Progeny

 

The Wind thrusts relentlessly

against the ocean’s surface

until, in liquid gratitude,

a Current rises to meet the Wind

and be freed from the pressure

of an underwater existence

for awhile..and

In that cataclysmic meeting of

Moving Air and Counter-moving Water,

In that orgasmic movement of Power

In, out, around, on, over, and through-

One, a part of the Other now..until!

A Wave begins to rise,

Birthed in ecstatic release

for awhile..and

Rolling, cascading, turning down, turning up,

the Wave, separate now from the Current

moves westward, toward its someday Lover

with other offspring of the Ocean’s expansive bed

and hand in hand at times, dancing together

in white-capped frenzy and then

alone, in gentle surges onward

for awhile..and

One day, in the fullness of its Life

The Wave enters the gravitational

Inevitabilities and intimate destinies

of the Lover’s grasp.

And, spreading wide its watery arms,

full of strength with which to embrace

and filled, too, with nautical stories

of distance, storms, and oceanic denizens,

the Beach, the perfect and only Lover-

the culmination of Wavy dreams and

Unwavering hope-

is met,

for awhile..and

In a wet and lengthy kiss

The Wave fades into its Beloved destiny,

with every drop of its existence still whole,

and every moment of its Life still existent

in the Lives of everything it has touched

on its long shoreward journey.

The Wave- dissipated- becomes part of the Currents

that circle the Planet..

Currents, flowing from their Beloved in tender trust

and singular surety;

Currents, beginning their time of waiting

for the powerful but sweet, and thrusting but gentle,

invitations of the Winds, to rise

and meet them, and give birth to

a new Creation.

7 12 08 (with love for Thich Nhat Hahn)

Bois d’arc Breathings

 

Between my eyes and that bois d’arc tree

just across the way,

in the seven seconds it took to remember the

spelling of bois d’arc,

the history of humankind has blown by.

There! The indestructible atomic remnants

of Caesar’s gasp as

Brutus’s knife entered his ribcage,

and of the basso profundo sung

in Gregorian Chant at Chartres.

Oxygen ventilated at the Battle of Hastings,

passed on through photosynthetic generations

of pine trees, plankton, and petunias,

then inhaled again by Shakespeare, Chopin,

and the guy who played Chewbacca.

And even the breath of Jesus, let loose

in the world with the words,

“It is finished;”

only, it was just beginning.

A dog carried that expelled expiration

back to Jerusalem, passed it on to

a fig tree, which gave it to pigeon,

who deposited it on the street

where it was stepped on by a donkey

and delivered to a field outside of the city

from where it was delivered eventually,

after being present in a hundred thousand

manifestations

to this pasture in Texas..

where part of it was grabbed by the bois d’arc

and part of it by me.

And that, of course, is a bit of the reason

we are both still alive.

(to be continued)

Hummingbird (in Cuba, Zoom-zoom)

Hummingbirds belong in manicured back yards

hovering near red plastic feeders bought at Walmart

(On Sale, $6.95),

zoom-zooming back and forth for the amusement

of those of us behind plate glass doors

within thermostat-cooled rooms,

our toes nestled in thickly carpeted

representations of the bug-filled grass outside

(just beyond the redwood deck, and Weber gas cooker).

But these hummingbirds-

2 of them, 3, no..4 !

These hummingbirds are watching

for pink lipped blossoms

full of sweet kisses.

These hummingbirds sit in mesquite trees

(for a moment)

planning erotic dances

with the wild sisters

newly arrived from the Yucatan.

These hummingbirds have not been to Walmart;

but they have flown over a thousand miles of

white-capped oceans .

From the jungles of Chiapis

they heard the voices of 10,000 generations

calling them to grass-filled plains

and shale hills to the north

where mockingbirds and vultures,

prairie hens and quail,

crows and robins, cowbirds, sparrows, and cardinals

have gathered since before the moon set or the sun rose

as backdrops against a single, human-lit campfire.

These hummingbirds have never tasted sugar water

tinted with red dye #2 from the local IGA.

But they have tasted the essential and subtle

syrups of primroses

(growing in profusion).

