River of Life
Bear Creek
Homeless again; can't afford the room
another week; my "home" is a lean-to
hid in thicket out in the weeds,
sitting beside a wet, dirty gully,
my things strewn around me, none of it ready
for the rain…and drops are falling.
It's not waterproof, some things are missing,
nothing is working; the harmony's gone.
Where the heck am I? What am I doing?
Why am I still unmoored so easily
when a few familiar props are gone?
The bright familiar presence withdrawn…
--A recurring terror of childhood nights
>
(though I'm twenty-six and this is broad daylight);
that cold, hollow panic that says I'm abandoned,
cut off from the living, the light, the vision;
falling again from some unknown sky
to land with a thud and sit again numbed
on the earth, a lump of forgetful clay.
And, just when it all seemed so near and clear,
the glory and power pervading the air…!
Am I accursed? Is there ever an end
to this waking nightmare?
…Once more a brightness shines around me,
calling me into a deep reverie,
to listen in silence……..there is a witness…
it may be the birds or the wind in the branches,
or the tinkling trickle of some flowing brook.
I rise from my trance to go take a look.
I pass through a living, leafy veil,
and enter within a world of green
where the dirty gully joins a clear stream
flowing beneath great sheltering trees;
a curved, covered corridor hidden in shadow,
speckled in sunlight, silver-blue skylight,
and the white of drifting cottonwood seeds;
a long, leafy sanctum hid from the world,
a shelter for birds, supplying their needs.
A chorus of praise ascends from the branches,
robins and sparrows, warblers, finches.
Colorful mallards graze on the banks,
and a brown dipper hops from stone to stone,
wading the shimmering currents alone,
diving where the fishsplash ripples.
White wings glide down a blue-lit tunnel,
mirrored below in the silvery stream
which flows through my vision, washing it clean,
coursing like crystal through hidden veins,
absolving, releasing, cleansing the stains…
A silvery V-wake cuts the near waters,
signature of the swift-swimming muskrat;
a whiskered snout, his legs a propeller.
A startle; he spots me and disappears.
But a bigger snout draws near..
powerful hindlimbs, square paddle-tail;
a hump-backed dive and he's swimming away
with a rolling, rippling, graceful stroke
like a sleek brown wave beneath the surface.
There upstream, he's back to his ways,
munching on hanging twigs of trees.
He carries a branch to a brushy mound
to add to its walls or the food he's found.
--And to think that I'd barely seen him!
>
But who would have expected to find him,
a beaver, a native wild creature
of the mountains and streams of Colorado
living here on the edge of a city?
--Hallelujah! There's hope for us all
if a beaver still has a home,
place and provision under the sun;
and so the robin that nests in the tree,
the muskrat, the mallard; and even me--?
I sit on the bank in the heat of the day
and watch as the currents flow away,
bearing my recent panic with them,
sweeping around each hard obstruction
and closing behind, no break in the motion;
water bears no wounds or divisions.
And as I let it carry me home,
its laws, its nature becomes my own,
flowing unbroken through my vision,
til I can percieve, as for the first time,
the warped lens of fear which covers these eyes,
which has nearly always kept me from viewing
the world and its life as one, whole, and holy
(as the truthful heart yet sees and knows.)
--How could I ever, nor anything living
exist apart from the source of my being?
I am not, could not be cut off or forsaken;
I am no less a part of Creation
than these. And the words of an ancient wisdom,
a voice behind the wind softly whispers,
"Do not be afraid of the universe."
The River of Life ever flows from the throne,
the Tree on its banks bearing fruit in all seasons,
its leaves for the healing of the nations,
the heart, and these eyes still so much in need
of faith.
Inside Passage
Summer high noon doldrum blues;
the creek but whispers, the birds are mellow,
the beaver must be sleeping
amidst this muggy heat that wraps me
up like sticky cellophane.
The brilliant colors have faded away
to hazy noonday glaze;
or is it my eyes? I want to see!
Son of David, have mercy on me,
Barefoot, I step into the stream,
inching across the miry moss,
looking for safe passage across
to dry rocks. I hang my feet there
in the cool and rippled water,
and watch the swirling currents play,
dancing light and shadow patterns
all across the sandy bottom.
I gaze til I am one with the motion,
energy, color, time rushing onward;
and then I forget the passage of time,
forget the observer, become the observed,
become the motion, become the moment,
become the streambed, yet-unmoving,
supporting, changing, yet unchanged…
And suddenly the Mystery
flashes through a corner
of my eye……..and it's gone,
there and gone, always there and gone…
Yet something remains to be seen,
there congealed in living form:
A school of minnows near the bottom,
flashing silver in the sun,
darting in and out of shadow,
camouflaged, partly hidden
where I'd never thought to see them.
(How can you find when you're not seeking?
Who can show you what
you're not prepared to see?)
And like the Mariner of legend,
I leaned over and I blessed them
for this sudden change in perception,
for opening my eyes to see
the small and rare and unexpected;
their being living miracles,
their being there at all!
And soon all the world was filled
with living wonders without number,
living jewels of scale and feather,
chitin, lace, and gossamer…
dragonflies that dart and hover,
tiny orb-weaving spiders,
butterflies and caterpillars,
ladybugs, each tiny creature
caught my singular attention
by the creek. How sorry I felt
when I squashed a small red beetle;
how absorbed did I become
in the work of a busy ant!
--Somehow, a participant,
a friend and brother to them all.
What a vast, intricate world
lies behind the soft green curtain
of the grass, hidden in smallness,
close at hand, near as a heartbeat,
and yet unseen by human eyes--!
Worlds in worlds, tiny cosmos coindwelling;
millions of worldhoods, each living thing!
Worlds in streambed, worlds in meadow,
worlds in forest light and shadow…
A velvet moth alights on a rockface,
white butterflies wings interlace
in their whirling spiral-chase;
honeybees weave through the daisies,
bumblebees come land on me
like my shirt were a big flower.
Laying here within the rapture,
all-absorbed with tiny treasures,
I try to see myself a dweller
in the forests of the grass,
poking through their tangled paths,
climbing stalks as though they're trees
swaying in the summer breeze;
harvesting these fallen seeds,
gathering all nature's bounties.
--How it would be to be tiny,
giants looming all around me…
I lay me down and try to see
through the forest leaves of grass
as through stained cathedral glass
painted in thistle, clover, and hayseed,
silhouetted in the sunbeams
pouring from a golden sky.
--Would that these shallow, sightless eyes
back to their source and fountainhead,
to the apex of their brilliance
like the eagle's of old legend;
and further yet, to see beyond
the blazing curtain of the sun;
to gaze with pure, unblinded sight
upon the very Father of Lights…!
A hawk hangs in stillness,
a shadow in the sun,
wingtips poised in every pinion,
a thing of earth transformed
to high perfection,
weightless hovering,
feathers touching fire,
sharp eyes scanning downward
to meet mine searching skyward…
I climb a hill, arms outstretched above me,
trying to embrace the descending glory.
Fire touches earth; the world is so bright!
I live, move, and breathe
within a shining sphere of light!
Love and radiant wholeness, joyous throbbing fullness,
the all-embracing center in which things cohere,
shining all around me, moving all through me!
I fall prostrate on the summer grass,
and all the world stands still
as the glory passes by.
And as the clouds catch the evening sunset fire,
I wonder how His train fills the temple of the sky!
…Radiant processions, hosts with streaming banners,
waves of red and silver upon the upper Ocean,
rippling forth from the orb on the horizon
now seeking its rest amid the purple mountains,
completing the glory of this eighth day of Creation.
