Bless the Water.
Love humanity.
Bless all Beings.
Embrace destiny.

Not this. Not that.
My essence can't be named...
And yet...
If I am anything concrete, grant me fluidity:
Name me Water!
Let me flow. Let me grow.
Clean and clear; sparkling and Here
And free always to Know:

Nothing. At all.

Dear Love,

Dear Love,

Are You Black? No. Not blue either, though... Fiery bright Red? Sometimes. Burning flames. Embers ignited. Licking clean all misconceptions about You...

I think You might be Green. Like the buds I saw on the trees while walking here. Ever new. Always renewing. You.

I've searched. We all do. But You. You don't stay still. Don't wait to be grasped. Crumble at the mere notion of being caged. Won't be named of defined. Yet You constantly refine. Making shiny and bright. A newfound sensitivity to Life.

Are You the light that I saw when she smiled at me? Pleased by my rotund fertility? Are You the feeling of knowing with absolute certainty? That All is just as it should be. Demanding surrender. Hearts that feign tender,  know not the infinite power of eternal Love. No pain. No strain. Just is-ness. Below. Above. Within. Without...

Without You, dear Love, could we connect with each Other? Finding ultimately that all Sisters, and Beings, all Brothers. Not Others...maybe Nothers. A-nother. Nothings and Alls. Witnessing my Self as I fall. Falling into You. You will catch me, I know. I ask then for Faith. For the courage to let go.

Dear Love, I thank You. For always being here. Deep inside. In all things. Are You why we persevere? Until someday we fly free (but we already are). Wrapped safe, in Your ubiquitous embrace. What was always near, has never been. So far.

XO,

Shannanananananana

Lovely Women: Beneath Muscle, Below Sinew

A moment of stillness. In tune with the New Moon as she fills herself up. Again. The whisper of a remembered phrase. "I knew a woman, lovely in her bones." A real woman, courageous and powerful, once said to me that I, yes me, I reminded her of the woman in that poem. I didn't know this wonderful woman well, but she could see me in a way that I couldn't yet see. In this way, poetry allowed me to remember something I must have known all along. About myself. About life. Thank You Zanne <3

Poetry is that expression of Truth that can't otherwise be expressed. The kind that eludes prose and linear thought. And yet, these clouded and hidden aspects of Reality (of sub-reality?) aren't inexpressible. Upon remembering the memory triggering phrase I became inspired and excited! What if a group of people gathered, maybe once every month. Or just once to try it out for starters! A poetry group of sorts. Each person bringing a work that inspires or grounds them, that helps them remember something that easily escapes ordinary thought. A poem that contains the elusive seed of understanding and deep knowing. Sharing with each other so we begin to forget less. And original works too, if that was in alignment. I'd love to gather in such a way. Would you join in?

And then, after imagining such a soul-filled gathering, I wrote this. Quickly and swiftly. A little poem.

"For Zanne"

I knew a woman.
Lovely in her bones.
She was me
And her and you too...
But,
From time to time
She spun clear out of those bones
Preferring the familiar moans
The shrieks, the cries
Of Power misaligned
Out of time...or just in it, squeezed.

"Come back to your bones"
Whispers heard
Far and near
Grounded and centred
Oft remembered and clear

Stay here.
Stay.
Near.
Fear...
Can fly free.
Surrender and let be.

Stay in your lovely bones
Steady like the trees
Ingesting those fleeting moments
That float through you
Singing with the breeze

Grace and ease.

I know a woman.
So lovely.
Right in her very bones.

There is a bone in this fire!

This is the original poem by Theodore Roethke:

"I knew a woman"

I knew a woman, lovely in her bones, 

When small birds sighed, she would sigh back at them;   

Ah, when she moved, she moved more ways than one:   

The shapes a bright container can contain! 

Of her choice virtues only gods should speak, 

Or English poets who grew up on Greek 

(I’d have them sing in chorus, cheek to cheek). 

How well her wishes went! She stroked my chin,   

She taught me Turn, and Counter-turn, and Stand;   

She taught me Touch, that undulant white skin;   

I nibbled meekly from her proffered hand;   

She was the sickle; I, poor I, the rake, 

Coming behind her for her pretty sake 

(But what prodigious mowing we did make). 

Love likes a gander, and adores a goose: 

Her full lips pursed, the errant note to seize; 

She played it quick, she played it light and loose;   

My eyes, they dazzled at her flowing knees;   

Her several parts could keep a pure repose,   

Or one hip quiver with a mobile nose 

(She moved in circles, and those circles moved). 

Let seed be grass, and grass turn into hay:   

I’m martyr to a motion not my own; 

What’s freedom for? To know eternity. 

I swear she cast a shadow white as stone.   

But who would count eternity in days? 

These old bones live to learn her wanton ways:   

(I measure time by how a body sways).

