My skull is clouded, mute. My eyes can’t penetrate the storm of fog. I wake at night with brain burning–not red fire, but an uncomfortably warm, rough, choking smoke. There seems to be no ending; the black and white video merges into exaggerations of grey. All maneuvers lead back into themselves. I am ill with unease.
Trees stand leafless, calm.
Earth is soaked in melting snow–
awash in waiting.
The path connects the path divides,
the sky is rising like a tree–
the ending moves, retreats, and hides
what is, is not, has yet to be.
The sky is rising like a tree,
the land grows following behind
what is, is not, has yet to be–
an offering returned in kind.
The land grows following behind
the dance of water, spirits, earth–
an offering returned in kind–
a trance, a dream, remembered birth.
A dance of water, spirits, earth–
the ending moves, retreats and hides
a trance, a dream, remembered birth–
the path connects the path divides.
I photographed the art on many many backgrounds; it looked different on each one. But I kept going back to these two: vivid blue and wood floor. Each brings out a different aspect of the painting/collage.
my wild roots wander,
longing to breathe blue into
green, seed into wind,
beneath the moon growing full–
yearnings climbing air and light
I consulted the Oracle with Colleen’s words this week in hand. I tried to go in one direction, but, as usual, the Oracle knew where she wanted to go, and went there, taking me along. The art is part of a larger piece “in process”–but it seemed to fit the words.
has its day—top dog,
everybody and their dog–
going to the dogs.
In dog years,
it’s a dog’s life. Put
on the dog,
hot dog, hot
diggety dog. Tail wagging
the dog. Lucky dog.
Walk the dog
and call off the dogs.
Teach the old
dog new tricks.
(on the internet no one
knows you’re dogging it).
I’m going with the prediction that this Brown Earth Dog year of 2018 will see a rise of social consciousness and environmental awareness, and the return of generosity and feelings of fellowship and community.
Our language is filled with phrases that include the word “dog”. I had fun stringing some of them together with a multi-patterned dog mask as accompaniment. And you can see my original post about Bliss, the dog pictured above, here.
all those illusions
and just be
the deep blue
sea, the force of green earth, the
This collage koan was inspired by the dVerse prompt to respond to the wonderful art of Catrin Welz-Stein, above. I did my collage and poem before I looked on her website for the title of the art: “Free Your Mind”. Perfect.
I did this in two parts. First, the background, above (without words).
Then the top piece. I put them together and added the words.
Visit the website of this amazing artist: Catrin Welz-Stein, featured at https://www.redbubble.com/de/people/catrinarno?ref=account-nav-dropdown&asc=
What a wonderful prompt! Thanks Lillian and Catrin!
Like a murmuring moon,
my lunation turns and repeats,
As indistinct as air–
unbroken darkness veiled
in expanding light.
Before and after become lost–
the shifting rhymes
The edge waxes and wanes.
The colors blend and unrainbow–
silent, dazzled, unforeseen.
A quadrille for dVerse (murmur), which also includes this week’s words from the Secret Keeper. It was also inspired by Frank Tassone’s hazy moon challenge, although I’m not sure these verses meet any real criteria for haiku.
The day is grey
along the way
I don’t know why
but somehow I
just feel like crying
The day is leaving
and it’s deceiving me
No one is near
to stop the fear
within me growing
That moments past
are all my last
without me knowing
The day’s been taken
and it’s forsaking me.
I wrote that song as a teenager caught in the aloneness and isolation of my adolescent angst. Self-indulgent? Yes. But that grey world was often very real to me. It seems strange that a young life so full of possibility would get caught in such a spiraling web of hopelessness.
Of course I’ve never stopped having my moments of self-doubt and gloom. I spent much of 2017 in an intense and draining state of anger at the world, for instance. But over the years I’ve learned to keep moving, always looking for an opening that leads out of that self-perpetuating labyrinth, one that can pull me into a place where I can reconnect with the world. Eventually, my vision clears; the color returns.
At the end of this
circular tunnel, a door–
the light welcomes me.
Sue Vincent’s photo prompt this week, above, reminded me immediately of that song I wrote at 16 or 17 (amazing that I still know all the words, right?).
And that I may have actually learned a thing or two between then and now.