Reflections

Lamenting the “Loss” of Spring…?

All around me, locally, I hear people complaining about the “loss” of spring, the missing season.  They are expecting summer to arrive without warning or transition.  And they are miserable enough about it to make conversations, and memes, and facebook statuses dedicated to their displeasure.  And the usual weather related conversations with strangers take on the same sinister tone.  Even I have been feeling the chill…

So I wonder… what exactly are we missing here?

True, it’s cold and damp this April.  And we’ve had snow, rain, ice and wind to contend with on a daily basis.  The sun shows himself rarely, and when he does the ambient temperature hovers just above freezing, while the arctic winds bear down, robbing him of any heat, and leaving us shivering in his brilliant light.  But here’s the thing that haunts me…

It’s early April here in western NY, and this is not atypical weather.  It’s always cold and damp this month, with precipitation taking many forms, both liquid and solid.  But the snows don’t stick to road surfaces or last throughout the day.  Shovelling and plowing are not required, and salt is only occasionally required to de-ice after freezing rains.  Only hardy, early spring flowers are surviving the wet conditions and frosty nights, but that is precisely why we don’t plant our annual garden fare until mid-May around here.  Everything must be started indoors and later transplanted.  Furnaces aren’t turned off until late May, usually, and air conditioners are not required until August at least.  And here in Rochester, where we celebrate the Lilac Festival for a week in early May, it is not unusual to have snow for part of it and sandal weather for the rest…

So what are we really missing here?

And then it hit me today, during meditation, that it isn’t about the weather at all.  We lament the loss of hope instead, the sense of promise that usually accompanies spring.  The “misery” of winter isn’t climate related, but emotional, as we mourn the lack of progress, renewal, rebirth.  Our world is dead/dying, and the majority are finally beginning to realize that things are not the same, everything is not going to come out right in the end, and summer will not arrive with endless sunny days of laughter and play…

Reality is sinking in…

And sunshine, alone, cannot salvage what has been sacrificed to apathy, ignorance and greed…

What is lost is gone, and cannot be recaptured…

Spring, like decency, justice, and truth, is dead…

So let us mourn together in the ways that suit us best.  Let our tears mingle with the cold spring rains, while our hearts absorb the winter’s chill.  And let us look ahead with courage and determination to reap what we have sown.

After all, acceptance may the final stage of grief, but it is also the first step to healing…

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Flashback...

“The Covenant” (Revisited)

As I explain below, this is one of those pieces that occasionally calls out to me for reinterpretation.  Now residing in my “Pages” folder, I found it calling to me yet again in my morning meditation – replaying over and over again, and so blocking any other info from entering.  With such demanding force expressed, I cannot ignore it.  Perhaps it is in response to my recent interactions with Sha’Tara and rawgod, or perhaps it is relevant again for some other reason entirely.  In any event, it is the first compelling “lead” I’ve received in days, so I offer it to you once again…

***  ***   ***

Originally published as a regular post, I have chosen to move it here [Pages folder] for more permanent, easily accessible status.  This poem (?) originally came to me as a “flow of consciousness” piece that bordered on an unplanned case of automatic writing.  It came with such force that it drove everything else out of my mind until it was captured in writing.  Unedited, except for spelling and formatting issues, it has become one of those “go-to” works that repeatedly becomes relevant in different situations and times in my life.  Almost prophetic, it has not only explained and corrected my path from time to time, but I have been driven to share it with others occasionally to similar results.  I share it here, now, because I find references (both obvious and subtle) appearing in many other works of mine, even new ones, forcing me to acknowledge its ongoing influence in my life today…

“The Covenant”

Come…

Sit…

Listen…

and you, T.O.O. shall know

what I have come to learn.

It begins with This,

for this is what I know:

The time is Now…

time now to learn what each Other knows.

Why we are…

Who we are…

Now…

as before…

let us Be…

One.

As it was in the Beginning.

For in the beginning,

there was One.

And One spoke in the Silence:

“I Am…

Alone am I…

I would be Other…

So I am.”

And as each Word was,

so it Was,

and so it was,

that One became Other –

Twelve Others.

But with Otherhood

came Different-ness.

And from different-ness

came War.

So it was through war

that each Other came to know:

Sorrow…

Suffering…

Shame…

And Regret.

And with regret,

came a Desire

for One.

So it was that a Council of Twelve

gathered in the presence of One

seeking Peace,

instead of War.

