For the Dead Parts of You

Roman-mosaic-know-thyself

Roman Mosaic “Man know thyself”

For the Dead Parts of You

 

Time was wearing an eclipse when it told me

This story is too old for most of you

But “poetry is the resurrection of presences”

More than I can speak of here with this medicine chant

And I’ll tell you many things that you’ll soon forget

But I am instructed to speak of my apprenticeship

And soul travel as a medicine person

 

Don’t stop anywhere at what does he mean

Try explaining yourself to yourself

If it’s easy you have work to do

Enter at the risk of all you know

 

It’s not easy sustaining the life flow

Through veiled gated borders of other worlds

Never mind those neo shamans

Coloring people with fragile healing charms

There are parasitic dark ones

Who would blot out transformation

Cavities in the impossible teeth of a black metal sky

 

There would be many things I would come to know

In the intimate nuances of plural reality

The light and dark journey is for us all

To journey home to our true nature

 

I keep the alliance with the numinous ancestors and genii loci

They keep my speechless heart on the carrying winds

 

I rose with the vultures from the desert floor

My spirit vessel ruptured by the world

Floating on a blue river between clouds that sharpen the horizon

Silhouetting the old mountain bones saints of death

 

I heard sad feint guitar threads remembering

Long gone canyons red with my blood

Rattle and howl of ancestors rose in me

With a slight tearing in the beautiful harvest of awareness

Whatever was cultivated from my life was dismembered

Shoulder of my old crow wing falls

As my tree rings stretch across the empty land

 

A cacophonous kraaa rips the air

I remember raven rearing up

In a twisted wire of smoke

 

Gravity of dark matter pulling through the throat rattle

Black holes across the continent

Over wrinkled maps of time

Tassels from the long drum of the moon

Uttered in tender shreds of dawn

“Your thinnest tender branches

Have been on the longest journey

For the dead parts of you to wake up”

 

The sun was wearing a hood

Dusting the ash off its pouch of sighs

Burning shadows made beautiful

In their reflection of you

 

Amnesiac prayers had lost their necessary relationship

Moon had no motion or sound in its womb

Disguised in her many changing faces

Around the cerulean blue curvature of the earth

I fell apart to see the distance between us

Like storm clouds we separated and joined again

To know the difference of a soft turtle sky

To remember when the sun leaves the moon turns on

 

I had to learn our primal animal speech again

Stalactite dripping tongue

Releasing soul essence from the soft cave

A scattered herd of feelings rekindle

Fossilized fire shining with its far vision

Eyes of sad diffused light return from the distance within

Turning bee hive bright in the hollow bones and porous image

 

I am the black mamba fire serpent

A brujo psychopomp who wears silver wolf hair

Horns flaming from the skull in silver shrub

 

In a quickening story

The bees ride the wolf in me

A soul traveler with honey magic

To carry me through reincarnation

Many days changing my many ways

In these dream running heights

 

From our shattered world

I can make the corn grow through my chest

Into the coyote darkness with their quiet sickle moon secrets

I am watched from the foothills

As mountain shadows return to sky

Whispers of animals speak of my care full footsteps

Hummingbirds feed on the sugar of these thoughts

I am of the ancient corn people who still feed the sacred

I put the deer mask on to comb the future and the past

Watch cacti skeletons quickening in the stillness

I rattle the old wind bone chimes swaying the evergreens

Following the bend in the wood

Land spirits press into cholla shade and silences

Ancient footpaths buried beneath reveal their stories

A wild nebula beauty of memory grows inside

New leaf and berry language

Nuclear burning centers of massive stars

Lift and break our thought merchants

On the overflowing page of deaths poem

Into blank canvass between human and spirit form

 

Any moment I can be a ravaged glyph returned to you

A faded hand print still working its way through you

Footsteps of runic tracks through your restless dream

My cooing soft animals scurry over your bones

Under the night shawl of your sighs needs and colliding clouds

My intoned summons disappear into your pulse

 

This far inland the sea cries in you

You of holy brine of blood and watershed

Mend your soul in my deep green well

 

I scratch my deer head into the earth

I rattle my shaman stones

In the star shined puddle

Pull you inward into this drowning spell

Fall through this muddy mirror

Always open before your knocking

Knocking on you before you open

With the invisible door ajar

My bear skull watches

The movement of your spirit

 

