"Chronicle of Shedding"
A longing for deep writhing connection.
At the end of nerves: the twitching of these times.
a cloudy-eyed snake
strikes at moving shadows.
The mind isn't trustful right now.
The heart is armored...
trying to remember
the last time one could
speak of a 'magic-love'.
Everything is being carried below the skin.
Surface Reality is fatigued.
Below it, a cool river of knowing flows.
I think of it as 'They'
because it doesn't feel singular.
It feels like ancestors
who are aching for us all.
I try to 'stay the course' with the Great River
but its teachings can be so fierce,
even at night after closing your eyes.
Tonight they said:
"There's a shredding going on.
You're part of it.
Be gentle with yourself."
I blurted out:
"I'm tired of being shredded!
I'm tired of the world shredding!
I'm tired of loss and flooding,
Texans in red ties
pretending they aren't the Taliban."
That's when I heard her voice.
I don't fully know who she is
but she comes around
every now and then
and gives me an earful.
She corrected my lack of clear-hearing.
"Shedding not shredding.
to the vantage point
of your longest
and deepest-held affections.
Renewal awaits therein."
My joys are simple these days.
A bird on a morning branch.
Mist concealing a grove.
A dram of Dalmore 12-year.
Rain, like liquid gold, filling a garden bucket.
A passage from Basho.
A teaching from a Druid about poesy.
A mother's stories about Too-Ra-Loo-Ra-Loo-Ral.
A scrumptious meal
where we toast each other each night:
Is anyone else
they have no right to complain
because they aren't on the front lines
feels battle-weary anyway?
You are not alone.
Kampai = Japanese for "Cheers!"
image: Anne Nygard (@polarmermaid)