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:

I'm already

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

 

 

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