You do not have travel far
to find or be in nature.
Sometimes it is hanging on
the door waiting for you.
Emerging from the past
into the present
I continue to pursue the future
always chasing the light
whether day or night.
I now walk into the wild
away from you and
closer to the true
being within, away
from the falsehoods,
and toward the truth.
I now walk into the wild
free of labels and expectations
free of some grand design.
I will remember you
not for any moment
or the almost kiss we shared
but for your innocence
and the beauty you hid.
In the wild I am not lost
as silent beings larger
and older than myself
stand across the river
and witness my transformation
and my ending.
I walk the worn dirt path
circling the overgrown fields
where the winds have abated
and the grass, flowers, and
trees have grown deep
roots while the land has
gone back in time before
the cities of industry.
I am broken and
beneath the evening sun
my pieces melt.
In the moonlight
I am made whole again.
We age from the burden
of each day’s moments,
trials, and tests.
We lose track of time,
people, and who we are
individually and collectively.
We lose where we are in the world
until nature reminds us.
In the woods
we take the worn path
of hard dirt and decaying leaves
following the recent activities
Consistent and plentiful rain
has filled in empty spaces
with the silent guardians
reaching to the morning sun.
Children in the summer
Chasing dogs through
Fields open to the big sun.
Thoughts free of burden
Free of time they explore
Worlds beyond this one.
Always a step ahead
And pushing forward
They become the stars we see.
So what happened?
Where did our dreams go?
The older we become
The more experiences we obtain
It seems our dreams become fantasies
And we become rooted in reality.
Yet we will continue reaching
Back to reach out to those stars
Through reminiscing and visiting
The places of childhood.
We know something is missing
We always know the child was right.
The child was free of outward voices
And able to reach deep within and
Hold close the energy the fuels and
Drives who we truly are.
Never let go of dreams
Never let go of your true being.
The extraordinary patience of things!
This beautiful place defaced with a crop of suburban houses-
How beautiful when we first beheld it,
Unbroken field of poppy and lupin walled with clean cliffs;
No intrusion but two or three horses pasturing,
Or a few milch cows rubbing their flanks on the outcrop rock-heads-
Now the spoiler has come: does it care?
Not faintly. It has all time. It knows the people are a tide
That swells and in time will ebb, and all
Their works dissolve. Meanwhile the image of the pristine beauty
Lives in the very grain of the granite,
Safe as the endless ocean that climbs our cliff.-As for us:
We must uncenter our minds from ourselves;
We must unhumanize our views a little, and become confident
As the rock and ocean that we were made from.
I typically read and have been influenced by John Haines nature poems and memoirs, but this poem is timeless.
How strange to think of those street
sand vacant lots, the sandhills
where we played and dug our trenches;
the forts we built, the enemies
we conjured to aim our stick-guns at,
and then went home at evening,
to victory, to safety and sleep.
And now the vast acres of rubble,
the pitched and roofless houses,
upended stonework and sunken bridges.
The dog-packs roaming, digging,
for the one still-unclaimed victim;
the stray sniper aiming at dusk,
and in the roadside fields,
flowers that explode when picked.
The children wandering from one
burned suburb to another,
seeking that which no longer exists:
a neighborhood, a playing field,
a wading pool or a standing swing;
for a kite to fly, a ball to throw,
or just one pigeon to stone.
And through all this haunted vacancy,
from cellars and pits of sand,
come and go as on a fitful wind
such whispers, taunts and pleadings:
the scolding voices of dead parents,
the lessons of teachers no longer
standing, whose classrooms
are blown to ash and smoky air.
And far-off, unheard beyond the drone
of a single hovering aircraft –
in Paris, Zurich, Prague, or London,
the murmur of convening statesmen.
For the Century’s End
by John Haines
Seattle and London: University of Washington Press.
I passed through the window looking for the outside and landed back here in my mind.
When did I find this scene? I have never been here before but with closed eyes I smell the trees and summer afternoon. I can easily recall sepia-toned memories of the rusted red swing set surrounded by a chain link fence in the yard across the street from the old school that is now a church.
Do we ever leave behind childhood? No matter the desire and effort to push away from, to bury, to set fire to the house built for protection, a place to hide… it is still there in dreams and in passing and in the air you breathe.
Concealed beneath watery dreams, steam rising from the black tar, and autumn’s gift to the earth, I found what the wind guided me to… a portrait sparingly resembling myself.
I did not realize until then what I was even looking for. I did not know I was lost and scattered to the earth. I had never seen my own face.
In this moment of clarity, I let go of the self in the present and relinquished to the past, giving up the concept of moving through forward time into unexplored seconds. When I realized I have been here before with closed eyes, the space infused with scents of home.
Myths and legends of god’s thrones in the mountain passes, of spirits in the valleys and of the gateway hidden in the cloud shrouded peaks.
The snow mist and snow drifts conceal not only the mountain but ourselves as we lose and strip away false hoods and misconceptions of self.
I left this body, the only one I knew, and drifted into the open spaces.
Turning I saw what I was or I am and felt no regret as I drifted through the open fields into the valley and through the mountain pass.
Each visit to the open fields casts away burdens and questions. Each visit dips the body in water and bathes the mind in light. My religion has become the open field that opens the mind to limitless knowledge of the infinite universe with hints of my path and genesis.
North to the St. Croix River we headed on a perfect grey and rainy summer morning. With just one puppy for this trip, Vinny and I quickly hiked 6.5 miles through prairie, forest, and along the river. For Vinny, the world is a buffet and she tasted all nature had to offer.
I pass trees on either side, deeper into the forest and further form the fields, leaving one realm for another. I feel no fear of the unknown land I am nearing, and at this point there are no active thoughts of what I am leaving. I carry only the moment I am living and move with no effort.
Far from the fields I sing wordless songs. I sing to exposed tree roots, moss covered path, squirrels and birds. I sing to the sky free of clouds, and to the circling ravens. I sing to myself as the forest closes around me until my voice is completely silent.
Originally posted on Higher Density Blog:
Most scientists would probably say that the concept of an afterlife is either nonsense, or at the very least unprovable.
Yet one expert claims he has evidence to confirm an existence beyond the grave – and it lies in quantum physics.
‘We think life is just the activity of carbon and an admixture of molecules – we live a while and then rot into the ground,’ said the scientist on his website.
Lanza, from Wake Forest University School of Medicine in North Carolina, continued that as humans we believe in death because ‘we’ve been taught we die’, or more specifically, our consciousness associates life with bodies and we know that bodies die.
His theory of biocentrism, however, explains…
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