what flowers will flower

Posted on August 15, 2012 by lbk

The Ferryman takes my hand, makes a hammock of his body, holds and enfolds me. All around, the turbulence continues. Within his embrace my light shines.

I cannot know what it might mean to others. Only that it is. It is my job to maintain it. To tend that light.

I return to listening. First to the rush and beat of my own blood. Then to the air around me. The voices singing. Listen.

Listen.

What flowers will flower through all the hard and compact. Look for the flame of stalk and bloom, the delicate scent that softens everything.

OOO

Posted in Divine Light, dreaming, Ferryman | Leave a comment

until we are rested

Posted on August 14, 2012 by lbk

I go to the Wellspring. I am full of splinters. Shrapnel. “Why do I always get so full of splinters?”

She applies leaches to suck the splinters out. I sink down limp and baggy.

“I would like to be a story teller.” A whispered confession. “I would like to meet a story teller, here, to guide me.”

There is the grandmother, rocking and laughing. Of course she is a story teller. Of course she is.

“Grandmother, I’m having trouble keeping my skin on my bones.”

“Why bother?”

“You mean I should just–”

“Yes. Just let it go. Why not? See what happens.”

I let it go, all of it, skin and bones. I dissolve away. All that remains is the ache of my heart. There is a magnetism to the ache, a coal black lump; draws weight to itself.

Night Hawk comes. He picks up the lump and holds it tender between his hands. Then he takes off running. He runs and runs through the bright desert to the cool of Lily’s spring. Lily isn’t there, she’s gone exploring. The spring bubbles on without her. Night Hawk holds the black lump of me in the waterflow. He climbs into the creak bed himself. He lies down and lets the water flow over him, holding the lump of me on his chest, the both of us submerged. The black dissolves away leaving a small golden flame.

I whisper to NH, “I’m such a tiny thing.”

“Enough,” he says, “to light the world.”

I lift him out of the stream bed. I am full length again, embodied in white, pale and flowing. We lie down together beside the stream. He wraps me in his dark cloak of expansion. We breathe together.

In a bit, I begin to fret. “Shouldn’t I be gearing up to do something?”

“No. Rest now.”

“How long before I can make things happen again?”

“We will rest until we are rested.”

And so I abide there with him. Resting still. And will so remain until the work of rest is done.

OOO

Posted in Night Hawk, The Grandmother, Wellspring | 2 Comments

fit

Posted on July 31, 2012 by lbk

I stand in front of the Wellspring with great chunks of me falling off.

I keep picking up the pieces and trying to stick them back on. It’s distressing and awkward and hopeless. I look to the Wellspring for help.

She smiles, unconcerned, and looks up at the sunlight in the leaves. So I look up too, into the soft shifting green, and just like that all the struggle drops away. I realize that those big chunks of things weren’t parts of me at all. They were never meant to stick. Without them I am so much lighter and more supple. The Wellspring and I grin at each other.

“I’ve come to meet the spirit of July,” I say. “I know it’s the last day. It’s late. I’m late, but I thought maybe today.”

“So call,” the Wellspring says, “and wait and see what comes.”

I call for the spirit of July to come and talk with me. I want to know better how to inhabit this time with its fierce skies and anvil inclinations. I sit and I wait. But sitting primly with my feet tucked under doesn’t seem quite right, so I fling myself down on the ground with my arms akimbo, face to the sky. The right posture makes all the difference.

July materializes out of nowhere in the air above me, or maybe he climbs out of the branches. I can’t say for certain if he was there all along. He is wearing dark clothes, pants and jacket, a little indistinct around the edges. He leans over me grinning, “Want to play a game?” he asks.

I sit up, a little uncertain, a little unnerved by his approach. I look to the Wellspring for council and she smiles and shrugs as if to say, You asked for July, now here he is so you might as well play with him.

“What game?”

“Hide and seek.”

“Ok,” I say, still hesitant. Haven’t I only just found him and now he is going to go off and hide and maybe I won’t find him again.

“No,” he says, “you hide. You hide.”

Oh well, I can do that. Deer man has been teaching me how to blend. I am eager to practice.

