Yes Alone

SEED "I must travel alone"

There are many views of lonely, stark still or quiver moving;

that embrace being 'alone' with 'lonely' -- fearfully perhaps,
but oft confused with solitude and wrapping self in veils of silence.

One can be so lonely in a crowded room,
or shielded in contemplative singularity and hear a thousand songs,
of strangers met tomorrow, yes?

Closer

Seed: I am shown the way


I stand on a bluff between two trees. One living. One dead.

Gazing over the precipice
I long for dragonfly, flitting in the distance, to come my way.

Perched on the tree stump within my grasp,
ladybug waits for me to notice. She rests on my finger.
Connection. No wishes made. I am shown the way.

No longer alone

We walk a new road

Hand in hand in a strange country
I am shown the way

These paths run gently through the wood
tall trees shade us from the summer heat
Birds of a hundred colours sing our joy

The Ending

Seed: they must be traveled alone.


He told me I must travel alone
but I did not believe him
until the day his wild spirit
fled as the swallows rode
wide circling into the distant sky
and I lay quiet
alone in the wide bed
listening for the voice
no longer near
to learn his truth

Fran'tic

Seed: "into caverns dark and to the morning"

The morning calls or is remembered into existence,

a reward or goal of the 'Dark Night of the Soul',
seen as either both or neither by fine choice and dance.

The caverns dark may be chasyms of dispair and grief,
or secret passages of delight and adventure;
each by each they must be travelled alone.

Cherita for the Silk Road

We have wandered roads together
played and learned and found each other
hand in hand the journey winds
through the back roads of memory
through the pathways of new learning
up the stairs where magic beckons
into caverns dark
and to the morning.
Waking we have joined the circle
glowing dawn forever holds us.

Disolve - CF

SEED: thoughts of dissolving fine illusions

Oh, how we gather and nurture such finely crafted illusions,

sugar drop dreams, truffel trifels and marzipan ghosts
to nestle in gift boxes of compartmented self-enchantment.

Eventually though, as we grow, they must melt away
on our soul's yearning tongue and spirit's churning passion,
filling us with brief honeyed brilliance and memories of creation.

flight plan

seed:
and yearning for another flame

and yearning for another flame
flitting 'round the slightly open door
i've only grown accustomed to the half -light
cobwebs are familiar
do I dare seek more
drawn to heat and light
winging too close could spell the end
perish thoughts of dissolving fine illusions
cracked cocoon of the past
I'll not float there again

The Attic

SEED: “towards the cob-webbed door you move”


‘tis not the natural wards and shields
that give character to doors unknown
and give me pause or spirit rush –

but the cob-webs in the attic of my mind,
where I have safely stayed too long,
sweeping dust into useless piles
instead of throwing open windows,
changing into a moth,
and yearning for another flame.

gray matter

Seed:
because you dare walk the rooms alone


Because you dare walk the rooms alone
Hand unheld, trembling mildly
step by step in semi-darkness
towards the cob-webbed door you move
Pry the rusted lock
It deserves to be pried
Enter the room where you've never been
Remove the dust covers
Sit a spell
Light a candle
Illuminate the space
Breathe in Breathe out
Safe

INSIDE

SEED:
"and I am inside.Inside my house.
Inside my mind.Turning inwardbody and spirit."

And may the languid pools
of your contentment
mist laughing prayers
unto churning clouds of contemplation --

down, down will come message gentle,
as virga, rain or morning dew;
and birth flowers
of awakened consciousness,

because you care to call it home --
because you dare walk the rooms alone --
because you turn to,
and not away.

Day Four

Torrential rain.
Gusty winds.
leaves ripped unceremoniously from the "home" trees
They were in the final throes of "disconnect", anyway.
Wet and musty ground cover
dying to support new life
as a rich and fertile humus.
Day four
and I am inside.
Inside my house.
Inside my mind.
Turning inward
body and spirit.