Poems, Poetry Prompts

The Art of Dreaming

Poeming today on The Art of __(BLANK)__.

The Art of Dreaming

You need to brood, to hold the day-world deep,
to creep through hallways and tunnels
in buildings you half remember.
Keep things in their rooms, hidden in hollows,
behind oaken doors and up stairways,
through arches and curtains,
where they become something else,
symbols of themselves, monsters and midwives.

You must step into the stream of the story,
find peace in the threads of the tale
that the smallest elf of your deepest self
is telling you, sifting and shifting images,
sliding pictures through your vision
like an old-time stereoscope.

Do not try to remember. Look sideways,
like you do at the Pleiades, which you can only see
when you look beside them, and never directly.
The memory of dreams requires just such a two-step,
a soft and sideways focus, peripheral.
Write them down. Don’t force sense upon them,
but let them unravel onto the page.

Gratitudes, Musings

Love Wins

Gratitude List:
1. Love wins.
2. Fried tomatoes for breakfast
3. Such a birdy day: titmouse fledglings, nuthatch, crows, cardinals, goldfinch, swallows. . .
4. Dream visitors: turkey, this time
5. Tomato sandwiches for supper

May we walk in Love!

Marvel and Wonder

How would things change if, every time we approached the word God in our speech, we would instead use the word Love?  Parker Palmer does this sometimes, and it is powerful: We are made, each one of us in the image of Love.

Would we be less judgmental, more likely to be little versions of Love ourselves?

***

Last night in the Dreamings, I was in a green field of clover and vetch at the edge of a wood.  I was out in the field and standing just outside the trees and looking at me very intently, watching and observing me, was Turkey.  I was gathering blue feathers in the field, and a teen-aged boy was walking up the path toward me.  Turkey watched.  I wanted to be friendly to the boy, but I didn’t want to encourage conversation because gathering the feathers was a private and personal thing for me and I wanted to be alone to contemplate.

I have been reading Jamie Sams’ words about Turkey, a symbol of the Give-Away, the “deep and abiding recognition of the sacrifices of both self and others.”  She seems to be a symbol of reaching a new and deeper place.  Feathers are gifts to me, symbols of my communication with Spirit, and blue feathers are about finding my voice.  I feel like Turkey was watching me, like the “woman of that place” in the Denise Levertov poem, to be sure that I was noticing and appreciating the gifts, both the social and the contemplative moments (especially the contemplative rhythm of summer), the voice, being in the presence of Spirit.

The Fountain
by Denise Levertov

Don’t say, don’t say there is no water
to solace the dryness at our hearts.
I have seen

the fountain springing out of the rock wall
and you drinking there. And I too
before your eyes

found footholds and climbed
to drink the cool water.

The woman of that place, shading her eyes,
frowned as she watched — but not because
she grudged the water,

only because she was waiting
to see we drank our fill and were
refreshed.

Don’t say, don’t say there is no water.
That fountain is there among its scalloped
green and gray stones,

it is still there and always there
with its quiet song and strange power
to spring in us,

up and out through the rock.

– See more at: http://www.poetry-chaikhana.com/blog/2013/03/15/denise-levertov-the-fountain-2/#sthash.1onaRPdD.dpuf

Gratitudes, Musings

Keep Dreaming

This morning as I woke up, a remnant of dream was just wandering out the back door of my brain, too quickly for me to even catch it by the tail, but its words continued to echo through the halls of my head: “Keep dreaming.  Keep feeling.  Keep talking.”

I certainly don’t think of myself as someone who is in need of an admonition to keep talking, but perhaps there’s an honest and deep-wrought speech attached to the dreaming and feeling that I would do well to hone and refine.

Even without a fragment of a dream remaining to pin it to, I have a strong intuition that this is a social admonition.  In all the personality tests I have ever taken, I sit pretty firmly in the center of the introvert/extrovert scale.  Sometimes, perhaps, this is a comfortable balance where I can pick up the best qualities of both, but there are also times when I feel like I live through the most artless aspects of them instead, the light and chatty self-absorbed extrovert and the socially awkward and uncomfortable introvert.  One part of me has no patience for the “small talk,” and the other part of me is anxious about moving past the friendly surface of conversation.  Then I find myself using the breezy chattiness to cover up the feelings of gracelessness.

It is when I can keep myself in touch with my truest dreaming, feeling self that my speech–both the ritual greetings and the deep conversation–is most honest and real.  That feels like a good spiritual practice.

Keep Dreaming.  Keep Feeling.  Keep Talking.

Gratitude List:
1.  My heart is heavy this morning with the story of a vigil that a friend is keeping.  I ache for the pain and the terror, and feel no gratitude for what she is facing.  But I am grateful to be included in the watchers and listeners who hold her in the light, grateful to have that, at least–prayer, energy, hope, loving hearts–to offer.
2.  We made it through harvest and set-up yesterday with Farmer Jon flat on his back in bed, sick.  What an amazing farm crew!  I get by with much more than a little help from my friends.
3.  Crows calling in the wood.  They sound like adventure is at hand on this still, hushed morning.  Isn’t that odd?  The cat is hollering his head off, and the crows are squalling, but the air feels like silence, like impendingness, like waiting.  Adventure is at hand.  That excites me.  What will the day bring?
4.  Dream messages
5.  Long sleep.  Sleep is such a cure.

May we walk in Beauty!