A poème

It's been awhile since I've posted. Maybe since I've done a lot of things. Writing. Creativity. Movement. Dance. Community. Meditation...

We had a conference. It showcased the interaction between our academic and creative works. I wrote this the night before. Maybe it's about my thesis. Maybe my thesis is about poetry.

Ma voix, ta langue

Speak - Power

Speak - Might

Man; Woman; Black; White

Relentless dichotomy

Of wrong or of right

Unless

We lie down.

Meet there in that oft quoted field

Of…

Émotion. Intuition.

Je te danse

Tu me comprends

In this deeper intangible timeless space of the real

I feel you

Reveal you

Unwind you

And peel you

Raw. To the bone.

Muscle and sinew.

À peau de fleurs

Percer directement au cœur

To the depths

Rhythmic breath

Beating hearts

Symphony of parts

Pounding

Resounding

Surrounding

Astounding

Me and You

Et Tout

Tout ce qui existe dans ce monde entier

All that intertwines in infinite interplay

Creating this dance, made new each day

To dance is to Be

Undoing the Other

Melding as One

Only to discover…

Quoi ? Cette voix…

Pas le mien…

C’est à toi ?

Ah bon,

Je suis encore trop tard ?

Une seule langue, celle de nos corps…

Avec des échos beaucoup plus forts

Stronger than words

So often unheard

But vibrations ever-etched

Onto souls are sketched

Ever changing

Ever new

Always becoming

Maybe I am. You

Evolution: The Mumm/Mom-O

This is a difficult post for me to write. And yet, I feel it is not only necessary but hope it might just be helpful for others. You see, nobody can really tell you how to explain to your then 6 year old child that their entire life is going to change. To shift. That the little three-person family they have known for their entire existence is going to disintegrate. Yes. Of course, most people say things like: "Don't stay together because of the children." Especially sensitive children. And in my deepest heart I know that my own happiness and well-being directly affects Xavier. That if I can be strong enough, brave enough to live fully from the heart. If I can aspire and genuinely attempt to continuously grow as a person, to embrace the world with open arms and to learn from life's lessons, well, he will learn that too. On the other hand, we could have stayed all together. This, I believe, would have taught him to sacrifice. To settle. To live a life that is ok, that isn't necessarily bad, that has good moments, but that lacks integrity. That refuses to admit the sad loneliness of lost connection.

Years. Literally years were spent in contemplation. In efforts to renew. To fix. To grow back into something that felt like spikes tearing at my soul. It became clear to both of us, to my son's dad and I: "You're right. We really aren't good for each other." You know? A relationship, a good one, I think, should consist of two people who can really hold ladder's up. For each other. I was never able to figure out how to offer a steady ladder and have it received. My ladders looked like the ladders I would have liked...

That's another story. The point is. We knew. It was time to move forward. But still. Nobody tells you how to have that conversation with your kid. How do you explain that, though you do still love each other, that love understands that staying together lessens the love. Mutates it. Stifles it. Hurts, even. "If you love someone, set them free," and all that jazz. But it's true.

I considered for a long time how to have this conversation. Lived in the closet of not voicing aloud what was going on. At one point I remembered Shel Silverstein's work "The Missing Piece Meets the big-O." I even found an animated video of it:

Moral of the story: A triangular wedge is looking for somewhere, someone, to fit inside. To roll with. The wedge, the "missing piece" tries several partners. They all fail in the end. And then "missing piece" meets a big O. "O" can roll solo. Wedge learns from "O" and starts flipping and flopping along. Eventually "piece's" corners begin to round. After much flipping and flopping and bumping and bopping, "piece" becomes and "O" too.

Xavier and I watched the video. Then I said, "You know. When your dad and I met, we were like half-circles I think. We rolled along nicely together. We had great times! We even made you, a little humongous awesome "O" to come roll along! But somewhere along, we started growing. It got harder and harder to roll together. So now we both realize that we need some time to learn how to roll on our own. To get rounded. Centred. And we both love you very very much. But we won't all live together anymore."

He got quiet. He pondered. His life had just been shattered. His bright blue eyes glazed a little. And then he looked at me with deeper wisdom than I can even claim to understand and said: "Mama. You are very wise."

Wise? Maybe. Blessed beyond words? Most definitely. For certain. We live in two places now. He calls my place "The Mumm-O" and his dad's, "The Dad Pad."

I hope you all stay lasting in love and light. That you can keep the love in your family strong and true. If one day you too have to have the most difficult conversation ever, it's ok too. I try, and don't always succeed, to do everything I do with Love as my intention. Acting and being Love. I do think we are all better, fuller, more Love-filled people these days. It isn't always easy, just like life never is. But it feels True. And the rolling along is painful sometimes. Some corners need grinding to smooth out. Fire and brimstone to release those patterns. But life is also beautiful and familiar. The Way is simple and pleasant.

Blessings.