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.