Evening Tide ‘You and Me’

On this road, my life begins
Forgotten love, forgotten friend, a forgotten child that dwells within…

Who could show it all to me as we sit on the edge of creation
Perhaps in another time, another place
So what part of me have you become
Is it you or is it me?

And in this love, I commence doubting
What part of me can I live without?
Who holds the mirror that reflects to me?
Who I think I am to be
Is it you or is it me?

When I seem too far away
In a hole where you can’t play
And if I leave will regret win out
A pain I wear that leaves a doubt
Oh whom I think I am to be
Is it you or is it me?

Mirror, mirror on the wall
Of all who’s left a mark on thee
Who’s the fairest one you see
For within another I see me.

*copyright jc 2020-11 images by pixabay-9

Echo’s In The Dark

I would hurl words into this darkness and wait for an echo, and if an echo sounded, no matter how faintly, I would send other words to tell, to march, to fight, to create a sense of hunger for life that gnaws in us all,” -Richard Wright

In a musty old cave lie’s a treasure chest and inside are scattered amongst the various pages of an odd notebook or two contain collections of poetry and prose without a home, with no prospects in sight. These words are to the point and do not own any lavish pretenses of grandeur. They simply speak their truth as directly as possible, such as the truth a child will convey out of sheer innocence. I fear that these short verses will fill volumes if I allow them as much and bring me to task for my truth. But I will do away with my unwanted disposition of fear and let this long and winding road of words take me to where they might lead, to the river of my memory, with its rich loom on the alluvial plain of my mind.

*copyright jc 2020- 11 by 9 image by pixel

October

A state of mind…

“All things on earth point home in old October; sailors to sea, travelers to walls and fences, hunters to field and hollow and the long voice of the hounds, the lover to the love he has forsaken.” -Thomas Wolfe

The richness of fall to the last leaf, the last birth, the last miricale. But we’ve yet to realize that in death life must rise again. In this, we may lose light to darkness but we are gaining something far more precious; a mystical light.

Days of light growing shorter give way to darker days and the merriment of witches and goblins by months end. The ritual of Halloween, a precursor to the holiday season as death and decay allowed one last dance. County fairs and festivals are familiar to October as a sense of community; coming home which guides us to Thanksgiving, Christmas, the New Year and ending with the Feast of the Epiphany on January 12. 

The reflected light from the setting sun causes brush strokes of orange and blue…the night sky seems clearer and closer as the cat sleeps longer… dogs bark louder…hobbits drinking beer in the post-dawn sun… bats are returning from a hard day’s night as squirrels gather nuts and acorns for their winter stores… the pumpkin patch…scarecrows…red-tailed hawks.  

Autumn begins in late September under the cusp of the September equinox in the Northern Hemisphere. In the Christian calendar, this is known as the Feast of St. Michael… the darkening of days into longer nights. This year we can add a lunar eclipse to this sacred threshold as the dust settles on the last days of September, the world bundles up tumbling toward the shadowy world that is October.

The richness of ‘fall ‘colors, create a sense of wonder as it hides the secrets of death and decay as we are holding on to the last leaf, the last miracle of life. But we’ve yet to realize that in death life must rise again. In this, we may lose light to darkness but we are gaining something far more precious; a mystical light.

October is a ‘thin place’. Thin places mark the boundary between what was and what is; light and dark, good and evil, the reconciling of opposites; this is the month for meditation, mindfulness, and awareness. For one can easily get lost in October’s beauty and live forever inside the mind.  However, we are not meant to live in only one hemisphere. We are of both, time and space. And we can make October a month of peace and transition.

Days of light growing shorter give way to darker days and the merriment of witches and goblins by months end. The ritual of Halloween, a precursor to the holiday season as death and decay allowed one last dance. County fairs and festivals are familiar to October as a sense of community; coming home which guides us to Thanksgiving, Christmas, the New Year and ending with the Feast of the Epiphany on January 12. 

But what does October mean to me? Looking back over my life, it appears October has been a singular event for me in many ways as the first frost like a sheet of crushed ice across the top of lawns and the roof of houses and barns jogs my memory. The end of the harvest… the harvest moon… the music of Bach… sleeping with the windows open… old dogs warming their chilled bones by the fire… geese fly in formation… blackbirds… bats rising up from the rafters of the barn heading toward a nocturnal ritual…the sweet fragrance of Gardenias… the delicate colors of Pansies… freshly brewed coffee… the season’s first hot chocolate… days of contemplation and wonder. The birth of my daughter,

Still, other events I associate with October are the end of the fishing season and the beginning of the hunting season…the picking of apples and the season’s first taste of apple cider… long walks in a deep wood… the laughter of children out for recess in the chilled air… the sweet taste of sugar cane…my grandmother’s red and white checkered apron, reading Poe’s Raven by the fire.

The reflected light from the setting sun causing brush strokes of orange and blue…the night sky seems clearer and closer as the cat sleeps longer… dogs bark louder…hobbits drinking beer in the post-dawn sun… bats are returning from a hard day’s night as squirrels gather nuts and acorns for their winter stores… the pumpkin patch…scarecrows…red-tailed hawks.  And so much more… jc

copyright jc 2020-9… photos by pixels

Solstice

“The best and most beautiful things in this world cannot be seen or even heard, but must be felt with the heart.” Helen Keller

As equal days and nights embrace each other  in a dance of the highly mystical, the winter solstice appears at a time of great change when the earth readies herself for the harsh winter that enables the spring by way of the autumnal season when the harvest is reaped . And as the hay is in the barn, the first frost has settled on the roof of houses everywhere as the smell of sweet wood resonates from the hearth. The pumpkin lay in the patch waiting for Halloween and the sheep have returned from the highland. Everything is as it should be or is it ever really? 

