September Dream Mandala / Awe

"... I have heard trees talking, long after the sun has gone down ..."

 Speaking Tree

Some things on this earth are unspeakable: Genealogy of the broken— A shy wind threading leaves after a massacre, Or the smell of coffee and no one there— Some humans say trees are not sentient beings, But they do not understand poetry— Nor can they hear the singing of trees when they are fed by Wind, or water music— Or hear their cries of anguish when they are broken and bereft— Now I am a woman longing to be a tree, planted in a moist, dark earth Between sunrise and sunset— I cannot walk through all realms— I carry a yearning I cannot bear alone in the dark— What shall I do with all this heartache? The deepest-rooted dream of a tree is to walk Even just a little ways, from the place next to the doorway— To the edge of the river of life, and drink— I have heard trees talking, long after the sun has gone down: Imagine what would it be like to dance close together In this land of water and knowledge. . . To drink deep what is undrinkable. Joy Harjo

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Thank you to Beth for bringing this poem to my attention this morning after I took a walk in the woods and found myself thinking about the lives of trees.

Sacred Grief / Gratitude

Just Because

 

"... Yeah I'm a soldier but I don't use a gun ..."

With gratitude to Mavis Staples for this song and to dreaming in the deep south for bringing this to my attention this morning.

With gratitude to Robbie Robertson (1943-2023)

 

Ghost Dance

Crow's brought the message

To the children of the sun

For the return of the buffalo

And for a better day to come

You can kill my body

You can damn my soul

For not believing in your God

And some world down below

You don't stand a chance against my prayers

You don't stand a chance against my love

They outlawed the Ghost Dance

They outlawed the Ghost Dance

But we shall live again, we shall live again

My sister above

But she has red paint

She died at Wounded Knee

Like a Latter-day Saint

You got the big drum in the distance

The blackbird's in the sky

That's a sound that you hear

When the buffalo cry

You don't stand a chance against my prayers

You don't stand a chance against my love

They outlawed the Ghost Dance

They outlawed the Ghost Dance

But we shall live again, we shall live again

We shall live again

Crazy Horse was a mystic (yeah)

He knew the secret of the trance

And Sitting Bull, the great apostle

Of the Ghost Dance

Come on Comanche

Come on Blackfoot

Come on Shoshone

Come on Cheyenne

We shall live again (we shall live again)

We shall live again (we shall live again)

Come on Arapaho

Come on Cherokee

Come on Paiute

Come on Sioux

We shall live again (we shall live again)

You used to do the Ghost Dance

Used to do the Ghost Dance

But we don't sing them kinda songs no more

Robbie Robertson & the Red Road Ensemble

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In April 1969, R bought tickets for us and we drove up to San Francisco to Winterland to attend one of the first concerts ever given by The Band.  We were 19 years old. 

A Tuesday Afternoon In the Summer of 1968 Revisited

What love has given to us, no one can take away.

(paraphrased lyrics from Bob Dylan)

Hiroshima Day 2023

 

Sadako

Orizuru and Synchronicity

The wall-to-wall carpet that I bought in 2012 had been vacuumed regularly but had never been cleaned.  It didn't appear horribly dirty, but something prompted me to have it cleaned professionally a few days ago.  When the carpet cleaning technician arrived, he announced that he had cleaned my carpet once before.  He appeared to be in his 50s.  I can't say that I recognized him.  My rough guess is that he cleaned my carpet at least 20 years ago because I can only recall having someone clean my carpet one or two other times since I moved here in 1984.  He did a fine job.

In order to have my carpet cleaned, I had to move some furniture and numerous other belongings into my kitchen, my hall closet and out onto my porch, leaving much more empty floor space than I usually have.  It occurred to me that it would be a good time to let go of some of those belongings and free up floor space.  Then it occurred to me that, while I was at it, I could let go of other belongings and free up table and shelf surfaces.  

Among what I let go of were origami that were scattered around my living room on shelves and tables.  

This morning I was given the tiniest origami I have ever seen.  Orizuru.

"I do not want what I haven't got"

Have been revisiting the music of Sinéad O'Connor.  Her presence remains strong.  

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Dreams and Memories and Left Hand

Last night I dreamed I looked in the mirror and saw Amelia Earhart.  In 1979, I was fortunate to see and hear Joni Mitchell perform this song in Vancouver, B.C.  

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#23

23 so far in a series of 53 tiny mandalas drawn with my non-dominant left hand.  When I was working on #23, I was feeling angry and sad and scared.  Something shifted in the process of drawing #23.  Something prompted me to fill the entire picture plane but once I had done that there was still no resolution.  When I woke up yesterday morning, I knew I needed to cut the mandala out and create an open space, free of anger, sadness and fear, while still honoring those emotions.  The Chinese character in the center is the word "hand." 

Chinese character for left hand:

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Sending love always

Gratitude

 

"Sanctuary"

Samish Overlook

"Our Time on Earth"

"Our Time on Earth"

(Many thanks to my friend Sue for the link)

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"... And I don't want a never-ending life
I just want to be alive
While I'm here ..."