I leave July with his eyes closed, counting, and I step into the trees. Then I stop moving and stand still. My skin is sweet as aspen bark. I am rooted in the rocky ground, mingled with my sisters, branches lifted to shiver and sigh among them. The grasses sway and rattle at my knees. A deer steps by without hesitation. I’ve done it. I am perfectly hidden. Sunlight dapples me, my shadow stretches long and longer. I watch it grow, it seems the most exquisite thing. And then I come to recognize that there is a portion of my shadow, that is not me. There is a part of it that’s him, July. He’s standing right beside me and has been all along.

“You’re very good at that,” he says.

“How am I good? You obviously found me right off and I didn’t even know.”

“It’s not a question of me finding you. It was never a question of me finding you. I’ve always known where you are. It was you who needed to find yourself. You needed to get home.”

“And now I am.”

“And now you are. And beautifully so. Let’s dance.”

I step into the invitation of his arms. He rests his hand on the small of my back and holds me to him. He is wearing formal evening wear and I am in a full red skirt embroidered all over with flowers. We are waltzing through the trees.

“There is so much I don’t understand. There are questions I meant to be asking you, but I don’t remember. I don’t know. I don’t understand how this works.”

“Stop talking. Dance.”

There is moonlight in my hair and along the tenderness of my arms. His hand is warm and pressing against my back. The fronts of our bodies do that thing that happens when two separate pieces come together and fit.

We dance.

OOO

Posted in Seasons, Wellspring | 2 Comments

remembered

Posted on July 14, 2012 by lbk

Water streams from the back of my head like a mane.

I run out to sand in the grass.

NH lifts me up, wraps me in his cloak, holds me dear. NH sings my name to me. He shows me that smile that breaks everything open.

NH says yes to me. When I fret about doing he says, “Rest now. When you are ready we will fly again. We will visit Lily. We’ll go down in the caves. We will carry light to who needs it.”

Ants race out of my hair. He combs and combs.

He remembers me.

OOO

Posted in Night Hawk | 1 Comment

without the boat

Posted on July 12, 2012 by lbk

Went to ground. Went to water.

I was in the fountain all undone.

I was in the river with the brown water flowing cool over me, hiding me, holding me. I held the lip of the boat and kept my chin above water. The fox looked down from his perch, refusing primly the invitation to join me. “The question is,” he said, “if you’re in there, who’s steering the boat?”

No one was steering.

I wasn’t sure that was a problem, but the fox was unsettled by it. I considered options. We could drop anchor. Or beach the boat at a sandy spot. But the problem with that was that we wouldn’t be moving anymore, and moving through the water felt vital.

When the boat stopped, the river loosed my grip and carried me on without the boat, just me, my body of fevered paleness and the smooth and certain flow of the cool brown water.

OOO

Posted in Days, dreaming, Fox | 2 Comments

the fox’s clean feet

Posted on July 10, 2012 by lbk

The bear comes for me, moving quick. I grab hold of his ear and ride like a ribbon streamer as he bounds up the mountainside. The smell of hot dirt and sage washes through me. On the mountainside I am perfectly at home. I am this.

I do not know where the bear’s urgency comes from. I feel languorous, content. He pushes me with his nose into the cave dark, against the back wall and through the fissure.

I am in the road. It is dark. Not night dark, storm dark. The wind is thrashing through the tops of the trees, but it is heavy and still on the ground where I am crouching. The fox is there, a little ahead, waiting for me to see him. “Follow me,” he says and then he goes, off the road, into the bush. I follow after. We make our way along narrow trails. He follows his nose. I follow his tail.

Before long we arrive at a steep bank above a brown river. There is a hollow in the bank among the roots of a great tree. We tuck ourselves into the hollow, out of the storm. “We’ll be safe here,” the fox says.

“What if the river floods and rises and catches us here?”

“Do you think the river will rise?”

“I don’t know.”

“I don’t think it will.” He is very calm and contained. His bearing is both comforting and unsettling.

“Who are you to me?” I ask.

“I’m just a fox you met in the road.”

I make a sound of protest. Here we are folded around each other in this small shelter while the storm blows all around. I have entrusted myself to him. Surely there must be something special between us. Something intended.