Solstice literally means ‘stand’ and the whole of humankind seems to obey as the sun keeps a watchful eye on the frozen north for the river run is deep and wide as it is long even when frozen. All is as it should be when the gatekeeper to the Land of Nod holds you to the sacred task… riddle me this… how do you keep the one you love? Love is not kept nor can it be as a flag of selfishness  flying over its castle walls. Love is patient, love is kind, love is good, love is all.

…copyright by jc, 2020-9, image by pixabay…

 

Perceval

Just as Perceval left the forest in search of the Grail he knew little about, there are new adventures at hand for you and for me that we can’t at this time perceive… new worlds to embrace and old ones to conquer. But it’s all for naught if you never enter the world. I have done my best to teach and guide you… to keep you on the road to the secret knowledge which reveals itself at a moments notice never to return again.

So my final advise on this day of reckoning is to breath deep and fly the middle way through the Southern Cross as you touch the Aurora. Beware of flying too close to the sun, as well as deep oceans, and keep firm in the face of adversity. For it is the manager who was going through it was just so he could be the same and I cannot it would have a lot to say that never speaks out who walks about as though he were already in the grave.

Copyright- JC 2020-9

Valhalla

I said momma can you tell me about the love between the moon and the deep blue sea. How long did they ride the tide to the horizon where little secrets are told from afar that no one will ever hear. I remember our wings where we promised the world to one another. Running wild through miles of smiles talking to the clouds amidst the spent leaves of oak trees crushed under the foot of our shoes. And here we found the secret in the secret rite of spring… all things must pass and likewise return… the sailer to the sea, the farmer to his fields and the warrior to Valhalla and its hall of 108 doors said to be in waiting for the return of Odin.

*copyright jc 2020

Infinity

Important thing for the week to go back home is that

Impossible dreams that eat at the moments, one by one. in a cold blanket of fear and doubt… false initiatives that fade like the setting sun. I could be somebody if I could only wake up.

But the Phonix must rise again for another round! And now, the time has come; realization has its moment. For you discover that the key to your prison door was with you all along… now live, breathe and be in each moment no matter where they happen to fall. Shout yes skin your silence with a steady desire to constantly believe in the better nature of all sentient beings.

We are infinity and we chose not the wrong path, just one that’s meant to give direction. Like pieces to a puzzle on a dining room table… you can’t resist, pick up a piece and place it as we follow the moon to get to the sun.

*copyright 2020 jc *photo by pixapen*founded by jc 2014

The Sun, the Rain, and I

What should one do… stand-still in the rain, umbrella open, covering every inch of your body from the raindrops falling asunder like water in a perpetual storm, never-ending, no never-ending. Or maybe one should throw the umbrella aside and splash head-on into the blissful waters shouting hallelujah, ” I told you so, I can defeat the rain”.

We find ourselves wanting to be braver than Helios and defiantly trying to drive our trusted steeds into the darkest of night defying the sun god his nightly victory over space and time. What one must do and hasn’t much choice is to defeat the dragons nine. I have Parkinson’s disease and on any given day I can either walk under the safety of an umbrella or splash my way thru the rain, mud flying all over me.

Almost out of a dream I witnessed some time ago that if one goes steadfast into the direction of there dreams things happen as if out of a magic hat, the universe overrides the objects that are not needed and in other ways summons forth objects that are necessary. Everything we thought was so obvious for so long is finally so obvious.

*Copyright jc

Barataria

We were like Panza and Quixote, chasing dragons in a land of myth and make-belief The moon held your father in your eyes as your grandmother rose with the sun
Never gone, no not really ever gone… so was the pandemics lament.

In the story, I chose the inner light as I bow before inlet eyes
I was always a far eastern man at the razor’s edge, like Somerset in Paris
This enlightened rogue has not subsided but all things must pass or do they
I still sense the same ten thousand things crying out for understanding.

So remember me at Barataria by the myriad names given call to you
My true love waits for me at Barataria on the bay or by the sound
Waiting for me to find out what it means to miss, to want, to love all in the leaving.
And my leaving precludes any waiting I may possess in my wanting.

© j c

A New Mythology

Snow falling in the Mississippi darkness rolling down to the sea.” –Steve Goodmen

Recent events of the last few months still seem as foreign to me as snow falling on the Mississippi Delta. In as much as these singular events have happened before, they attest to our true colors, which are heroic and also a bit blinding at times. Still in other moments we seem to not be able to find our way home to where we owe at least a semblance of the truth. However these days the gods offer us a strange new set of hero’s… health care providers, nurses, bus drivers, first responders… they are the brave and all too few are left to deal with the aftermath. To all of us who maintain six feet of separation from one another we feel inadequate at our position in the ranks. We’ve built a fortress around our hearts and now the battlements must be set on fire

But through the flames and tears, I hear the laughter of children or is it the sounds of wildlife, a multitude of species teaming through woodland, wetland, town and country alike. Birds of all sizes and colors all returning to ancestral lands. The chemical skies and rivers below begin to clear as smog dissipates from major cities all as recorded by the eternal eye of time and space.

Is it really such a surprise that in our absence, nature is capable of making such a recovery to a time and place she knew in another age yet in the distance of only a month or so? Do we really think that we can go back to things as they were? Or should the so-called ‘new normal’ really be an ambassador to a new way of thinking? An archetype to understanding what was once hidden so deep but is on the verge of becoming. A new mythology for the Earth and its children.

“copyright 2020-09 jc… image by jc”