With the slow-dropping blink of the Fox Eye Moon,
I bow low and bury my Zen robes.
Forever an anchor,
like tears for those who have crossed over,
or that grandfather stone I found in the crook of an Ojibway cedar,
or those light-swallowing feathers from that druid cloak offered to a Samhuinn fire,
I honor it all,
release it all,
and turn to face the final direction on this journey of learning,
stripped naked by the season of deep inner-working.
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The leaves are turning...up on Yonah Mountain.
Though not fully here,
down in the foothills and flat lands the Autumn Spirit whispers:
You are being prepared.
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Despite the darkening of these times,
I still feel love on the move in parts of this great earth.
The way a hound leans in against a knee to say:
I am here. I am traveling with you, cousin.
The way the autumn wind blows
thousands of acorns to the forest floor, singing:
thinking of shade for you
for when you will be
old men and old women.
The way a tendril of tobacco smoke from a pipe
becomes a memory trail to a softer time,
both in front and behind.
A raven on a branch groks-groks:
Slow down. Slow down.
Waking, sleeping, focus on dreaming.
It feels good to strip off one's summer skin.
With it -- new movement of once-frozen rivers beneath the surface.
May the spirits support you wherever your navigation may lead.
As for me,
I have no more words
for this movement back to ordinary reality.
I only know this:
There are no longer the Two Worlds.
There is only the One.
(c) 2017 / Frank Saizan Owen / purelandpoetry.com
sound: Steve Roach, Early Man