Master of Light

There are three subjects most of my poetry is usually about: Love, Spirit and Nature. Even though I consider Dave high in my list of favorite people, I could not fit a poetic tribute to him into that category. And though Dave and I share a spiritual path, I rarely think of spiritual experience when talking to him. Nature, on the other hand, does have possibility, because of his photography and his expression of light therein. This morning driving up 494 it came to me:

Have you seen the light today?
I see it on the sunlit birch stands
waiting for the first winter snow.
It shows in weeping willow domes
yellow with expression.
And in the marsh grass
stark against dark wooded hills.
The few golden leaves that still top young cottonwoods
like summer's standard still flying.
Then the blue sky behind the skeletons
of black walnut whose leaves fall first.
Or the few maples that have not yet
released their claim to autumn
where red and burgundy once ruled.

Have you seen the light today
in the season's progression?
On the road home?
Or in the portraits
by the master of light?

Happy Birthday, Dave!

Mr. Winter

I woke up this morning and heard the wind outside. I thought, It's not long now.

Mr. Winter

Any day now, any night—its coming.
I can feel his hand in motion,
And not by slight brush or wave
We already gave up our summer.
Autumn rolled out the red carpet,
And gold. It knows and is ready.
Not I. Too soon. Mister Winter
Comes clicking on the window so near
With crystal and wind-jeweled ring fingers,
Wants to hit me with white knuckles, fisted.
Not ready. Still hiding in the corner.
My bed is a pillow-padded ring.
Won’t stand for a knock-out, not ready.
Still planning my advance and maneuver.
He may never even know my abhorrence,
Or the hour I decide to fight back.
I start with a lack of cold courage,
but fashion a red badge of cheer.
I’ve tallied and ranked more batting
Grey socks, stripe sweaters, knit gear.
Fear will no longer haunt me.
I’ll reach out and pull in my woolies
And stand to face that cold day.
May even take him as partner
Mr. Winter will not keep me down.

.

Curtains of Consciousness #3

I posted this one too on River Tree Whispers, but decided it is still way too long, so pulled it. Maybe it will never be done.

Curtains of Consciousness

From the reality shift --
sleep to wake and back and forth.
Eyelids -- stage curtains on opening night.
Behind the curtain -- true practice between performances
in the waking world, for acts of service and love
between the opening state everyday
and other consciousness and direct perception
not necessarily remembered,
but still accessible on the stage between the curtains.
Open to the waking world of reality
or back stage to full sleep.
The Director -- there, and here.
Spiritual experience
is between the curtains
of consciousness.
The true stage is set
in vibrant control
and spiritual effect
in that place between the curtains
the crystal clear reality
where creativity is born
and blooms.

Awake now, I write the best I can
the attempt at truth from other worlds.
Now, while still close
I am Soul--I know--
still hums in my ears.
Going back to touch the sphere of creativity.
I try, then close my eyes
to slip back
-- rewriting --
the moment of timelessness.
Seconds or hours do not add
but challenge the balance on stage.
Balance between slipping back
to the comfort of unconscious sleep
or awakening fully to the calls of body
of duty in the world of matter.
We glide, like hard shoes on ice
looking at our feet
or feeling the wind on our cheeks
while saving impressions as best we can.

Glide in guidance be Sound and Light.
Close my eyes and hear it.
See it clearly and almost remember more.
Here between the curtains of consciousness.
So when we wake to sort these realities of spirit
and claim the tense as present,
the person as first --
I know there is another One
that guides these acts of love and service
with the light unseen by most.
Awake, we only see what sleep allows us
the space where time has stopped
between the then and there
or the here and now.
How many times it does not matter
once we know the truth.
We serve It and Life and all
in Love and the Wisdom there.

Then at night before going there for regeneration
I've met you in that place on stage
slipped away with you
to journeys of the heart and soul
for love is never wrong in liberty.
The waking world of matter is not so free.
But love releases fear of time and space confines.
It is a lesson in the book of life
and on the stage we play.

I'm thinking the last paragraph should stand alone--the makings of a new poem. What do you think?

Curtains of Consciousness (#1 and 2)

This is actually the second post of this one. This and the first were on River Tree Whispers before I decided to start Tree Test. So I'm still working on this one. The original version (no longer available) was copied pretty much directly from my dream journal. Needs some fine-tuning yet. Still shaking out the curtains. Or sweeping between them.

Curtains of Consciousness

Words from the reality shift
from sleep to wake and back and forth.
The eyelids are the curtains of the stage on opening night.
Behind the curtain is the true practice between performances
in the waking world we put the practice into acts of service and love
between the opening state of waking everyday
and the state of other consciousness and direct perception
not necessarily remembered,
but still accessible on the stage between the curtains.
Open to the waking world of reality
or back stage to full sleep.
The Director -- there, and here.
Spiritual experience
is between the curtains of consciousness.
The true stage is set
in vibrant control
and spiritual effect
in that place between the curtains
the crystal clear reality
where creativity is born
and blooms.

Awake now, I write the best I can
the attempt at truth from the inner worlds.
Now, while still close
I am Soul--I know--
still hums in my ears.
Going back there
to touch the sphere of creativity.
I try, then close my eyes to slip back
---- rewriting----
in a minute of timelessness.
Seconds or hours do not add up right.
Challenge the balance between the curtains.

Balance between slipping back to the comfort of unconscious sleep.
Or awakening fully to the calls of body
of duty in the world of matter.
We glide, like hard shoes on ice
back and forth, saving impressions as best we can.
Glide in guidance be Sound and Light.
Close my eyes and hear it.
See it clearly and almost remember more.
Here between the curtains of consciousness.
So when we wake to sort these realities of spirit
and claim the tense as present,
the person as first --
I know there is another One
that guides these acts of love and service
with the light unseen by most.
Awake, we only see what sleep allows us
the space where time has stopped
between the then and there
or the here and now.
How many times it does not matter
once we know the truth.
We serve It and Life and all
in Love
and the Wisdom there.

Then at night before going there for regeneration
I've met you in that place on stage
slipped away with you
to journeys of the heart and soul
for love is never wrong in liberty.
The waking world of matter is not so free.
But love releases fear of time and space confines.
It is a lesson in the book of life
and on the stage we play.