The Western Edge

 We spent three Sunday mornings on Zoom with David Whyte exploring the mythopoetic world of the western edge of Ireland.  It was wonderful, and it set me thinking about edge dwelling.  This is a topic I've thought a lot about and dreamed a lot about (my dream group calls them "borderland dreams").  

So, here's the poem that arose out of it:

And hasn't it always been

the pull of the western edge,

so that going west has meant

heading towards your own 

boundaries?

As for us, we were born 

to the eastern edge, 

but we left the old settler shore 

that looks towards the known

as soon as we were grown 

enough to follow the call.

We had to pass through

the middle of things,

but were neither drawn 

nor allowed to stay there

for very long.

Oh, you can settle here.

We are, of course, settlers here -

interlopers, owners, usurpers.

It will never be sufficient,

but we can apologize

for ourselves and our actions,

and we can bring something

to the land.  We can know

and treat the edge place

as holy.

So, if you are here,

an edge dweller,

you are charged 

to use the edge 

to sharpen your wits,

to call forth dreams of healing,

to watch the sky at night

and at the turnings of the days,

and to love where 

you felt guided

to do your work.

And what is out there

past the waves slapping

the western shore?

Do we yearn to go 

still farther out,

towards another edge,

to the Great Beyond,

to the sea, to the sky,

to Orion's belt?

You know - Out There,

to what cannot be known.

Further.

Two Small Poems for the Season

Baby Spring

Here,

the girls call

this time of year

Baby Spring,

and it is the case

that baby leaves

have sprouted

on the young pomegranate 

and the Japanese maple.

The sun has returned

to the back deck

after its three months

of yearly absence.

Pink magnolias swell

on the tree two yards over,

while white and pink blossoms

decorate the plum trees

two houses down 

the other way.

Sitting 

in this light,

in this time,

with birds chirping

from here to there

and back, 

how could a woman not

appreciate this very day,

this very time?

The ginger plants

are dancing.

Come! the wind says.

Breathe in the fragrance

of the early blossoms

on the vine below.

Let the sun

do you good.

The green world

is offering itself

for soul healing.

Sky Seeing

The day's sky

becomes

a touchstone.

The birds, clouds,

sunrises, sunsets

summon attention,

directing mind

upwards and out.

The night's sky -

Big Dipper and Orion

(visible now in early Spring) -

evoke the Great Mystery.

Welcome,

lifted spirits

and a settled heart.