Notes From a Psychopomp

 

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The air breathes

And the air speaks to itself

One word can change you into a spring rain

Furnish you a flower for a swift life

Or a long oak belly down on the earth

Bleeding into it

With our fertile wounds

Passing without foothold

Through shifting realities

Tethered clouds to the soul

Between each barb on the wire

Enough room to bend your way out

What keeps you in what keeps you out

I paddle across the sky

In streams of consciousness

Where light and shadow swim

Where the dark ones in dream time

Hunt for the soul’s unconscious

Drowned in the deep sea of memory and storm

A vermilion scrap heap of captains

Capsized in the blood

In the watery membrane between worlds

I have been made a window

Of the vascular truth

A dancer who hears your song

Moves along your inner thread

With sky spirits dancing

These shadows into the ground

Talk and persuade in sound and beauty

Keep our birds in the sky

The colors you have grown

Our prayers in a bundle

Ritual speech fires

Of stone and earth and moving sky

The starry course for the lost and dead

Roaming this world and the other

 

 

Silence where the story begins again

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Take this horse tooth and deer antler

Into your brimming magnified eye

This moth of the long moonless night

Take these haunted voices, hungry, half alive

Some your own, lonely for the wind to talk to

Through watery eyes this wasp

This strange colorful bird

Sounds and creatures of the first word

All these layers that fleshed you up

A teeming universe inside that dies

Destroys, creates, restores

Scintillating thoughts bound into the mirror

So there’s no mistaking your names, identities

Changing a thousand times in the great circle

Gateways you pass through to the mirror of the all

With your life giving tears, sacrificial thrones

Fermentation of the soul

For the holy indelible earth I speak

Earth is my speech from darkness and light

I am a thorn on a flower, a storm on the deep sea

A restless wind grazing the mountains

A voice that gathers smoothing and rounding

thousands of voices at the same sea

All I was and all I’ll be

A horizon that burns, I have set sail

A fish who has been inside the whale

A dog bark, a fleck of mica

A horse print in the mud, filled with pine pollen

I do not answer to time, bend in the wind

A galaxy hurling it’s dying light into the flawed heart

Human frailty, ceaseless tears in an avalanche of truth

Breaking all numbed peaceful feelings

Silences where the story begins again

Running sweat on the mountains backbone

Precarious stone ridge where the flowers grow

Dreams through the old wood rafters

Beams of dust, shadow and cobweb

Light slides through slats into hot nails, clouded glass

We built ancient abandonment, stored the unused

Until it was time to move the wound

Through the prism of the prison into mystery

Coyote rattle maker, rogue tongued, bending bird song

The arcing jolt of heart for the fallen one

Who knows the valleys crop, the cast of shadow

Ghosts who had their original stories taken away

What doesn’t fly is now flying, hooves in the wind

Bellowing the heart in the skies syntax

The sun and moon chasing each other in love

The eye within the eye seeing the stone inscribed

Creation of a holy world, hears weaving drum medicine

pulsing the land – medicine to the soul

 

Beyond the Horizon

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The world is blue when we light the campfire of the sun

We use to have our home in the village of stars

And we’d follow the wind and light to visit each other

Sometimes we’d travel beyond the horizon

The Sun King entreats us to be still now

For his confluence of penetrating power

I sit in the sky

Wait for the first word to come

With sound and beauty it moves in the body

Into the life giving flow of flowers and stone echos

Drone of bees, eddies, bird song

Pine cone and shadow rivulets

It whispers a forest of hidden things

A sea thrashing sound

A trembling mountain utterance

It cries in a cave

Deep in the bone

It is an art to remember the first word

The air always moves unseen

Cloud eagle moves behind the mountain and disappears

With this lone cloud is the place to go

A sheep drifting from the herd

It knows something the rest don’t know

Thinning stretching disappearing

Into the all

We are the same presence

From the beginning

Changing form

Reborn into other forms eternal

The road beckons whistles with quartz and mica

Beyond the cusp of the trimmed hedge

Jagged mountain ridge lures

Northwest cloud forms in a claddagh ring

Shape-shifts into a crowned winged spirit

Moves towards me then back

Into a nebulous cloud

Shadow, wind, rustle of dry grass

Everything has a soul

Passing on the edge of awareness

Do not be a ghost in this world

For you can be a ghost in the next

Stir the compost for what lies dormant

The tendril green pass through us

Sometimes there’s a hole in the middle of things

You have to turn your life inside out

Find another way around

To the Whole in the middle of things

For some the static and inertia of winters compost

Is a propelling energy into ones soul work

A nesting and incubation for new life to birth

The slowing down of winter and pregnancy

Carry the unseen new life

Lying on the flowered ground

Helps me be many animals

To know animals is to know how to grow

After falling into the horses eye

I found myself to be a child of many worlds

They move through me joining different parts of me

There are things that happen to you

That soaring birds in the clear sky know and feel

Your love will be know by the pollinators

In the heart of dreams keep us

Cast your net for the moon stories

For they hover and turn swift

Know that everything is undone

For the making purpose

I broke my fingers once

But they still point the way

If painful silence brought me here

Silence must of beckoned my presence

Rain on wings should be gentle and wild

As we should be

Of grey beard now

I spend most of my time conversing through the thinning veil

Scrying the movement of the spheres

I am closer to the death of this world

One foot more in the other

But know all that is holy is here

And death is a flowering time

When I am dead my words will remain

Attached to tender branches

When you dip underneath and feel them

Their poetry will live inside your skin

If you know what this means

You are moving the dream along

You are already closer to home