Poetry
My Quest My quest wants my body My body wants rest My rest wants my dreams My dreams want my experience My experience wants my memory My memory wants my learning My learning wants my potential My potential wants my soul My soul wants my life My life wants my death My death wants my best Death into life Life into soul Soul into potential Potential into learning Learning into memory Memory into experience Experience into dreams Dreams into rest Rest into body Body into quest
Lockdown poem If I imagine home as a reflection of my psyche then spending time in it now holds the potential of creating new pathways of exploring more of the unknown within the space so familiar that I think of it as known Know thyself becomes a true home-work How is it to take a longer way through the room to explore corners I thought I knew but really never step into? to let my back actually lean against the walls? to open myself to the various micro climates of feelings emanating here and here, and here? What is it like to taste with my hands the walls all around do they feel limiting or do they open up to new experiences? Where is it easy to love being here and now Where is it less easy to love where can I learn to be? What feels dirty what feels clean Where is there fertile mess where is there necessary organisation? Where is there the presence of others where is there absolute aloneness? Aired out this space breathes information in and out Sometimes sounds remind me of the noise of my own thoughts or of the song of my heart Visitors, a spider, a fly temporary, dwelling or recurrent who are you really? Then to notice that I share space with the invisible with the intangible But most of all how to tend to a loving relationship with every part of this mysterious and sacred space? And to remember this space is relationship
From now to spring From now to spring is time to be measured in a gradation of water textures Dégradé of crystals and wetness ticking a variety of changes into the time of blossom The last heavy wave of snow, having modelled itself, se moulant, se lovant à toute chose carries the knowledge of all shapes into the depths of the earth Listened are the stories we told Listened are the loud and the murmured Intelligence of water penetrates once again all things and, rippling, appears on the bark of wood and vibrations in the air the sight of sound Whiteness melting uncovers the fall’s treasures the unharvestable of the season of spirits buried, left to wait and integrate a whole winter through Soon the bodies start stretching like the fresh green stems and what is I to be? Pending in the improbable marriage of the wisdom of cycles, the earth’s knowing, the layers of dream, with the wisdom of wakefulness, the beyond time and life How it all comes to be, how it all becomes, in strange weavings of birthed and perpetuated… All I know is to tell all things: Love, I have known you by heart before our eyes ever met.
Lapland Here the ground is fabric covering stone more often water and the foot sinks into places unseen Here the ground has a soft unsteadiness it plays with our weight with our pace with our will It is unsettling to wander without firm ground It reminds of mystery at every step The fabric is thin and who knows what is under There are berries growing blueberries, cloudberries hare’s-tail cottongrass moss of all textures and nuances of grey and green Lapland is wet and dry at once Old pines like ancestral bones Reindeer and toundra rock of a same skin Silver branches seemingly dead glowingly alive Lichen that tell the story of all times A reservoir of endless waters at every step Mosquitoes are the guardians of these sacred lands Three times bigger than anywhere else Clouding the auditive range with the screen of their songs Listen better and you might hear beyond The stronger the filter more obvious its nature And a wall becomes a door Here the veil is thin Here the veil is thin because it is visible
Teaching and learning circle Standing in front of the amphitheater I used to feel like a dot facing a half circle of heterogenous openness It is lonely Now I call my ancestors to my sides what a beautiful circle we create all together
Allegiance Canada I love your red maple leaf in the glorious burst of colours in the fall and your sweet nectar when the spring starts melting the snows I love your summer of circus and creativity in the parks the humming birds back to your forests And I also love your white covered winter Your bikes and joggers in the dunes of snow Legs tired from walking in the snow The tense hips and dry skin Tired kidneys I massage you Canada Your loneliness in this season Your courageous souls of the peak hours The cities where snow is handled like garbage Wildness where the accumulated layers of white silence receive the prints of animal lives I cannot love the past of violence and injustice but I love you, today’s protectors of land today’s protectors of rights I love you reconciliation researchers you who remember the past and especially the future who study the many voices of your story to integrate them into more accurate schoolbooks on your history Making medicine for the pain, the shame, the numbness, all is to be felt I love you diversity and openness kindness I see you and your fights to keep water clean and land honoured and languages spoken I love your smell of sage and your gatherings of wisdom Your sun highlighting from the Atlantic to the Pacific every day the beauty, the struggles, the glory of your living land Your children learning to acknowledge the sacred equilibrium of relations like the keepers of the land always did I am one of you today between people of all colours of skin, thoughts, dreams and clothing Joyful to feel belonging and freedom on this sacred ground I am one with you today and I affirm my allegiance to your land, spirit, peoples, animals trees, waters to our greatest potential and harmony to the four directions to all my relations
How is it inside of you? What does it sound like to be inside of you Is there a voice muffled or clear that rises in empowering loneliness and soul-guided endeavours? Is there an I full of breath? What does it sound like when you write some first lines journaling again after a long pause and the space of thoughts turns into a deafening soundproof room intimate fragrant with the one emerging voice? What is it like the inner climate of at-homeness the voice that is the only one trusted when all else deceives? How can I hear what it sounds like in you when there is skin and air and all that separates us while that is too geographical a view anyway And I stand here in wonder... What does it sound like to be inside of you?
Disappeared from all maps
Winter birds and migratory birds
ask the bird that disappeared from the seasons
– where have you been?
I have been bridging no man’s land and cartography
I have been bringing the unspeakable into linguistic pregnancy
I have been merging the mystical and the practical
I have been collecting and recollecting sense to awaken to
I have been lost in improbable marriages of cycles and timelessness
I have been translating no-where to where
and know-where to unknow-where
and most of all I have been no thing at all
I have no twig or branch in my beak
I come with wings ruffled but strong
feathers that aren’t sleek
Tattooed on my forehead a stamp for crossing borders
invisible
to those who’ve never gone, or never come back
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just a redimensioned “Here”
when I say
Here I am.