And a Great Covenant was sealed:

“Beyond Time and Space,

there is Truth.

Within each Heart,

there is Power.

Through each Life,

there is Hope.

Between the Lessons of History,

and the Promise of Tomorrow,

Lie the Meaning and Purpose of Today:

Peace resides where Love reigns.”

And from this Great Covenant

sprang Three Sacred States,

each a world of Four,

with Four each to guide and protect the Three.

All…

in the Name of One…

in the Spirit of Other…

in search of Peace.

So…

Here we are – three

in a world of four.

Our world of four

but one of three.

And the message of the Pyramids

is on the Surface

for all to clearly see:

Four Sacred Children

gather as One

to learn of What Was.

Three times they come,

and through them, we come

to know of what Will Be.

The Promise of All…

The Lesson of One.

And one is asked,

“Who are you?”

And the Answer comes:

“I am Nobody…

But because I am nobody,

I am the same as Everybody.

And being everybody,

I am the voice of All.

As All…

I am…

One.

So who I am

is irrelevant.

All That Matters

Is

that I AM.”

And the Truth is this:

There is no Other!

 

© Lisa R. Palmer, 1995

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Reflections, Visions

Whale Song…

Today, during my meditation, I heard the song of whales somewhere far from me.  The sound so melancholy, with sorrow lining every lengthened tone.  And yet there was a sweetness to the song that touched me deeply, too, as though even in their suffering they found something that seemed worthwhile…

The notes appealed to my bat technology, bringing peace with every tear I cried in empathy.  And I knew bliss in a whole new way.  For this was not the manic excitement, the barely contained joy demanding release, but a quiet sense of something “right” not all that far from me…

And even now the voices sing, echoing deep within my mind, flooding me with blessed relief.  It was (and is) what I often refer to as a “perfect moment,” and it strengthened me.  I sense the sound, feel it in every fiber of my being, and know that it will serve as armor as I step out to face the world today…

It is worth savoring…

And so I choose to share it, too, with those who need a perfect moment as much as I do.  I’m sharing it with you…

Peace, my friends, and blessings too.  May today bring to you exactly what you need to carry on…  😀

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Poetry, Reflections, Visions

Tangled threads…

Sitting at the Loom of Fate,

weaving a destiny I choose to create,

I notice…

Old threads are coming loose, fraying,

unravelling the past I built.

I reach over, hoping to minimize the loss

but the holes are already forming

the damage done by time, man or moth.

Or all of the above…

So I refocus on today, and what’s ahead,

the pattern sweet and true,

only to discover knots in both the red thread and the blue.

Sighing deeply, frustration raging,

I calm my spirit, and focus my mind.

“I can fix this,” I tell myself,

“just take it one thread at a time.”

And so begins the process of detangling tiny threads,

ever so gently teasing the knots apart,

so as not to weaken them.

But my eyes grow tired with the task,

and my hands begin to cramp…

I wonder if I can weave them in,

without ruining the final product.

“That would be cheating,” I tell myself,

“and lazy, too…

“Is that how you want the future to remember you?”

So I sit back to take a break

and another thought occurs…

“What happens if I just walk away?

“Right now, without delay?

“Will anyone notice?  Does anyone care,

“if I never finish weaving my own fate?”

With the past unravelling,

and the future unwoven,

now might be the perfect time to quit.

Let obscurity claim my name,

and simply clean my slate.

And I will never have existed,

apart from All-That-Is;

I will not have lived or died

or suffered, endured, triumphed or lost.

Ever…

once the remnants have dissolved.

Hmm…

So tempting is that thought…

I turn back to my tangled threads

as I contemplate the cost…

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Reflections

Where has my compassion gone?

I’m standing on the deck this cold winter morn, reflecting on all that is around/within me.  I notice the waning moon, face brilliantly unexpressive, shining dispassionately against the perfectly blue morning sky.  The crows caw their morning greetings, but I can barely force myself to respond.  As the chill seeps through the layers of my human made winter wear, I cannot rouse an ounce of motivation to push it away.  It reminds me of something… something close enough to feel, if not yet to name.

