When the night wind calls you
And the owl flies across the yellow moon
And you feel the mists surround you
I am there
Through the darkness
Where the illusions of fear are known
When you feel there is no one else but you
I am there
For no matter where you go
No matter what you think or who you feel you are
There is never a time when I am not there
For I love you
For the veil is always thin between my world and yours
For those who look within the veil is never there.
I do so love you.
Friday, October 30, 2009
Wednesday, October 28, 2009
Salmon's Dance
Having been offline for awhile due to internet technical gremlins, it has been far longer than I had ever planned between posts. It's been an interesting time not having solid access but I have continued to wander and watch and play. Here is a little something I wrote when I stopped by the river on my way to an appointment. The salmon were beginning their run and it's always a magical time - full of the mystery of life, passion and death. Try as I might, I could not get my camera to capture one of their leaps but this is the bend I sat at.Salmon's Dance
In the old places I sit -
Just where the river bends and curves
Deep glacial colour letting me know the distance travelled -
Here in this bend, salmon mate
Each a full red as if blushing in shyness over the act
Unconscious of others watching
Eyes and movement only there for the other
Dancing only for one.
What matters if their lives spill out along with their fertility rites?
New lives begin from life's ending
In bold, brilliant, splashing, leaping, sensuous colour
Aware of only that other, that moment, that creation
Ancient rites in an ancient river.
I walk to the water and dipping my hands in
I become, for a moment, one with that dance of final ecstasy.
Giving all to create.
Dancing as if no one else were around.
My soul alive.
My spirit bold, brilliant, splashing, leaping, sensuous colour.
Dying to what I once was so that what I am to be may be born.
Aware.
Ancient rites by an ancient river
With its deep, glacial colour, bending and turning unendingly
Through the old places where I sit.
Photo: Cedar River, WA
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