from an evolving collection entitled Sun Lake Moon


In the next five seasons there may be a time

when — light on pillow —

the bright midnight moon

whispers in your upturned ear:

Sit up, Lazy Bones.

I know you're weary

but you have work to do, my dear.


If this is something you hear,

spirits of inner-blooming have come for you.

The Mother of the Tao is leaning closer.

Odin's raven of visions is tapping on your window sill.

Ghosts of priestesses

from the inner chambers of Epidaurus

are singing:

You have no more time to spare.

You have no more time to spare.

You have no more time.


Now you know

you must work out The Great Matter

…once and for all.

Now you know you must be mentored

by what the body needs most.

Now you know

you must become a good ancestor.

Now you know

you must complete that book

of incantations and recipes

for the ones who will come after you.

Now you know

you must reach for the tattered map again

and take back up the old custom

of night-flying on your own soul-lit wind.


In the next season

there may be a time

when you'll see that

none of your daydreaming

has ever been

a random brainwave.

Powers of earth and earthing

are choosing you for rebalancing.

Powers of earth and earthing

are choosing you as a shaping-ally.

Powers of earth and earthing

are choosing you

to wipe the red dust from your eyes

and become an apprentice

to the true meaning of new beginnings.


(c) 2018 / Frank LaRue Owen / purelandpoetry.com

sound: Zazen / Lotus Rising / Chronotope Project

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