Poem – Remind

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.

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Beauty and Life Everywhere

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The Simple Reminders

Poem – Woods

In the woods
we take the worn path
of hard dirt and decaying leaves
following the recent activities
of coyotes.

Consistent and plentiful rain
has filled in empty spaces
with the silent guardians
reaching to the morning sun.

Morning Sun

Morning Sun

Poem – Dreams

Dreams

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.

Robinson Jeffers – Carmel Point

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.


From
“The Selected Poetry of Robinson Jeffers”
Edited by Tim Hunt
2001, Standford University Press

John Haines – City of Orphans

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.


From:
For the Century’s End
Poems 1990—1999
by John Haines
Seattle and London: University of Washington Press.

My religion is the open empty field

(1)

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.

(2)

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.

(3)

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.

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Dogs of Summer #3

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.

Fields Waiting to Be Explored

Fields Waiting to Be Explored

Leading the Way

Leading the Way

Pond in the Field

Pond in the Field

A Respite from the Rain

A Respite from the Rain

My Companion

My Companion

Indian Grass

Indian Grass

Ravens Circling

Ravens Circling

Ever Vigilant

Ever Vigilant

The Voice in the Forest

Fading Light

Fading Light

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.

Victoria Woollaston @ in5d.com – Quantum Physics – Death Is An Illusion

Originally posted on Higher Density Blog:

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by Victoria Woollaston,

http://in5d.com/quantum-physics-proves-that-death-is-an-illusion/

Is death an illusion?

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.

Professor Robert Lanza claims the theory of biocentrism teaches that death as we know it is an illusion created by our consciousness.

‘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…

View original 546 more words

The Light Settling in the Woods

 

Light Settling in the Woods

Light Settling in the Woods

Old growth trees line a worn path cut from loggers decades before.

The floor is covered with fallen needles and moss.

A single white birch exists within the pine trees and glows no matter the time of day.

Red squirrels run up tree trunks and jump to the next branch.

If this is a dream, if this is a reality that is both here and not here, I have found the perfect place. I have perfected the fields I wish to walk within the rest of this life.

But these moments are fleeting and pass like seeds on the easterly wind, carried for distances beyond what we can see, into the realms of the mind and the buried experiences.

How do we unearth and keep alive the existence where we are most happy, where suffering is kept to a minimum?

The light reaches over the tree tops and the forest is flooded with white pulsating energy as I close my eyes and walk into the open arms.

Dogs of Summer #2

On a somewhat grey and dreary day we headed north to the fields and trails near the Wild River, the St. Croix. Alone on sandy trails well suited for horses, we circled the empty field through the forest and made our way to the river. Beneath the grey sky, we felt the presence of life, animals, and trees absent of sound. The two deer that crossed our path did so leisurely as I assured them we are guests here, just passing through.

In previous journeys here through the thick woods, I knew that John Haines was here walking with us, with an eye for details and subtle nuisances. Today he was here also, but we took this in as a whole, all of the nature seen and not seen, all of the light passing through us, with us, and a part of us.

The empty field, the river, forest, trails, sand, and the animals all served as a reminder that this is home, this is birth, this is where we came from.

The Empty Field We Visit

The Empty Field We Visit

Keeping Watch

Keeping Watch

Keeping Watch Also

Keeping Watch Also

Sisters Resting

Sisters Resting

The Wild River

The Wild River

 

Dogs of Summer #1

Summer is not quite here, but that does not deter the sun, warmth, and life within the forest. The well-worn path lined with decades of growth, birth, and death is never lonely, is always filled with the voice of the forest. With a gentle touch and respect we spend our time free of the city, free of industry. We ditch thinking and revert to instincts and run free.

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Dog’s Path

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Sisters Taking a Break

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A Quiet Home

 

Poem – Let Go

There is something in the forest
seen and not seen, the light
scatters, ebbs, and flows.

I am being watched and
I feel safe and not threatened.

I walk toward that light
with outstretched arms
and feel warmth as I
enter the beginning
far removed from the end.

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Poem – The Foundation of Each Day

Like a drone on autopilot
I rise when the alarm cuts through the night
with no thought or question.

I drive the long road through
the sleeping city
past windows and doors leading
to lives I do not know.

I, like them, struggle with
the burdens, expectations, roadblocks,
doubt, and the surprises life throws
each day and the emotional toll.

Another day at the office
pushing paper and pen
saving files, filing reports
and trying to catch a breath.

Back onto that road so familiar heading
home for a respite
to the foundation you have built
the life I would not have without you.

Retreat Vignettes – #2

Tall pine holds up the sky
free of clouds as the sun
passes overhead.

I look beyond the tree tops
through the holes
in the sky at the
first star winking
in the twilight of
a spring evening.

I am alone in simple thoughts
free of burden but I feel
an eye is cast in my direction.