I am inside you when you turn your thoughts my way

When you sense the other within

Ripening the berry of the dormant heart

All things bloom when we pay attention

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For Those Who Fish in the Deep

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For those who fish in the deep drift

Waves crest over the frozen headlands

Folding in on themselves

Breaking into foam traces

Of a place we called home

Invisible and forgotten deluge

Votive ships into the Leviathan

Odyssey’s lost names of deities

And songs of beauty

Are shadow rivulets thinning

Disappearing into the all

 

I turn to see sun needles on my frozen footprints

Moving backwards with eyes longing forward

Like stars they sway in a black womb blanket

Motioning in the tide dead birds and seals cry

From the crack and smoke of a hunters dream

Deer still running in the otherworld from parole

Grating sand against sheep bones and oyster shells

 

I stopped looking in the sea caves and tangled lost nets for my people

Among shallow surfaces I found smoke in their blood and stolen pearl

Animated dead of this world still rising in ice towers

While our emergence from this creation myth recedes

Collecting smoky tones of pumice in the gnarled wind

 

The ancient umber womb of memory is remembering few us

Moving forward in retreat the inaudible hum of our story

Gathers spirits who comb the earth for what has kept us apart

 

Who are they

So different and so like us

Mystery of our empathic relationship to them

Weaving us together in the visionary bright world

This our final authentic struggle to consecrate our lives

Salvage and bless the earth

 

Between here and their world is our estranged stranger to stranger

Neighbor paces everyday to fill the empty space inside and out

Wears the garb of a fallen people pretending victory

Strangers rending the earth’s mantle through their shadow

Turn in your unconscious iron words for the plant kingdom

Wrap their rust in the leaf hollow of the soul

Crowds of souls who have abandoned their lives

For the platitude of rote paradigms

Delusional hearts in the mirror without center

 

To see inside ourselves is to really see each other for the first time

Rekindling our ancient shapes from the tear salted sea

I hear the deer sound in fallen snow

Plumes in the black absence of swan

Crows on black wire rant of trees gone missing

Skeleton moons in the thousand branches

Breaking light through deaths door

 

When there is no one around

There is my extinct creature I talk to

With rainy wind for a voice

It says there are enough birds for every seed

It speaks in parables of emptiness and everything

 

It says there are few who see

The otherworld through the polarities

And suddenly there’s no distance

The moons memory of our skin in her membrane

The nature of nature is birthed

from the figureheads of prows

Showering celestial cosmology

Flowing through our blood platelets

Black holes and supernova beckon

Flickering through the light

Of heart thought

 

Sometimes the original language can’t be translated

But we all should know it and once did

Slowly softly I’m letting it all in

I’m trying to tell you about it now

Through layered scatterings of diffused light

Cloud shadow on cloud adding chaos to direction

 

I know the way I talk to you makes me merge with your hunger

Quickens your senses while you wait for your bread

With the gold ring hidden inside

Bring your healing words to the humus

To the animal shadows and shallow roots

We must cultivate the earth inside us

As bears turn to clay in the cloudless rain

Hedge animals wait to cross open space unseen

 

I am the watcher through the vintage window

With green eyes whiskers mood of winter fire

I witness the becoming in the churning sky

Feral wind through my eyes

I know we have to steep in this unknowing time to know

And push into the holy weight of our lives

With a sea of conjuring words

And ritual healing knife

 

To stitch and repeat the greater fabric making

Is to change us into fitter forms

Shell of shining abyss

Burning stone

Immortal rain

Deer Goddess bursting green from the inside out

Edges of me made of pine and wild grasses

Red deer of the flaming earth

With all horned branches

Let me crouch inside you

With my animal body

With my sleepless lunar eyes

And delicate words

To the other within you

 

This is how it was and is

Before the first story of time

To live close with paradox

Lighting the cold

Through the long glacial era

With holy clown suture and trickster antidote

For the growing things of the soul

 

Feeling the silent breeze of your awareness

Across the gulf of winter emptiness

I draw near with strangers and night birds

Hands of poetry painted on cave walls

Waving you on

Animal sounds

Drawing your thoughts inward

 

Love is known by the pollinators

Those who have signed the ancient contract

To the deep and elevated places

They know that everything is undone

For the making purpose

If you don’t sow inside this garden

The seeds inside you will rot

 

