In Orbit

she is bewitched, bedazzled, befuddled,
blinded by the distant moon
the dark of night can’t come too soon
she seeks its pale reflection
in the light of every day
and yet it seems so far away
the moon will always wax and wain
but in it’s orbit it remains
shining from the sheltering sky

The Fourth World

There is truth in Myth

When I was about twenty-five, I was in touch with the Hopi by post – yes the Royal Mail UK (no email back then).

I don’t now recall how this happened exactly but never mind how. I think it had followed on from some previous Art College project about lost civilisations and ancient symbols.

The Hopi myths has always stayed in my mind.

Hopi legend tells that the current earth is the Fourth World to be inhabited by Tawa’s (god) creations.

The story states that in each previous world, the people, though originally happy, became disobedient and lived contrary to Tawa’s plan.

They fought one another and would not live in harmony.

The most obedient were delivered (usually by Spider Woman) to the next higher world, with physical changes occurring both in the people in the course of their journey, and in the environment of the next world.

In some stories, the former world was then destroyed by a great flood along with their wicked inhabitants, whereas in others the good people were simply led away from the chaos which had been created by their actions.

This was the third destruction of humanity for disobedience to natures laws.

It’s called the Fourth World because in the stories there had been three worlds before.

There are two main versions of the Hopi’s emergence into the present Fourth World.

The more prevalent one is that Spider Grandmother caused a hollow reed (or bamboo) to grow into the sky, and it emerged in the Fourth World. The people then climbed up the reed into this world, emerging from the ‘sipapu’. The location of the sipapu is given as in the Grand Canyon.

The other version (mainly told in Oraibi) has it that Tawa destroyed the Third World in a great flood.

Before the destruction, Spider Grandmother sealed the more righteous people into hollow reeds which were used as boats.

On arrival on a small piece of dry land, the people saw nothing around them but more water, even after planting a large bamboo shoot, climbing to the top, and looking about.

Spider Woman then told the people to make boats out of more reeds, and using island “stepping-stones” along the way, the people sailed east until they arrived on the mountainous coasts of the Fourth World.

That’s the version that stuck in my mind

Little children are often told the story of the sipapu, and the story of an ocean voyage is related to them when they are older.

The name of the Hopi Water Clan (Patkinyamu) literally means “a dwelling-on-water” or “houseboat”.

Upon their arrival in the Fourth World, the Hopis divided and went on a series of great migrations throughout the land.

Sometimes they would stop and build a town and then abandon it to continue their journeying.

They would leave their symbols behind on the rocks to show that Hopi had been there.

Hopi-world-symbol

For a very long time the divided people wandered in groups of families, eventually forming clans named after an event or sign that a particular group received upon its journey.

These clans would travel for some time as a unified community, but almost inevitably a disagreement would occur, the clan would split and each portion would go its separate way.

But, as the clans travelled, they would often form large groups, only to have these associations disband, and then be reformed with other clans.

These alternate periods of harmonious living followed by wickedness, contention, and separation play an important part of the Hopi myths.

This pattern began in the First World and continues throughout mythological history.

In the course of their migration, each Hopi clan was to go to the farthest extremity of the land in every direction. Far in the north was a land of snow and ice which was called the “Back Door”, but this was closed to the Hopi. However, the Hopi say that other people came through the Back Door into the Fourth World. “Back Door” could refer to the Bering land bridge, which connected Asia with North America.

The Hopi were led on their migrations by various signs or were helped along by Spider Woman. Eventually, the Hopi clans finished their prescribed migrations and were led to their current location in north-eastern Arizona. Most Hopi traditions say that they were given their land by Masauwu, the Spirit of Death and Master of the Fourth World.

So, today I was thinking about all this and I wrote a short poem ~

In the Fourth World

Atlantis, Mu, we deny they existed,

Legendary civilisations,

Lost forests,

Old pastures beneath the oceans,

Inundated by ancient flood.

 

Imagine,

all the species gone

since the time we began to explore

in lands beyond our own.

Many more in the last twenty years

with names we don’t even know.

 

Lost tribes.

The silenced forest peoples.

Add their names.

Remember.

They are legion,

in long queues behind our lives.