They have licked the sugary insides of

Trumpet creeper stamens and

and honeysuckle pistels,

whose names are without meaning

in the brilliant beckoning

of the flowers’ sun-drenched petals.

Now, they are flying close enough to watch me.

The buzz of their wings is too fast for me to see;

I can only hear their blurry presence,

their so-curious hummed inquiries

and look quickly into their eyes,

as they determine that there is no pink, red, magenta,

or scarlet signs here worth further investigation.

I say “hello,” before they leave, while regretting

(a little, and for several minutes, a lot)

that I will never see the pyramids of Teotihuacan

or bottlenose dolphins in the Gulf of Mexico

with them.

Song of the Wave

by Kahlil Gibran

The strong shore is my beloved
And I am his sweetheart.
We are at last united by love,
And then the moon draws me from him.
I go to him in haste and depart
Reluctantly, with many little farewells.

I steal swiftly from behind the blue horizon,
To cast the silver of my foam upon the gold of his sand,
And we blend in melted brilliance.

I quench his thirst and submerge his heart;
He softens my voice and subdues my temper.
At dawn I recite the rules of love upon his ears,
And he embraces me longingly.

At eventide I sing to him the song of  hope,
And then print smooth kisses upon his face;
I am swift and fearful, but he is quiet, patient, and thoughtful.
His broad bosom soothes my restlessness.

As the tide comes we caress each other,
When it withdraws, I drop to his feet in prayer.

Many times have I danced around mermaids
As they rose from the depths
And rested upon my crest to watch the stars;
Many times have I heard lovers complain of their smallness,
And I helped them to sigh.

Many times have I teased the great rocks
And fondled them with a smile,
But never have I received laughter from them;
Many times have I lifted drowning souls
And carried them tenderly to my beloved shore.
He gives them strength as he takes mine.

Many times have I stolen gems from the depths
And presented them to my beloved shore.
He takes them in silence,
But still I give for he welcomes me ever.

In the heaviness of night,
When all creatures seek the ghost of slumber,
I sit up, singing at one time and sighing at another.
I am awake always.

Alas! Sleeplessness has weakened me!
But I am a lover, and the truth of love is strong.
I may be weary, but I shall never die.

Moon

“Because what is simple in the moonlight, by the morning never is..” Bright Eyes, “Lua”

In moonlight, lovers make promises and con men ply their trade. The ancients made sense of the moon’s phases with stories of hungry dragons, and the moon defines almost everything we take for granted about our calendars.

The Moon is our nearest universal neighbor. It is out there- 240,000 miles away; but its presence is deeply, intrinsically a part of each of us, too. Resulting from a cataclysmic crash of an asteroid with the Earth four billion years ago, the gravitational pull of the Moon’s daily revolution around the Earth affects every drop of water on earth. We mechanically speak of and measure the oceans tides; we know their high and low times in any given location. In reality, the movement of the oceans is continuous- a never ending wave that endlessly circles the Earth.

Seas, lakes, rivers, streams, ponds, and even water puddles are also being affected. The movement within smaller bodies of water may seem negligible from a human point of view, yet that movement has affected every part of our genetic being, just as water itself has. The moon is not merely out there; it is wound around us, tied to each cell of our bodies and of every living being.

Even without knowing the physical and genetic hold of the Moon on humans, St.Francis of Assisi properly spoke of and understood intuitively the intimate nature of the Earth-Moon-Life relationship:

“Praised be You my Lord with all Your creatures,
especially Sir Brother Sun,
Who is the day through whom You give us light.
And he is beautiful and radiant with great splendor,
Of You Most High, he bears the likeness.
Praised be You, my Lord, through Sister Moon and the stars,
In the heavens you have made them bright, precious and fair.”

Much of the million-year holy, evening-lit relationship between humans and the Moon has been lost within mechanistic worldviews that treat universal bodies as interesting but personally irrelevant parts of some thing outside ourselves. But, be quiet and hear the Moon’s real voice in our heartbeats. Feel the Moon’s allure as our own desires are drawn from us in the soft reflected glow of the Sun’s light from its surface.

The attractions between us and the Moon are real. They are not only the stuff of poetry; they are part of the Universe’s rhythmic symphony within us. And we must, must begin to learn again that we are the choir..