Sometimes we have to turn our life inside out

Find another way around

To the whole in the middle of things

And find things that make us a child

Of many worlds

They Join different parts of us

Flint firing our spirit alive

Soaring birds in the clear sky

Know and feel how this can feel

 

This conversation is bigger than you and I

It is the celestial memory of spells

Smelted in power circles of the ancestors

The underbelly of times mist veiling the easy route

Birthed from the lost and found maker

Says we never left so stay close

The altar of my being lies every where

In your small fingers reaching

For a new branch of life

Scrying the movement of the spheres

Beneath the shimmering lake of your eyes

 

Watch the butterfly change the color of the way I think

Rest you in here with your love

Listen to the old songs buried beneath the earth

Each word a rune scattered map

To return home through your true nature

These songs wait for your soul to sing

To the solitary pine and shadowed flower

For the elders piercing dream instruction

Tilt your ears to the lantern of wandering stars

 

Terra Firma Stella Mare

Raise your spirit fathers

To the sun dancers

Shadow eaters

Death healers

Complete your turn in the underworld

With your ancient soul names

Cloud nomad

Spirit horse rider

Bird whisperer

Wind grappler

The burning dead parts of you

Are the temporal worlds leavings

Emptying out seeking new form

 

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

 

Traveling  in the circadian rhythm of internal planets

In the crossroads of sword and ghost flower and poem

I walk through this fifth season towards you

Up ahead I see an illuminated stone

Another place in the shape of a hill

There’s a bright cave without a name

Sky shale tree roots in the clouds

Holy places abandoned and brought back alive

Through the bleeding dawn

This high and deep moment

In wordless language

We use to know

 

This Thing That Is Becoming Us

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There are broken things all around us

The earth shakes moving her arms around

All who did not love her

 

I had all I could take

In times roman numeral

Winding drone of clocks

Heavy ponderous handed

Black and white marks

Across the battery of my breath

 

You lied to me

Held me close and killed me slow

All the evening skies

That were once my own

 

I mask myself for the death inside

The old ghost of being

Each time I come across another truth

It pencils me in for a short time

Making life from the dead parts of me

 

A longing ghost I would bend the barb wire

Back to where it came from

Enough room to bend my way out

What keeps me in what keeps me out

All the things we have not mastered here

 

With our shaped voices neither here nor there

Driftwood bodies lost in the deep sea

Of memory and storm

Vermillion scrap heap of captains

Capsized in the blood

 

Some try to swim the umbilical

Back to the mother

Unravel the latitudes of mind

Blanched continents adrift

In tide pools of consciousness

Lapping waves pulse in the wrist

 

One word from her

Is a glacier of beauty

Passing through our membrane

A scent of summer croon

In a healing drone of bees

 

One word from her

Is a sonorous last cry

Lost language of our earth

A shadow across our breath

 

One word can furnish us a flower for  a swift life

Or a long oak belly down in the clay

Fertile wounds for the bones

Of all who did not weep

One word can change us into

A robin headed sapling in spring rain

 

Are we to become the words themselves

The prism of her singular thought

All things we ever forgot

The outside of the inner experience

The inside of the outer

 

There’s no going back

Until we finish

This thing that is becoming us

 

Pilots inside the deity

Riding the surge of plasmic thoughts

Moving the universe in complex laws

 

I see she wears crop circle tattoos

Beneath her robe of stars in every direction

Her voice fills the atmosphere

 

I am the mask you want to remove

And I am behind it

The shadow of your world

When you stop growing

 

The moments are in the making

In this foraging for the light

Beneath your feet and claws

Gathering starlight from the stone ribs of the earth

 

My medicine stories pass through the strata

In a river of indigenous tongues

With soul honed visions incubating an egg

In the ancestors gloam

 

They call us to be full orbs of the night

Climbing the Kiva ladder

In driving rain to blue sky manna

 

I’ve taken to holding the seeds

Of the evergreen forest in my thoughts

Hieroglyphs in my pen

For the uncharted sea of the divine

I slipped off this black jetty boulder

Swimming back through the amnesia

Reading the words in the diary of my soul

 

