Remembrances

  Yesterday I was walking Sky (the Corgi so named) and I looked up and saw one of the hawks circling, a rich reddish glow of sunlight on his back as he banked and turned. I stopped and watched briefly, then walked on, but soon heard his unmistakable call above my head. Looking up, I saw his mate, a bit to the south. He was calling to her and, I believe, to me. Slowly and easily they circled, closer and closer, a sublime dance in the vast clear sky. I stood transfixed below, gazed in wonder and awe as they drew closer together, turning and turning in the gyre, in the flame, towards the bright sun. I whispered, "Ah! my beauties, I cannot follow thee, where you are going, not yet. But I will carry you in my heart, and write the story of this moment, your winged grace, your eloquent vision."     I walked on home. The line from Robinson Jeffers' poem came to mind...."give your heart to the hawks." It is not in Roan Stallion , but looking there, I found this: --------...

        Photo by Mark Hirsch     Hymn to Gaia Beside a river flowing Reigns our queen Thy gold-orbed scepter raised Doth bless this land. Behind thy throne Green poplar, cypress rise That grace thy ancient forests Wild and deep. Upon thy gown Red pomegranate bloom, Sweet Aphrodite's sigil on thy stone, And round thy throat Bright lace and pearls entwine. In reverence I stand before thee now To thee I sing thy glory crowned with stars! Thanksgiving, 2020 Tarot reading:

  Tell how you found an eagle feather that summer in a midden near Atlin, that old mining town by a pristine lake in northern British Columbia. Tell how ravens and eagles attend this midden, engaged in constant sifting of humans' cast off fish-bones, half-eaten meals in paper boxes, leftovers and waste: all the used up, unwanted things piled up over years or centuries. Still Raven finds treasures there; Eagle scans the detritus for mice, ruffles his feathers, grooms himself calmly for the climbing, diving strike. A downy feather, plucked by his own beak from his ruffled breast, drifts to earth. We scavenger humans poke also among the rubbish: a small clear glass bottle a broken toy a camp chair a single grey-white feather... Tell how, the day you left Atlin, that young eagle found you, flew across the road in front of your car, turned and paced you at eye level before veering and rising aloft, saying: Travel swiftly with my vision feather! be worthy of my gift, take it with you in ...

Newgrange Winter Solstice Photograph by Cyril Byrne - The Irish Times In 2007, I traveled to Scotland and Ireland to see the megalithic stone circle at  Callanish on the Isle of Lewis, and the Karrowkeel and Newgrange passage tombs in Ireland. I couldn’t have imagined the powerful emotional, spiritual and kinesthetic experience of being in these ancient sacred places. Newgrange was especially powerful for me. Walking down the narrow entrance passageway, where some of the stones are close enough to rub your shoulders, you come to a cross-shaped chamber with a marvelous corbel vault ceiling. There are three niches, with incised stones and large stone basins on the floor. A guide arranges the visitors along the walls so that the path to the back wall of the chamber is clear. He extinguishes the artificial lights, plunging the chamber into utter darkness and silence. Then, he turns on a single 40 watt bulb whose beam is directed at the back wall, simulating the winter s...

Language, paradoxically, can perpetuate and reinforce the illusion of separateness, while also offering a solvent for its dissolution. It is the task of the writer, and all artists, to work the transformative alchemy of boundary dissolution and unifying integration in the crucible of their craft. Big Sur River Inn August 15, 2010 Something about this place immediately induces a feeling of calm and well-being in me. We are seated at a table outside on the deck, shaded by a colorful umbrella. The lawn slopes gently down to the Little Sur River; sunlight dances on the stones in the clear flowing water. You can never step in the same river twice, or so said Heraclitus – a wise man, it would seem. Perhaps in unconscious recognition of this, people have dragged wooden Adirondack chairs into the stream, arranging them in casual groups of two or three or four, so that they might leisurely while away the hours in the dappled shade, while dogs and babies cavort in pleasant harmony a...