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

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

In Vagabond Dreams

Not all who wander are lost”
-Tolkein

No, we are not lost but locked hand in hand with a destiny not always understood. We set forth not by force or a lack of responsibility but in love; a love which rules with the heart’s intensity for truth… jc

I’ve arrived back from my sojourn, none the worse for wear guided by Hermes, the messenger of the gods… seeking the grace of his good council. Such wisdom as has been drawn from a cauldron of nine maidens for centuries on end.

It isn’t necessarily the physical miles that earn one trust on the road but if the distance isn’t owing to any fan fair or parade as such but to what might be called an eternal state of mind or being. For example, how bizarre would it be to see the eternal in William Blake’s grain of sand, to sense it on a spiritual level? The miles that role can achieve this phenomenon for you. Some may call this day a daydream but all give evidence toward a spiritual exsperience.

As we see that it is the journey that is of most importance and not necessarily the physical destination. So what of this trip we’ve been on. It is indeed relative to call it long or even arduous. It’s relative to each of us.

One feels the need for the open country, the crowded city, the mesmeric ocean, or the reclusive mountains at any one point in life. And as time moves on to an uncertain fate, so does the wandering spirit we give title to as the gypsy, the pilgrim, the bohemian.

Is our faith blind? Maybe not, but still allow me to sail to the other shore to live, to learn, to contemplate. And I will be sure not to walk before its time, to only setting forth when the red-tailed hawk appears in the new dawn light with a secret from the sky and calls me on to another home.

images by picsabay copyright-jc-2019-9

Dreams, the River and You

Sacred River, A Meditation  
The sun settling silently on the big muddy, grandfather of all rivers as thoughts come and go and we mourn and celebrate all that life offers. My sacred river, churning and turning the secrets of all born to its code. But someone forgot to tell the river that it’s secrets were not to be entrusted with the likes of ordinary men. So the Mississippi flows south on the compass of life, an open oyster for all the world to behold the failures and successes of untold thousands waiting to be witnessed… all in good time… all in good time. Continue reading Dreams, the River and You

Arianrhod

We began our romance deep within the confines of a world we conjured from the depths of our harmonious souls; a land of green pastures, thick forest; days of bright sunlight; afternoons of gentle rains and at nightfall, a celestial array whose radiance was only diminished by the luminosity emanating from my beloved. Call it Eden, Shangri-La, or Valhalla; we were its only inhabitants and the sole owners of all we felt for each other. The moat around our paradise was deep with swift currents, the bridge drawn and tied up, and no one dared to trespass who might take it away, for we were otherworldly and human prowess ceased to have any power here. Continue reading Arianrhod

Dragonfly

As children, we ran thru fields and meadows and trusted woods. Dragonflies flew around us, amongst us, hovering above us.  Born of the water, they originally were thought to be the water nymphs of the great god of the oceans, King Triton,  where all waters meet. Continue reading Dragonfly

Natures Truth

It’s said that the Angels on high are joyously whenever someone turns their back on the everyday life. That‘s the journey, as Van Morrison sang, “From the dark end of the street to the bright side of the road”. The signs along this path are the inkling of a universe wanting to speak to us. Every turn is a lesson, the winking of an eye, which is contemplated only by those who stay young at heart. Continue reading Natures Truth

The Starry, Starry Night, Van Gogh & Parkinsons.

Science looks to find the connection between Parkinson’s and Creativity

If you hear a voice within you say ‘you cannot paint,’ then by all means paint and that voice will be silenced. -Vincent Van Gogh Continue reading The Starry, Starry Night, Van Gogh & Parkinsons.