Counting towards zero In my last night's dream, it was asked: What would the world be like if we would learn to count not from zero to ten not from zero to a hundred not from zero to the thousands but from ten to zero from a hundred to zero from the thousands to zero Would we draw trees from the branches to the core of the trunk? Would we be closer to our hearts? Would we be satisfied with what is essential? Would we move not according to objects but to space itself? Would we live without fear of dying and joyful of every moment of life? Would we hug more? Would we let all things fall into the heart of the heavens? Would achieving mean reuniting in oneness? Would we trust infinity?
Colour of the nameless The colour of decomposition The memory of reds, yellows, greens vivid vibrations sealed in brownness A letter to the earth Here This is what it is to be in relation to air, heat and light Here are the news of the year At the cemetery, I was told They dye the earth black now Could it be? Why? The way it looks, they said, I say, the way we look at or for and perhaps take refuge in a namable colour But to look into the colour of colours undefined, in progress transforming humble humus and let my gaze decompose together with all thoughts and names is a refuge where all grief is another name for joy I look into your eyes my love Is it even a colour any different? And to be seen by the undefinable recomposes me at once
Eros at Night Sometimes at night when I cannot sleep I know that it is that a poem is waiting to make love to me It comes slowly from the shadow making itself visible word after word Riming beautifully with its own truth It comes as a calm fever And we unite integrating a little more of the world Then we fall asleep bringing our creation into the spheres of the great dreaming Peace by piece meaning reveals itself settling into its cosmic movement The night is inhabited with lovers if you open your heart to them they might visit your mind and your dreams And together you will birth the days and the nights and the dance of the stars.
Initiation Well I know of an inverted tower spiralling into to depths of the earth It was not built to show its might but for us to be showed the treasures it entails The bravest of men visit it ceremoniously and with a healthy dose of fear one step at a time one shade of darkness at a time They are not those to penetrate they are those to be penetrated by the depths of her wisdom An initiation well is no wishing well You don’t court You don’t throw a coin You don’t offer a price for what would offer you comfort You offer your own body all legs, all arms, all head, all flesh, all bones, all mind, all story, all perception As you enter the cosmos the chaos within all things facing all discomfort as you are being scattered to be unified dismembered to be remembered Following only the murmurs of consciousness What makes you want goodness, and love, and truth no matter what they look like What makes you follow Light even when it looks nothing like your known photons I know an inverted tower spiralling into the depths of the night it keeps the secrets of seeds and buds and how they unravel into forms and grow it keeps creating relationships in patterns intricate and simple When I am brave I see it in the mirror and in every face I meet I approach it ceremoniously and with sacred fear Eternally she blesses the living and hosts what manifests the light She knows Stars are only the beginning.
I know of three moons The full moon of my thoughts gives me words and memories and a beautiful image of a white luminous disc The full moon in the sky is always anew and astonishes me with surprises and insights The full moon within me is an illumination With what moon do I want to sit today?
Up the Hudson River As I follow the river back home Cahohatatea, the River, Show me Hudson river, show me the natural direction the most easeful way of being the currency of prayer Show me le contre-courant and upstream swimming the way of aligning, the workings of streams and the flow of miracle Muhheakantuck, River That Flows Two Ways, bring me back home in two at once for the whole to experience space and meeting North-South River, be the compass to my dance the encompassing of the many streams the centering of this body on earth as mission in motion as freeing in unraveling Bring me where direction is a breathing where place is space-intelligent with a step wind- and moon-informed bring me destinationless and heartful to the very great lengths I am ready to be.
March March on, waxing month the ice pearls of February slowly slipping in the orifices of earth pearls of wisdom fertilizing the soil with one more winter worth of growth one more cycle revisited. Sun getting closer again every day we are here with gifts and a long embrace. Shy, the skins in the cold winter air but my heart is bare naked from this very winter, and I am danced to you Sunshine Here is how I move it is language hardly mirrored by the language we have learnt to use it is language forgotten by teachers and writers. No asana has name for how I am moved it goes like this, Yellow - Triangular Eye - The smell of mimosas soarings - Volupté - Chills in T11 - Purple and Black Virgin Mary nursing her Child - Taste of something green and chili - Dark blue square over vibrating azur light - Waves of wind in shining fields - Deaf and mute soft shadow that absorbs all - Icicles - A tearing - Breathing heart Synaesthesia may not communicate best in words as we know them. We are being spoken if we listen more carefully and through granulated and fragmented times darkness that both jams us and gets us to see In and with all the stuff We are being spoken to light. Snowflakes have left tracks of the Merkabah everywhere and I follow the dance and I read with full body the scriptures of intelligence and beauty and I speak with full body the meridians of Word I am being spoken to set ‘freed’ before free to shine all seven rays to emanate the rayless light.
Black Pupil There is a sun turned black, in the sky, after having looked at it for a while. Black sun, bright, shiny, deep and close, it opens what it seals. Pupil to see beyond the dots of yin and yang – there is no drop in one, no stain in the other, it is fully one within the other, it is fully the other through One. Pupil to see the whole of blackness in the light and the whole of whiteness in the dark. Cleansing fire, cleansing charcoal. In, out, dilatation, concentration. Clarity is my sealskin, blackness is my permeability, i wear both, seamlessly sewn. Black pupil, black bright marble in the sky. Third eye conciliating oppositions and dualities, heal our gaze.
Naked Branches in the Sky Branches above becoming one with the night sky My nervous system riming with the branches Dissolve me night so I may be solution Nothing but continuous solution