May we meet on the shores here

And know each other by all our eyes have seen

Blessed by the feathers of our speech

May we recognize this passage in time

To catch each other in the darkness

By our reaching light

 

In the middle of everything I hold your hand

Left behind in petroglyphs

Tattoos of the ancient soul of the land

 

Speak to us in ancient forest sounds

Spreading seed

Rain talking

A word in each drop

Spreading cloud light

Through the ground

The space of sound

The sound of space

Breaking surface silver fish

In the slow splintered sun

Shimmering dreams

In the home we left behind

A small scattering of prayer

Drumming on the mountain of stellar worlds

The Altaring Needs

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The Altaring Needs

An  altar is where we commune  with  the past, present and future – in the timeless now.

The altar acts as a lightning rod attracting the ancestors and the spirit world “all our relations” into a sacred space we have built with mindfulness.

It is a place for offerings, honoring, thanks and prayer.   We approach with respect to the mystery and its infinite dynamics.  A commitment to a spiritual life brings many initiations and winds of change that can be very challenging.  Ones spiritual journey deepens into the souls needs and ancestral lineage. It digs up buried depths of potential and unconscious worldly or ancestral patterns.  Our shadows are brought to light, for fight or flight, or healing integration.  Being spiritual means being in service this is a paradox for many, with much of the western mindset of quick gain, quick mastery and self promotion.

Objects  placed in and around the altar are related in some way to the earth, our ancestors and spirit world with its helpers..

The elements of wood, air/wind, water, fire, earth and metal with their many literal and symbolic forms – are great energetic ambassadors to host in ones sacred space.  The elements are used around the world  by indigenous peoples in their spiritual/healing work.  Plants and animals too are used  – literally as in bone, feather, fur, claw,  or in symbolic form.  The elements always interact with each other in nature, and they are the organic foundational basis of life.  All living energetic forms are in interdependent relationship to us in some degree or another.  We all come from the same source  We are related..

What is put into the alter with sincerity, integrity, consistency –  is what we get back in return.

The altars presence brings mindfulness of the bigger picture.

It is a place for ritual.  To clear ourselves, to meditate and journey.

It’s good that we are fully present  and sincere when we talk and pray out loud at the altar.  That we give our full visceral expression to the otherworld.  Spoken memorized prayer and in the moment dialogue are equally good.  It is enough some days just to give a quiet acknowledgement.

The altar is a bridge to the otherworld.  The more you infuse it with your energy, with prayer, offerings, ritual and mindfulness the more the otherworld crosses over.  One builds relationship this way.  Ones expectations can get in the way – quiet, authentic, integral practice comes with its own rewards.  It is inner-work and inner reward.  Confidence of belief is a vital bridge builder.  Build a true living altar, alive with ones giving energy,  and the spirit world will come and inhabit your space.  Relationship is everything and  it is the same in the spirit world, students of life, we  apprentice  and slowly gather  experience  that is meant to be turned into wisdom.   When the inner alchemy starts it’s reshaping  – so will the outer life reshape.  All realities are inside us as much as they are outside us.  Many get caught up in the phenomena that only inflates the spiritual ego and this is a trap.  In the end, the holy clown and coyote trickster will have its day.

What facets of life do we love most in the temporal secular as well as the spiritual?  These are the elements placed in the altar.  Ones passion is what one feels a deeper connection to.  That’s where we start, no matter how small it may seem, it is the thread to follow until bigger things arrive.  The natural world is our home and thus it implies we respect our own nest, it’s where we gather our sustenance so taking from nature daily demands responsible mindfulness.  The animate natural world is conscious ancient wisdom, our respect should be second nature.  Taking our nest for granted is foolish.  Nature is beauty, nature is teacher, nature is healer, nature is our mirror.  This again is all reflected in our altar.

Consider all life beneath our feet, all life in the atmosphere, and beyond teeming infinite.  The microcosm and macrocosm on an infinite quantum level.  This is the big picture we address, by doing so we can see our day to day life with a more clear perception.

The altar is where we interface with a consecrated space, on-going, changing, open to random impulse, emotional callings, quiet introspection.  Each piece on the alter is given energy by you, with your intentions, by your feelings of personal relationship with it.  With your designations and naming and placement.  It is a place of petition and praise.

The alter is your place of healing, grounding and centering.  Restoration from the dysfunctions of modern life.