“Sometimes it just happens like that,” he says. “Nothing special.”

I’m not sure I believe him. I settle my face against his hip. “Are we friends?”

“Are we sharing shelter from the storm?”

“Mmm. Tell me a story.”

“No. I don’t tell stories.”

“Everybody tells stories.”

“I don’t. But here’s what I’ll do, I’ll tell you what I believe…

“1. I believe in keeping my feet clean.”

“Oh, it’s like a manifesto.”

“2. I believe in listening to what people say.”

“That’s just what everyone says. Listen Listen Listen. Everyone tells me that.”

“Don’t be rude. Hear me out…

“2. I believe if you listen to what people say you will learn what they believe. If you listen without being drawn into their belief, you will see the holes and you can step through without getting your feet wet.

“3. I believe the river is full of things that didn’t get out of the way.”

“That’s it?”

“Yes.”

“How will this help me in my day? I don’t see how any of this will be of any use to me. I can’t hide in a hole all day.”

“Why not?

“I have things to do.”

“If you try to do delicate things while the storm is blowing, your efforts will be in vain. The wind will take everything out of your hands. Better to lie low until it blows itself out.”

And so we do that, lie low.

When the storm has passed we clamber out and stretch our joints and dust ourselves off. The river is swollen and swift, carrying all kinds of debris, branches and rooftops and chicken coops. There are a lot of trees fallen along the banks. The fox shows me how to lay a slow fire in a big log and hollow it out to make a boat.

When the boat is done, we climb in and push off and the river carries us. The fox rides in the stern with his nose in the wind. I ride in the back holding the rudder paddle and steering around debris. We are going fast and steady. Now we’re getting somewhere. I let out a little whoop of pleasure.

The fox smiles back at me over his shoulder. “And,” he says, “we’re keeping our feet clean.”

OOO

Posted in Bear, Days, Fox | 2 Comments

the road & the fox

Posted on July 9, 2012 by lbk

The road is a pale sandy track through the trees, easy under foot. The bear walks with me. We go easy, not talking much, just following the road.

Turning a bend we find a big red fox sitting in the middle of the way, looking back at us. He doesn’t speak, he doesn’t move. We stop. I’m not sure how to approach this bold creature. We watch each other a moment.

I wonder what he might have to say to me. I can’t think what to ask.

After a bit, the fox gets up and turns to face the direction we are headed. “I’ll walk with you a ways,” he says, looking back at us over his shoulder. And so we fall in together, the bear on my left, the fox on my right, we go on.

The woods are riddled with spots of sun, like suspended confetti. There is a lot going on in there, the leaves full of chatter and scurry. I wonder if maybe we shouldn’t leave the road and strike off through the wood in search of adventure. Maybe we should be looking for something, maybe we should be gathering something.

The fox says, “No. Stick to the road.” The bear concurs.

And so we go on in companionable silence, making unmarkable progress. Somewhere up ahead there is water. Somewhere there is a gathering of people and all that that promises. But we’re not there yet. For now we are just walking easy. For now we are sticking to the road.

OOO

Posted in Bear, Days, Fox | Leave a comment

an act of habitation

Posted on July 7, 2012 by lbk

I go to meet the spirit of this day, to help me navigate this day of doing, duty and devotion. This hot Saturday in a house full of boys.

I go to the Wellspring. I am a ribbon in the breeze. The breeze tells its joy through me. I am a flutter of celebration.

The ground around me is strewn with petals and small leaves. These are my gift. The Wellspring is pleased. She touches a cool finger of blessing to my forehead.

A wind comes up then and blows all the leaves back into the trees, a miraculous thing that sets us laughing.

~

Bear comes to guide me. I show my devotion to the bear by throwing my arms around his neck and burying my face in his fur. He snuffles and butts his nose against my shoulder in response. I am ready.

We walk side by side through the wood and up the side of the mountain. I am barefoot. The grass is cool underfoot, but the rocky ground is troublesome. The bear is not troubled. We think what I might wrap around my feet to protect them. The trouble with shoes is that they blind my feet to so much. The bear recommends letting my feet toughen up a bit so the little bits and pieces won’t trouble me, but still I will know what I’m walking on.

