Weeds

Standard

 

A tangle of weeds and grasses

growing with abandon

on a hillside

without name or country,

beyond the reach

of orderly lines

laughing and dancing

in the afternoon breeze

with insects buzzing throughout,

reveling in

what cannnot be grasped.

 

Russell Rosander

3/3/16 Barra de Navidad, Mx.

Advertisements

The Great Escape – Part Ten

Standard

The Great Escape – Part Ten

……..and then there was that time, it was in the spring I believe. You know how undependable memory is. How time changes everything. There were still patches of snow on the ground and the old mining and logging road was muddy in places.

It was still kind of cold, but seemed gloriously warm after what we were coming out of. Winter that is. The pipes had unfrozen. It was morning, I think, and correct me if I’m wrong, it was a sunny day. A beautiful sunny day. We were in the Siskiyou Mountains on Althouse Creek, walking. Just walking. That’s all, just walking. Not talking at all.

We didn’t have any idea what was going to happen next, all the changes we would be going through. Permanence was not something we had sought or thought about yet. We were still so very young. We didn’t know that a year later bulldozers would come and obliterate any trace of our existence there, or our tenuous, experimental family would tear asunder, divided from within, or that it would reform into smaller circles, because love never dies. It just sleeps sometimes.

But the old ghost mining town of Browntown, once called Tigertown, was still standing and very much alive. It had no electricity, but it was electrified.

Anyways, I remember we were walking up the windy road and it was such a beautiful day, full of newness and beginnings. We had just spent our first winter in the mountians and we were feeling good. We would soon be living the summer of our lives. Later we would discover that it was henseforth, from that point, that all our lives would flow. At least it was that way for me. You’d have to ask the others to be sure. It was for Chuck too. We’ve talked about it many times. Chuck called it a school, and we learned more about life in that one year than all our years in public school. It felt like a lifetime.

We were walking, just walking, neither slow nor fast, up to where the bridge crossed the creek, up through the dark, wet, dripping fir and pine and madrone and oak trees. I don’t know who I was walking with but it was someone.. Funny that that fact, not knowing, doesn’t discomfort me at all, that it actually echos our state of mind at the time because we were so OPEN. We didn’t know anything then either. We were all so full of possibilies, and we were oblivious to any kind of suffering or loss.

We just stopped there and looked down into that springtime, roiling, tumult of rushing water. I can still feel water spray on my face and hear the thunder of it echoing in my ears, and I just stood there looking into it. Just looking into it. IN TO IT! I felt so incredibly high and I wasn’t stoned, not stoned at all. It was so beautiful. So wonderous. So so awsome, I felt as if I had stepped into some alternate universe, but it was still this one all right. It was just this amazing, totally unexplicable thing!

I don’t remember walking back or even if we did walk back. Maybe we just floated through the air, and then I was up in my funky little attic room above the double barrel woodstove, cozy and warm again and I wrote this poem. I’m sorry if it doesn’t quite catch it, that experience, but it is what it is, and here it is, resurected after all thse years:

Snow that cannot say they,

water that cannot say we

flowing together

as changes come,

always!

Come down to the river,

come down too!

It’s going so fast,

no one can see where it’s going.

SO FAST!

Someone says:

“He’s trying to damn it up,

but it still flows.”

The big stones never move,

could never confine a river,

it just flows through, around,

always,

Endless; Endless;

Endless.

Browntown, 1971

To be continued………..

In The Light Of My Being

Standard

In The Light Of My Being

Insects, the most beautiful butterflies,

particles of dust and ash and pollen,

the exhaust of machines and vehicles,

seeds drifting,

leaves falling,

swimming in sunlight

and reflecting all that energy,

all that exuberance,

the pulse of creation

beating in each feather and wing

and leaf and fibril and molecule,

so beautiful, so beautiful,

dancing, dancing with me

in so much joy,

singing, chanting,

in the air of my breath,

in the sight of my eyes,

in the beat of my heart,

in the light of my being.

The Tree of Life

Standard

There is a tree that´s branches spread

so far we cannot see it.

