Redemption: Dream Work and a New Poem

 I had three dreams in a month in which old heartbreaks returned.  After speaking about this and relating one of the dreams to my dream group, this poem came.  I named it Redemption.

Sit in the east.

You are not alone,

but the group

is small.

When you ask

for help,

you are told

to play

your drum and

sing your song

softly.

You obey

the directive,

and a thought arises,

a thread that

you need

to follow,

back through memory,

back through heartbreak,

back through anger.

What brought you pain

lies deeper than

rejection, deeper than

the hurts bestowed

by those who

were never worthy

of you.

To the center

of the maze

you must go,

following the cord

that leads

deep into

your heart.

What loving Ariadne

waits for you

to do what

must be done,

who gifted you

the means

to find your way

home?

SoulCollage® card - Healing Dreams

Facing the Storm: SoulCollage® and Poetry

 In these times of so much grief, anger and suffering, it feels self-indulgent to post about my small life.  But, our lives do go on, along with our emotions around the bigger picture.

Today I want to talk about one of the beauties of the SoulCollage® process.  You put a few images together that have drawn you to them, and often you have no idea what the joining of them truly signifies until you work with the card later.  Somehow, this simple, enjoyable activity manages to get to what is truly going on for you, on both superficial and deeper levels.

This is my most recent card:

When I picked up the central image, I saw the figure as naked, vulnerable, and heading into a ritual, perhaps one of initiation.  When placed on the background, he hugely dominated it.  On the original photo, he did not loom so large.  It's a little hard to see here, but there is an additional image on the bottom of some ruins.  I didn't know at the time why it was necessary, but when I added it, I felt the card was complete.

I've sat with the card on my writing table/altar for some weeks now.  Finally, a short poem came, and it helped me to deepen my understanding of what the card meant.  Here it is:

Facing the Storm

Like Inanna,

I have had

one thing

after another

stripped away,

and still,

I descend.

Naked. Vulnerable.

And yet,

I breathe

up strength.

I rise,

shoulders back,

confronting an

electrifying lightning

storm that

crashes onto

the far landscape.

I stand on

my ancestors’

shoulders, on

the earth

that holds

me up, on

my native abilities

to persevere,

and on

the necessity

to yield.

There are so many powerful storms facing all of us now.  All I know is that art and poetry are important as we go on.  May we be held.  May we persevere.  May we yield.

Returning from Mendocino: Rumi's Caravan and a New Poem

 Last weekend, Rumi's Caravan was invited to Fort Bragg.  We were beautifully housed, fed, invited into community gatherings, and of course, we spouted some poems in a wonderful venue, the Spirit House for Attitudinal Healing.

Barry and I took advantage of being up north on the coast to spend an additional night in Mendocino.  After we got home, this poem came (although the whole weekend was a balm for the soul, not just the way home.)

Returning from Mendocino

 

There are no unsacred places;

there are only sacred places and desecrated places.

-Wendell Berry

 

 

When the early autumn day

is clear and still;

when the broad Pacific’s waves

crash in towards your toes

and then roll the beach pebbles

back out to sea, hissing and rhythmic

in susurrating whispers;

when you head inland then,

alongside the river’s relentless rush

to the opening ocean;

when arriving at the redwood forest,

you enter the trees’ majestic vigil

as into a ritual;

when you leave the car,

feet crunching fragrant dry needles

on the fern-filled forest floor;

when you rest your forehead and palms

against a rough and fibrous trunk

and feel your kinship;

then you know with no uncertainty

what a privilege it is to be

in places so silent and sacred

that man-made desecration

does not touch them.

Oh, there is the tarred road

and the rude disruption of

a passing car or logging truck,

but the holiness is undiminished,

so vividly alive and vital.

All the earth is sacred,

but some places reveal this truth

so clearly, so compellingly,

that your heart breathes

a sigh of relief, and you offer

a silent prayer of gratitude

for this world,

for this life,

for this magnificence,

for this cleansing

of dispirited and

and weary souls.

A New Poem: Balance Is Everything

In the dream,

I had a

sacred calling:

to be a

mask carrier,

one who

could handle

the most holy

of objects.

Two rival tribes

warred constantly,

but one

kept winning

as it held

many more

of the 

sacred masks.

And so,

I removed

some of

their masks

and brought

them to the

other tribe.

I woke up

before seeing

if the wars

stopped, but

I knew that

the power

was equalized.

 

The thing is,

I’ve come

to realize

that balance

is everything.

 

The Navajo live

by ceremony

and Hózhó,

harmony and beauty.

 

The Balinese wrap

their altars in

black and white

checkered fabric,

symbolizing balance.

 

The Hawaiian way

is ho’oponopono,

with reconciliation and

forgiveness at its heart.

 

We cultureless ones

long for that,

for a long exhalation

of relief.

 

How to return

to the center,

where we might

find calm and

the blessings of

a balanced life?

How can I,

how can we,

be sacred

mask carriers?

 

SoulCollage® card - The Mask Carrier

A New Poem: Mama Moon

Today is Lammas Eve, the cross-quarter day between the solstice and equinox.  It's also a new month and a full moon, one of two in August.  It feels like an auspicious time, so here is a new moon poem:

Her face is full and round and shining.

         Mama Moon calls to me –

                     Come! Now is the time!

                                 Follow the path of light on the water.

                                             Rise with me.

 

She has gone to bathe in the Ghost River.

         Mama Moon calls to me –

                     Come!  Now is the time!

                                 Dissolve into the dark night.

                                             Swim with me.

 

She wears a crescent crown, tilted one way or the other.

         Mama Moon calls to me –

                     Come!  Now is the time!

                                 Don’t I show you what change is?

                                             Don’t hold back. 

 

A New Poem: Sanctuary

 I recently spent a week (online) at an intensive with Deena Metzger.  It can be difficult to speak about profound experiences, especially before you've had time to think about and integrate what you received.  I'm in that phase now, but here is one thing that came out of the experience that I'd like to share.

Priestess of words, of stars, of stones

(those bones of the earth that carry its stories),

place your hands and lean

your forehead against a great rock.

Let the wind blow through you;

be empty and clear.

Soak up enough of

the stone’s slow rhythm

so that you hear the stories

of the land, this land,

where your exile has ended,

where you don’t forget love and gratitude,

where you meet the sacred.

 

Then, place fire

in a circle of stones

at the heart of the temple,

which is the heart of your heart.

Tend the fire; do not let it go out,

or the temple will crumble,

and with no heart,

you will as well.

 

No one said the work

would be easy.

 

But once you are slow

and hollow and empty,

they will come to the fire.

They will come with

their broken hearts,

and broken bodies,

and broken dreams.

They will listen to the words

and warm themselves.

And you will give them

sanctuary.