We reach the cave and stop just outside the dark. I confess my fear. I am afraid this won’t work. It’s been so long since I sought a day spirit’s guidance and everything’s so different now than it was.

“There’s no meaning in that: won’t work,” the bear says. “It’s nothing. Signifies nothing. Whatever happens here, happens. And there it is. All you have to do is watch and tell. Whatever it is. Even if it’s nothing. That’s something.” He licks my face to clear the hesitation from me. Petals fall all around us. They are coming from my hair and the palms of my hands. I shower the bear in white petals. And then I go on.

I go into the dark to the back stone wall. I find the fissure of light. I pass through.

I am in easy dappled light. There is bird song and rustling in the trees. There is no path. Just a small clearing.

This could be right where I started. I think I could have stayed right where I was and saved my feet the climb. I plunk myself down in the grass.

Out of the trees come wisps of spirit, small seal shaped clouds of welcome and cheerfulness. They approach but do not touch me. They settle in the grass in a circle all around me. I am pleased by their company as they are pleased by my mine. We sit. We are still.

Then I sense him coming, he who fills me with awe and gratitude. I feel him moving through the trees. His approach shatters all doubt. He is here, at the edge of the trees, tall and thin and twig-jointed. Deerman. He has arrived. He was here all along. Both.

He holds out his hand to me and I hold out mine to him. We are joined, fingertip to fingertip, we are joined by reaching. We do not move. We fill the wood.

Deerman shows me: devotion is an act of habitation.

“Inhabit each moment completely, the full reach of it. Don’t let yourself contract into any one detail, let it all flow through you, encompass it all. See how the leaves live in the wind, and the wind lives in the grass, and the grass lives in the earth, and the earth lives in the water, and the water lives in the light, and the light lives in everything. Like that,” he says. “Don’t be troubled by disturbances, let them flow through you, let them be part and let them go.”

He blows over my palm, reminding me of the power he showed me before. “Lead with your hands. Heal with your hands. Lay your hands on the world. Bless and be blessed.”

OOO

Posted in Bear, Days, Deer Man | 1 Comment

the hedge of my choosing

Posted on July 6, 2012 by lbk

I am surrounded by a thorn hedge. I have drawn the hedge around myself. I cannot move my tenderness against the hedge without doing damage.

The sky comes down into the tangle in the form of cloud. Moisture condenses on the branches and thorns so that the whole thing glistens. Beautiful. The moisture gathers and falls like tears.

I get down on my knees and fold to rest my forehead on the ground, child’s pose, a posture of prayer. In this position I fill all the open space. I am a rock, a prayer rock in the heart of the briar patch.

How do I get rid of the hedge?

Is that the question? Maybe the question is: What is it like to be a stone of prayer in the heart of the briar patch?

The hedge closes over the top of me, closing off the standing space. I roll to face the sky. The thorn tears fall over me, washing the world to black.

Is this the answer? Is the hedge gone? Am I free?

No. I am not free. The hedge is not gone.

Outside the hedge, my true love pines for me. I can hear him keening.

He cannot pass in. I cannot pass out.

There are ants moving in procession along the branches. The ants come and go as they wish. The hedge is no barrier to them. For them it is a means of arrival.

The wind blows through the hedge. There are many ways to pass through, the sky, the ants, the wind all manage nicely.

I choose then to go. I move in and through. The thorns hold the tatters of my skin. I am wind. Wind loves an edge to blow across. We make music, the hedge and I.

Everything in me melts in joy.

OOO

Posted in dreaming, My love | 2 Comments

encircled

Posted on June 29, 2012 by lbk

I hold out my hand. The Ferryman is right there, reaching for me, the tips of our fingers graze. The pulse of connection is deep and settling. We are united, shoulder to shoulder.

The circle, all around me, the circle is alive with power, bright and flowing and charged. I am not afraid anymore. I stand within the circle and feel the lift of it. Life support. Vital. Pulsing. I am not afraid. I am not outcast. I am not separate. I am of it.

The Ferryman stands beside me. We carry each other.

OOO

Posted in Ferryman | 2 Comments