Far beyond the scope of

your or my vision.

Through it´s veins flow

The nectars of all life,

Just as blood flows through ours.

 

Each leaf is a delicate splendor,

but only for a season

Of every shape,

each bearing the basic form of the whole,

stem, veins branching out,

as ours do.

Each leaf, individual, as if separate,

but each is also connected

and essential to the tree,

collecting the energies

of the sun and stars,

transforming them

into sustenance

for the bark, the heart

and the roots so deep below.

 

It´s blossoms of many colors

are so brilliant and lovely,

so radiant with beauty

they can cause the heart to ache.

Their aromas so exquisite and varied,

our senses swoon in wonder.

Their seed is the spawn

of all living things,

scattering on the wind

in constant re-generation,

in the past, today

and tomorrow.

 

So does each leaf,

fluttering to the ground

in the breezes of autumn,

if only for a moment,

see, at last, the whole?

Realize the source of it´s creation,

and know its´s being has mattered

since before beginning

and on the journey

round again?

The Creator is the Devil

Standard

      The Creator is the Devil

 

The Creator of the universe

is a master of disguise,

appearing

in a myriad of forms.

 

Sometimes,

he has visited me

in the shape of the devil,

a thief in the night,

in the guise of

one who has not come far

along the path,

who perhaps

has no idea who he is,

and even if he does,

does not fathom

the damage he causes,

and when he has left,

I ask,

Why me?

 

The temptation is

to say,

He should be punished.

Lock him up

and throw away the key.

To pass judgment and sentence,

For I,

am the righteous victim,

Teach him a lesson.

 

That is what we have been taught to think

in situations like that.

Close up, tighten the security,

build a new wall.

 

But if we ask,

How does one judge

the creator of the universe,

What lesson

is the creator

teaching me?

 

Maybe,

what the creator is saying,

is you are on the path.

Your possessions don´t

matter any more.

They are only distraction you don´t need.

I gave them to you,

and I can take them away.

Because you are on the path,

what you have to gain

is far more important

than what you have to lose.

 

Then,

the correct answer is,

open,   let,   let.

 

For at the end of the day,

it is I

who have created the devil.

What I am witnessing

is the unfolding of the universe.

It´s all just activity,

motion and energy flowing.

There is really,

nothing to possess.

 

I create the devil,

when I make the label,

when I name it.

Each time I feel

ill towards someone

or want to hurt another.

Good and evil,

is just a human construct,

the result of our fears of loss.

 

All suffering and joy,

give and take,

conflict and harmony,

the beautiful house built long ago

and now gone to ruin,

civilizations rising and falling,

are all just the actions

of the creator,

experiencing existence.

 

As water seeks it´s own level,

over and over again,

from sea to cloud

to rain to river

to sea,

balance comes and goes.

The moment it is achieved,

it is thrown off,

because the world we live in

is in constant motion,

what is created

is always destroyed,

for the great creator of the universe

is also the destroyer of the universe,

and there is beauty

in the fire as well.

 

Why this endless cycle of life and death,

being and not being?

 

So that each star might shine in turn,

each river might flow to the sea,

each bird might soar

through the air,

so that each flower might bloom,

and so that every soul

might discover

it´s oneness with it all,

and the love and wonder

of being

along

the path.

Enigmatic Beauty

Standard

Enigmatic Beauty

 

I have seen you

Disappearing into the shadows,

A mere glimmer in the periphery

Of my vision,

Brief glimpses,

Often caught

In moments of inattention,

Your faint traces

Alluding to a beauty

So unfathomable

It may be fatal to behold.

 

How similar you are

To those fabulous,

Yet imaginary birds

That flit so shyly

Through the tangle

Of secret branches

In the dark forests

Of my mind,

Singing so sweetly

In my dreams.

 

And not knowing

Who or what you are

Or might be,

Or what trouble

You might bring,

I watch for you

In furtive glances,

In cautious vigilance,

Waiting with dark dred,

Yearning,

To see you again.