This blog has been a wonderful outlet for the random musings and unanticipated thought fragments that seem to perpetually traverse my mind. Through poetry I’ve found a method of examining and coping with emotional turmoil, that kept bottled up, eventually becomes rancid and toxic.
Without prattling on endlessly, I’ll share with you that several years ago I experienced a series of traumatic events severe enough to make rebuilding the life I had impossible.
Much of what I’d thought of as absolutely essential was irredeemable. At 44 years old I was faced with the terrifying prospect of finding a completely different way to live, something I wasn’t even certain was possible.
Being so fundamentally hurt, the first eighteen months were little more than a process of slow healing. I didn’t think about what came next during this time, because I wasn’t convinced there would be a next.
When I finally tried to pull myself together it was quickly apparent that too many pieces couldn’t be made to fit anymore. That was very sad since I’d had some of them most of my life, and didn’t want to see them go.
So, I was left with the question, who was I?…………………………………………………… (to be con’t)
Authors note: While I have no intention of abandoning poetry, I think it’s time to bring this blog more in alignment with it’s original mission statement, which is simply to help, and to do that it’s important to understand the circumstances of it’s creation.
I’ve recently completed my Candidate year with the Ancient Order of Druids in America and been recognized as an Apprentice.
This took quite a bit of work and I’m pleased and proud to have accomplished it.
Sit by the bright, bright fire,
Your eyes show all who look,
that you are tired,
You’re shivering with fear?
Know now that,
Naught pursues you here,
The dark forest where you felt alone,
Is to us a sacred grove,
The beasts that yowled and those that cried,
Announced to us that you’d arrived,
That clamor that the wild things made,
Was a welcome to you that they gave,
Freely enter the stone circle if you like,
None are barred except by choice,
Of judgement we will extend none,
Druids offer only love.
The contrived opposition current thinking
places between science and spirituality
is solely a tragedy of our modern industrial age.
– White Feather
To the lost Children of science,
sequestered in sterile labs,
untouched by solar rays,
toiling to decode the nature of life,
Beyond Your high walls,
each tree, each flower,
intone pheromone answers,
to all Your many questions,
in their silent language,
offering truths deeper,
than any that can be contained,
within a spoken word.
Kneeling in the damp soil
dirty fingers gently make holes
Across the road
a construction crew builds
Like me they sweat
mud-spattered and muscle sore
from the labor.
Like me they believe
what they do is right, is good
they are not evil men.
They began their work
in a copse of trees which had to be removed
allowing space for building.
on a small, sandy patch of ground
where sparse grass grew.
They cut trees
preparing the land.
I spread depths
of mulch and compost
preparing the land.
From the high seats
of diesel excavators
they waved hello.
My bare feet
damp and connected to the earth
I smile and wave back.
Deep in a dark wood
cloaked from prying eyes
seven Druids with bowed heads
circled the last butterfly,
The seven prayers spoken
were older than old
in a language long silent
heard here and no more,
each of the seven
who stood vigil there
saw one last tiny wing-flutter
the enchantment was gone,
of the seven Druids
no more may be spoke
when the butterfly passed
each one became smoke