My mind reaches for happier thoughts… connections to the world around me.  I recall the joy I felt yesterday at the first stirring of the trees.  They are nowhere near awake around here yet, but I felt the rootlets twitching slightly, and the sap begin to soften, as the trees baked in the strong midwinter sun.  Soon… soon enough, my dear friends will waken, and our work together will commence once more…

I listen, and can hear my grandchildren giggling at last night’s party; such carefree abandon always makes me smile.  I see my grandaughter’s impish grin as she watches me, looking for a reaction as she manipulates the adults surrounding her.  I think about how my 6 year old grandson put himself in a “timeout” (yes, he called it that as he sat down), for accidentally knocking over an empty bottle in his enthusiastic play.  He is always so hard on himself, but I cannot help but admire such self-discipline in one so young…

And then my thoughts drift to the others, those in pain, who crossed my path yesterday.  My focus, however, is not so much on the pain they expressed in countless known or unknown ways, but in my reaction to it.  Because everyone is in pain these days, and such pain must find release…

My concern is about how I felt about it, how I reacted.  The person who told me a dozen times over a 4 hour visit how tired they were became annoying.  The one who worked so hard overcoming sadness and grief that their faux happiness gained enough volume to become excruciating.  The injustices shared, to which I could only mildly respond, “such is life.”  The person whose physical pain mirrored my own, so much so that I was grateful when they finally left.  Even my own discomfort captured less than my full attention, as I crawled up stairs with hands and feet, involuntary groans escaping (in front of people, even!), without me caring what others (or my self) might think…

Tears slip silently down my cheeks as I write these words, but no sobs accompany them.  They are the hopeless, unacknowledged grief of something lost, without the desire to even identify the cause.  But I suspect I know already, if the title of this piece carries any significance at all, for what I do NOT feel this morning is compassion.  Not for myself, nor for anyone (or perhaps any thing) at all.  I feel a void where it used to exist, an emptiness that holds only fading memory.  I remember caring.  I remember hurting.  I remember helping.  But all of that is in the past…

My eye is drawn back to that brilliant moon in a flawless cold midwinter sky…

Yes… dispassion is the right word for today, and it has crept in to every aspect of my awareness.  I guess that answers my question, doesn’t it?

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Stories...

Yule…

‘Twas a dark night in her heart and all the world, with deep shadow touching every living thing.  She sighed as she wandered the familiar forest path, using memory to guide her steps in this place without light…

“Not much hope to be had here,” she said softly, thinking of how lost the world seemed.  “Not even the brightest new sun could enlighten these people, I suspect…”

As she moved slowly through this woodsy shrine, she mourned for all that would be lost this time around… The animals, whose only crime was to co-exist with narcissists…  The trees, whose silent sentience had served countless generations in wisdom, strength and love… The innocence, with which every human child was born, and later forced to sacrifice to gods of greed and hardship…  The knowledge gained by honest hearts, then twisted into unrecognizable form…

“Perhaps it is best in the end, if all of it is gone,” she ventured once again to her audience of One.  “Some things… people… never change.  And the suffering of All must end!”

Eventually her steps carried her to that sacred place where so many had gathered over Time to honor, to celebrate, to grieve, the everyday lives to which they had shackled themselves.  And sure enough, she found a small group gathered now around a brilliant Yule fire, singing songs to ease their fears, keeping company with one another through the long night, vigilant in watching for the birth of the new Sun.  She stood there, at the edge of the wood, unnoticed in her Shadow, witnessing this meeting of Tradition, unsure how she should feel in this Moment…

For it was not fear or grief that touched her heart in this moment of communion…  There was no spite, contempt, or suspicion fueling her reaction…  There was only… calm?  Or peace, maybe (?), as she gazed solemnly at the small community…  She stood there silently a long while, as she tried to puzzle it out…

Eventually there came a time when Silence descended on the gathered group, and only the crackling of the fire could be heard.  She noticed a small head lift up from its mother’s lap, and turn to stare directly at her, standing in the shadows.  Suddenly a single bird called out, signalling the coming Dawn, and all the people stood as One to face the East… except the child, whose eyes remain fixed on the unmoving form at forest’s edge…

More birds spoke up, announcing the coming day, and the humans lifted their voices to join in the joyous song.  The child nodded once at the silent Guardian of the forest, before turning to greet the Sun…

The Doe stood there long enough to see the light crest the horizon, before turning back to the sheltered paths of her home.  But she noticed as she walked along that her steps might be a little lighter than the ones that led her here.  And it occurred to her that perhaps… maybe… not All were lost, after all.

“There is still a small chance that this sun shall enlighten some,” she told herself, repeating what she knew to be an old and tired refrain from countless Yules…  “We shall see…  we shall see… what that child becomes…”

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