One can implement sound, (rattles, bells, whistles) color, texture, smell of burning sage, sweetgrass, incense.  Create an appealing aesthetic to enrich the senses.  It is through senses we derive insight.  The altar is a larger medicine bag, it represents ones power relationship as well as ones earnest yearnings.  It’s a way to learn about our self and feel a deeper connection to life.  Daily attendance builds the energy of your altar and makes you stronger.  It benefits your ancestors and keeps your personal cosmology alive and dynamic.  One is fortified by interacting with the altar – it brings home purpose and meaning in a world without center.

Things change on your altar, objects are handled, assigned, talked to, removed, replaced, added too.  It’s both the micro and macro of your evolving inner world as it relates with the outer.

There is a story behind each piece on our altar.  Life is a story.  We learn best through our personal story and the story of others.  All the these stories whether embraced or discarded alter our life path.

Anything handmade by you that has personal depth association, or any gifts given to you with depth of personal meaning are potent artifacts for the altar.  Natural material is always best, including candles of beeswax.

One builds and develops over time  – one’s own personal cosmology.  The story of our mythological lives involves  paying close empathic attention to life’s subtle nuances.  This is how we gather spiritual insight and wisdom.  Returning to the altar is returning to an old friend, picking up where we last dropped off or starting something new.  At the altar we commune with our guides, allies, teachers, healers and protectors.  As with daily life what we put into relationships is what we get in return – seen or unseen, one develops vital bonds.

The altar is the axis mundi, it is the four sacred directions – our indigenous spiritual blueprint for addressing the divine.  The mystery has no static answer, truth changes, our linear time and space continuum is the causality of illusion.  Knowing this we respect the perennial unknown and are less likely to pontificate.   A spiritual ego creates subtle delusions sabotaging  authenticity.

The  word altar, how close it is to alter, with same amount of same letters, just  one vowel change  – the altar can indeed alter consciousness, acting as an amplifier to ones ritual practice.   It is a potent tool to have around, and its why many cultures have portable altars for healing, divination, offerings etc…  At the very least if an object has earned a place on our altar (but is small enough to wear or be carried by pocket or pouch) we can carry our “medicine” or power with us.  The physical presence acts as a constant reminder and is a good way to travel.

At night lying in bed, just before sleep,  we can address  our intentions and give thanks to our cosmology before entering dreamtime.  Often it’s the best way our guides can get through and convey….

The Feathered Serpent

Snakey snakey be true BEST

Feathered Serpent

 

I use to be attached to myself like everyone else

That’s the way of this worlds masked delusions

Insatiable hunger of skeletons living above our body

Far from the green bones of the mother

 

I am beholden to the spirits of the primordial deep

A bear of hidden soul mending urges

A stag reflecting on the beauty of long sounding desire

Coyotes quivering energy on the living room floor

Often I am the human story of combustion

Exhaust fumes of primal murmurings

Until we begin tracking the masked dawn

Learning how to burn and not be consumed

Be consumed but not burn

 

My incantations are somewhere in a book now

Or in a swaying pine

They sing to themselves when one listens

Riding the currents of the earth needs

The underworld time deposits and erratic platelets

I am a feathered serpent that hears the still waters

Of your glass continent shifting

Ink of your soul leaking out

Along a thin line of thought

Forest paper that has disappeared

Whittled down to threadbare reflection

Walking through the mirror of the thousand selves

The conditioned gravity of infinite thoughts

Wield and yield their shadows and potent dragons

From the brine of the wound

To the coast of meditation

 

Tributaries of amnesia always hitting the bluff

Forced to tumble around

Become more distant

Spreading seafloor

Until nothing

A snow shelled tree

An impassable swamp

To the other side of us

That knows the sacred contract

Of bridging realities

 

You cannot see the beginning or end of it all

It could be a period at the end of a sentence

Ask how will you close the book

Without giving over to the ghost

Of vanishing perception

Part of us slowly disintegrates

Every time we elude our mirror

The seismic stanza breaks

Worn to the spine of artifice

 

The wind breathes and the wind speaks to itself

The listening weathered leaf propels the period

Of the minute insect across this telluric poem

The story keeps moving without success

Without complaint without being seen

The deity’s breath

In the cave of your being

Dripping its primordial sap

Into the vein of the last season

 