(Lyrics from "Spirits," by the Strumbellas)

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From Beth's Tumblr page:

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Sending love always

A Meditation On The Day After Walking Up To Oyster Dome at age 73

ON ANOTHER PANEL ABOUT CLIMATE, THEY ASK ME TO SELL THE FUTURE AND ALL I’VE GOT IS A LOVE POEM

What if the future is soft and revolution is so kind that there is no end to us in sight.

Whole cities breathe and bad luck is bested by a promise to the leaves.

To withstand your own end is difficult.

The future frolics about, promised to no one, as is her right.

Rage against injustice makes the voice grow harsher yet.

If the future leaves without us, the silence that will follow will be an unspeakable nothing.

What if we convince her to stay?

How rare and beautiful it is that we exist.

What if we stun existence one more time?

When I wake up, get out of bed, my seven year old cousin

with her ruptured belly tags along.

Then follows my grandmother, aunts, my other cousins
and the violent shape of their drinking water.

The earth remembers everything,
our bodies are the color of the earth and we
are nobodies.

Been born from so many apocalypses, what’s one more?

Love is still the only revenge. It grows each time the earth is set on fire.

But for what it’s worth, I’d do this again.
Gamble on humanity one hundred times over

Commit to life unto life, as the trees fall and take us with them.

I’d follow love into extinction.

(written by Ayisha Siddiqa & read by Ayana Elizabeth Johnson)

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Oyster Dome

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Always sending love.

Memorial Day Weekend Bird Visitation 2023

Last year, at the beginning of Memorial Day Weekend, a flock of Cedar Waxwings appeared on a young alder tree that is growing in the cattail pond I can see from my porch.  This year a Black-headed Grosbeak appeared at the suet feeder attached to the wooden beam at the left side of my porch.  These are birds that I see only rarely.

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My online social energy is still very limited.  I've been posting on Tumblr, which requires no social energy:

https://www.tumblr.com/37thdream

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My creative energy is up and am working on a series of 53 tiny mandalas which begin with an essential Chinese Character at the center.  Most are finished within a short period of time.  I'm using colored pencils and Poétique brush pens on small squares of printmaking paper which were given to me to encourage my creativity.  Here is #6:

As always, sending love to blog friends near and far.

 

Pausing until the sun rises again. It will. That's for sure.

 Pausing.  Not sure what to do next, if anything.  Sending love to blog friends near and far.

The Great Mystery (non-dominant hand mandala) / Easter / Beloved Person in Bird Costume Crossing the Night River

Your Easter, My Easter, Our Easter

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Two views of:

 Beloved Person 

Listening to Sam Gamgee

"... it turned into sort of a cosmic song rather than an irritated song ..."

 

John Lennon:

“I was lying next to my first wife in bed, you know, and I was irritated. She must have been going on and on about something and she’d gone to sleep and I’d kept hearing these words over and over, flowing like an endless stream. I went downstairs and it turned into sort of a cosmic song rather than an irritated song; rather than a ‘Why are you always mouthing off at me?’ or whatever, right? …
But the words stand, luckily, by themselves. They were purely inspirational and were given to me as boom! I don’t own it, you know; it came through like that. I don’t know where it came from, what meter it’s in, and I’ve sat down and looked at it and said, 'Can I write another one with this meter?’ It’s so interesting.

'Words are flying [sic] out like [sings] endless rain into a paper cup, they slither while they pass, they slip away across the universe.’ Such an extraordinary meter and I can never repeat it! It’s not a matter of craftsmanship; it wrote itself. It drove me out of bed. I didn’t want to write it, I was just slightly irritable and I went downstairs and I couldn’t get to sleep until I put it on paper, and then I went to sleep.

It’s like being possessed; like a psychic or a medium. The thing has to go down. It won’t let you sleep, so you have to get up, make it into something, and then you’re allowed to sleep. That’s always in the middle of the bloody night, when you’re half awake or tired and your critical facilities are switched off.”

“Words are flowing out
Like endless rain into a paper cup
They slither wildly as they slip away across the universe
Pools of sorrow waves of joy
Are drifting through my opened mind
Possessing and caressing me

Jai Guru Deva, Om
Nothing’s gonna change my world
Nothing’s gonna change my world
Nothing’s gonna change my world
Nothing’s gonna change my world

Images of broken light
Which dance before me like a million eyes
They call me on and on across the universe
Thoughts meander like a
Restless wind inside a letter box
They tumble blindly as they make their way across the universe

Jai Guru Deva, Om
Nothing’s gonna change my world
Nothing’s gonna change my world
Nothing’s gonna change my world
Nothing’s gonna change my world

Sounds of laughter, shades of life
Are ringing through my opened ears
Inciting and inviting me
Limitless undying love
Which shines around me like a million suns
It calls me on and on across the universe

Jai Guru Deva, Om
Nothing’s gonna change my world
Nothing’s gonna change my world
Nothing’s gonna change my world
Nothing’s gonna change my world

Jai Guru Deva
Jai Guru Deva
Jai Guru Deva
Jai Guru Deva
Jai Guru Deva”

[Thanks Ian Sanders]

Thank you to dreaminginthedeepsouth