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

River Song

Tonight we sleep under velvet skies
As we count the days since the caravans have departed in winter’s wake
I find the beloved in a hundred murid images
The clues hiding deep in these crossed roads of a poet’s second-hand notebook.

For those of us left behind to finish with this wayward stroll
The milkiest way is full of light from Andromida’s way star bright
With nights of Blue Moon, Cowboy Junkies, and Sweet Jane
Least we forget the rain, the sky and the Hawk from on high.

Steel on steel will make the rails sing
But tonight my song is for the river the Lakota call Wakan Tanka
Take me into your murky debts amongst the sunken cypress logs
And renew me in the pure water of southern rain.

With great respect and warmth, we bid the day adieu’
May our dreams ever fall true for another nights review
And with my eyes ever-smiling across the waters wide
It’s good to ride the river with you tonight.

©jc2020-9

Image by Pixabay

So This Is Love

*copyright 2020-9 all rights reserved…images by pixabay

So this is love, of something or other.
Merlin locked in a tree by his one true love.
Kerouac his scroll of the open road unfolding before us as we traverse space and time to the hemispheres where dusk and dawn constantly kiss the sky.
Into the mystic, the slip into the stream sounds like Tupelo Honey… sounds like the love of something or other.
Tolstoy finds the correct words and purpose in the simple life of the lowly peasant…
as he holds Anna’s hand, the train roaring in the
For Poe, its the Raven calling out from his chamber… forevermore, forevermore on that cold Baltimore night leavingv a trail of tears and a bottle of cognac.
And yet for others, its pain when it’s honest and it’s honest when its pain.
Stranger things do happen inside the lucid mind where large is small and small is large yet they meet in the narrow inspiring insight and sound in the very words we speak yet we never hear as they catch us bit by bit and surprise us at every turn.

All In Time

As many of you know I struggle with Parkinson’s disease. In the years since my diagnoses so much has changed either because of me or in spite of me… work, moving, kids, meeting new friends and renewing old ones. Never was I one to try and deny my circumstances for it was cathartic just to know this is what ails me, now what can I do. Sure I tried to conceal my tremors and the way I walked but time has a way of liberating all secrets. In the guise of this generative, physical and cognitive condition I do battle with the dragon time and time again for time comes to the aid of every decision under heaven, be it an angel in heaven or devil in hell. There is much truth in this as Perceval and the ailing Fisher King, seeking the question, “what ails you, Sir, what ails you”? Compassion flowering the good earth. Perhaps it is also a bit like Nathaniel Hawthorne wrote, “man must not distance his brotherhood even with the worse of men.” For sometimes your the dragon and sometimes not.

copyright jc2019-9… images by pixabee

The Mystic is Nine

“Let your soul and spirit fly into the mystic” -Van Morrison

Find something, anything, which is so encompassing that in a given block of time it enthralls you to get lost together in unconsciousness. Such things are beyond space and time, it is bliss and one only questions the indignities of why when not doing this transcendent work. Indeed others drown in the waters the mystic swims in.

*Image by Pixabay

©jc2019-9 Happy New Year, ask and the numbers shall guide you.

  

The Shirt of Flames

“ Love is extravagant, in the price, it is willing to pay, the hardship it is willing to endure, and the strength it is willing to spend. Love never thinks in terms of “how little”, but always in terms of “how much”. Love gives, love knows, and love last…”
-Unknown Continue reading The Shirt of Flames

Echo’s In The Dark- Words

“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 an old damp cave or a treasure chest under the sea, scattered amongst pages, worn out pencils and to-do list, I’ve collected fragments of writing 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. Continue reading Echo’s In The Dark- Words

01/20/17… The Day The Music Died

ROZ6I3LEBWAnd as I watched him on the stage, my hands were clenched in fisted rage
No angel born in hell could break that Satan’s spell.
So bye bye Miss American Pie
-Don Mclean

As rabid dogs and swine are digging a new swamp on hallowed ground
While the goats feed on every word of twitter’s class clown
In Russia, they celebrate for they voted too
And in London and Paris, Berlin and Madrid and all across the pond
They sing ”madman across the water” for me and for you. Continue reading 01/20/17… The Day The Music Died

Consider… The Soul, Vol.1

DIKNMVOV9MAll parts away for the progress of souls;
All religion, all solid things, arts, governments, all
that was or is apparent upon this globe or any globe,
falls into niches and corners before the procession of
Souls along the grand roads of the universe.
-Walt Whitman, Song of the Open Road, Public Domain.

Birth
After the seventh sojourn, I see the unborn soul glide through the universe on its way to birth in the tangible realm. Its mannerisms, shadows, Continue reading Consider… The Soul, Vol.1

Onward To the Palace Of Wisdom… Compassion

IMG_2486Our life is a circle that takes us back home, to the essence of innocence, but with the knowledge that living begets… the eternal search for the Grail. – JC

The quest for the meaning of life is that there isn’t meaning; it is the journey, the path, and ultimately the experience of being alive. The experience is groundless and being mindful and joyful in this labyrinth of sorrows is the “trick”, as the Buddha would say.

Still others believe the meaning will avail itself only when every living creäture reaches enlightenment. Thus, the work of the Bodhisattva is not completed until that promised day. Continue reading Onward To the Palace Of Wisdom… Compassion