I built a hut for the deep sanctum of silence

Shared nest building heals the divide between us

I live inside the eyes of a serpent winding

Along the earth’s long steady road

Teeming spirits in unfiltered senses

Animal tracks tracking the mountain dolmens voice

Leading to places we all should know

As bat I deliver flowers to a dead friend

Get up the hill I shout into the creaking dark pines

Their charcoal blues of perforated dreams

Flit from branch to branch tiers

Spirit clouds shape the moon shadows

I walk through their feeling dimensions

Ant carries it all on its back

I step reverent carefully

Over frost and broken sticks

Shedding my skin in a wave just right until death

 

Everywhere can feel like home

In the worlds hypnotic mist pools

Until divergent tropes move into memory

Tapping  nuances of the holy

The mind can get to talking all syllables at once

Wild courts of the underground  attend and heed

Voices from the crystal air keep gathering

 

My small hand by Quetzalcoatl’s vast eyes

Her feathers would like to be stroked

By my needs of beauty bonding

The way I feed my feathered serpent

Helps me beyond my personal design

Keeps me out of the zoo of individuals

With my own wings growing I can see

The avian eyes of rose colored moons

Moving through the myriad worlds

Each blink is a new life we’ve been waiting for

 

We use to have bird hands like yours

A dorsal surface for the most sensitive currents

We use to have subterranean tails for the vibrating terrain

Fins on our voices to navigate the divine terrestrial lair

Maybe we still have the craft

To change the worlds darkening tide

From the inside out

Exhales of everything I have done

With so little left over

And everything just begun

Coyote Shaman Scouts Through The Sepulchers

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Coyote Shaman Scouts Through The Sepulchers

 

I search the coyote dens for you

Moving through mud and dead reeds

I bring my drum skin and bone shards

My little fire that whispers in red smoke

I shake my rattle seeds into your blood

Growl to heighten your senses

Scratch the granite floor stirring the serpents

The village dogs bark bark bark bark bark

My drum beats enter your earliest clay skin walls

Wild shaman pony runs out of the fissure

Bucking perceptions your delicate life

In thinning cumulus rattling leaves stir of ash

Lawless law galloping on the bridge of emptiness

Through the  veiling grey slate of whale rain

To join you between human and spirit form

Your ancestors riding my shoulders

From tributaries of the original dream

 

Each pass through the underworld

I come out with new stories

They swell and spread like bear dreams in hibernation

Antlers growing in constellations

Somehow they manage to keep me alive

Keep me human an ancestor repeating

Those before me and those after me

I am their thoughts arriving now

They tell me as I tell myself

Of our eviscerated myths

Bound to a dark shelf

Unreadable

We are like rivers always moving to the sea

But already there

These instances

Are like what’s between

Each letter in a word

Alone more alone than before

Alone with aloneness

I am inside behind the wall

I am inside it

I couldn’t tell you what it is

Moving my hand along

Moving the rain down

The wind into itself

On its way to the far sea

Transmigration of the primal eloquent moon

Still adheres to ancient foundations

Still who really cares about the oval passage

Of our own home spinning

Light reflecting to know ourselves

From the torpor of pillaged dreams

Our pilot house of shipwrecks

Steered by factory mannequins of power

Puppet governing churning out more demi-gods

For the slave race anesthetized in rote abstractions

We have no idea who each other are now

Ravenous need for fantastical identity

To satiate the grandiose ego

 

Still there’s opportunity for upheavals chaos

To find its natural order

Coyote displaces the pendulum of my mind

Replaces it with a restless three am

Makes the vacuum cleaner break

On the hair of the dog

I savior the loneliness of moonless nights

Deepening my nocturnal thoughts

 

May the medicine of this quickened story

Reunite the lucid way

For those who forgot who they are

And where they come from

I raise my hand up by my star crown

Where the many worlds pass through

And speak to the earth and beyond

 

Gather your many selves

In the ceaseless becoming

When the old self dies inside you

A new places chooses the increased you

The many places of the same name

Center that changes and changes again

Compass directions silent in the wish shadows

Until we rattle awake again

Lift the dead you to the drum rise

Dissipate gather in storm

Feel the yearning sloughing off

On your way back to the original you

Beginnings before beginnings

Awake from your bog cotton sleep

Return among your own kind

With the earth seed tremble in your heart

Inside the hull is darkness and growth

Connective tissue to indigenous roots

Slow work of embodying the soul

While reaching for the sun

 

I whisper to those who know

But with most I retreat deep in my cave

Drum to their ancestors for quickening

With my winding chant of a healing song

 

Seed to dust to seed

The eyes are seeds of insight

The ears are seeds of wisdom

Your touch fills the world with seeds

It’s with labor that you become the seed

The seed dreams of you

Becoming the seed grower

We sow all we do not know

Into the hollow skull container

Food for the deities

 

I brush my incisors in mica mirrors

While praying through my fangs

For the beautiful dawn

We coyotes always size you up

You have to earn respect naturally

From the natural world

Your circumference has lost its connection to center

Living between the two is the gravity of the soul

Honor this journey your earth council bestows

And we will meet each other for the first time

Free of disguise with the wisdom of your roots and seed

 

To See Where I Am

The Lifebringers 2 BEST

To See Where I Am

 

I sketch to see where I am not

And to see where I am

I shrink me down or expand

In color words or sound

 

Before things break up in the map

Panning thoughts that are fool’s gold

I am already gone

Ahead of the dead world closing in

 

But I do not know all of me in silence and sound

Is it the wind that is the color of my beingness

Or am I the atmosphere everywhere

In images that appear and vanish

 

Am I the bear and wolf I painted

Who return standing in my eyes

Just before sleep

Or the giant shadow figure

Standing by the door waiting for me

Are these my thoughts returning

From three thousand years ago

Through beauty relearned

The massive shaman that rises behind me

Is it me Odin’s voice or the stag

Piercing my body

 

Am I the sadness of humanity

Or stone slowly swallowed by this earth

Sinking deeper to become the tumescent skin

Of a great spherical being

 

Am I my own micro cosmos inside time

Time within time

Or the thoughts of someone else’s dream

 

Still my fingers keep on being fingers

Moving along the skin of thin realities

It seems I am never done with myself

 

That which has no name is that me?

If what comes next is nothing what will I call it

 

I feel trees

The bear returns inside me

I think the bear could not be me

Bear thinks I am the same

Bear

 

I get lonely for nature

For things that are not human

 

Sometimes I disappear

And when I return

Part of me is still gone

There are so many pieces of me gone

They only partly remember me

They beckon from great distances

 

They remind me of when a serpent studied me

In a spellbinding it weighed the scales

As I sought healing for another human

And the timeless time when the ancient solar swan

Submitted itself with heat and light

Incubating my formless consciousness

Without visible change I reanimated

 

When part of us changes what’s replaced disappears

Where does it go?  Have you thought about your shadows left behind

Who they are with in what part of the world are these eternal visitors?

Energies interlaced with one another across great distances

Until somethings done about it

Sometimes as a ruminant in the spontaneity

I am the apple orchard of forty five years ago

Sometimes sweet sometimes rotting

Surrounded by salt marshes

The musk of hay and animals

Crows diving through the coastal air

The sea aching in my heart

Who called me to be here?

Who knows me in these many forms

How might I sound to the deities

When many of my words are ghosts

Some freeze in the air some melt in the spring

They might turn in on themselves like rain drops

How are we forged together with the deities

The blueprint of you and I in each other’s lives

Our design surveyed and appraised

 

If I stop questioning these things what will happen?

If I don’t who or what will answer?

Will I know when I become someone

Or something else or will the unconscious reap

Another reward the silent answer is many layered

It has many vibrating membranes for thresholds

Gateways in this body between the eyes

Visionary fragments of the future and otherworlds

At the base of the skull how the mind works

Origins of space and time

Ancient ancestral and primordial memory

In front of the heart the meaning of love

And the unifying principle of the universe

All the kind words that are ever used

 

My body earth is made of earth words

They have bodies of their own that emerge out of the earth

And return to earth as water vapour and animals

They are the cones of evergreens that fertilize fecund earth

My words as I see them now

Are a mask of flowers revealed

They are hives kept in a ceremonial healing blanket

The medicine of foresight for severed dreams

They are thunderbird shields with fertile lightning

There’s an illuminated flash of who I am

Passing across the savannah and under the sea

Inside the blue fir and talking to you and me