 

Yes! We face Armageddon

Unless we change.

Only the few will remain.

Take a warning away from this day.

 

People in future times

will say we didn’t exist.

We will become a myth,

a sad story of greed and grief

and the crime of disbelief.

We will become a myth.

We will become a myth.

 

 

 

 

 

#ExtinctionRebellion

Brother Wolf

Through twisted wires that led me to
the world wide web sometime today,
I saw the wolves sit back and howl.

I don’t know why it moved me so.
They touched my heart and made me cry.

They have lost so much to mourn.
So have you.
So have I.

 

 

Triad for Our Times

The Bards (both ancient and new) have a tradition of writing Triads – here is one from me written in response to someone who said that they get burn out from just watching the news

Three things nourish the heart in a time of crisis: clear focus in action, the support of a tribe, communing in peace with nature

Attempting Magic

poets practice magic
by scooping our guts out in public
whilst trying to express some triumph of hope

we may occasionally reach
that special place
the collective
where we all plug in to each other
closer than friends
closer than lovers

caught by magic

Days in Paradise

I see a brightness shifting,
shining,
it falls across a wide white plane –
a wall.
It shimmers,
it dances,
it glows.
The light is suffused with connections
I fail to comprehend.

I am here
It is there.
It cannot be held.
It has no name.
It’s silence.
It fills my small, lately born, heart
with unconsidered, infinite love
and unconditional trust.

Yet grow I must.

How little I know of life.
Some things stay.
Some move away.
That is all I know.

I need but I do not want.
There is pleasure but I have no driven desire.
The words I have learned are few.

Is this hand I hold up mine?

******

The door to the garden is open.
The cat sleeps there in the sun.
I am not the cat.
The cat has a separate name,
yet I vaguely believe the cat’s mine.
Somebody said it was so.
The cat won’t acknowledge the claim.
The cat wouldn’t sit on the mat if I asked it to
The earth is pleasantly hot so I sit beside the cat.

I understand now about blame.
I was told to be good
so I am.
That’s the game.
I sit where I’m told to sit
and I wont start digging again
although I love to make the earth into mud.
Mud is akin to my blood.

The flowers explode
They are fireworks.
Their petals are cups of sun.
Perfumes are gentle sighs.

None of this is mine
but I see the brilliant auras
brimming into my eyes
and stretching beyond my sight.
I love the varied colours.
I love the dazzling light.

******

The autumn leaves
round my mother’s feet
rise in miraculous whirlwinds.
I want to walk faster and faster.
Wherever she walks I must run.
Today is going to be fun.

******

Here enters death to the scene.
No screams.

Deadly silence covers it all.
They hide it behind a closed door.
I skirt around the threshold
cowed as a beaten cur.
If I was permitted to howl I would
I might find some relief
but my heart grew around the deep open wound
of that overwhelming grief,
stitched together hurriedly,
in dreadful, dark resilience.

What is and what is not
doesn’t matter now.
Everything we own is borrowed.
Time is the thing that breaks our wings
before we learn to fly.

******

Door after door
after door after door
lead to realisation.
Experience is essential.
Knowledge must be acquired.

Entering doors
Exiting doors
Exploring without liberation
Until infinite love is a memory
faintly grasped as it slips away.

Life is a search for that love.
Love searches for life
and all roads lead to the door of death.
It stands open
waiting for time.

Free choice and fixed destiny
are sadly intertwined
on that straight path home
that turns and winds away.

Years in a pulsing pit could not destroy me long.
It burnished my wandering soul.
I only want to be whole.

******

Frankenstein’s creature walks alone
abandoned by his maker.
There will be nights
he will think
he has come to know
all that there is to know.
It’s never truly so.

There are nights as cold as a witches tit
and nights that burn him with yearning
and grip his new heart in a vice.
When everything melts into sorrow
every curse happens twice.

Born fresh and made to suffer
we are part of a tiring throng
bound on a moving belt
with nowhere left to belong

To forget is a consummate blessing
until death comes along.

Words are useless.
We forgot the language of angels.
We’re turgid, turgid and bent.

Bell, book and dripping candles
and meaningless ritual days
bring me no relief.
I never believe those lies.
The spirit is rooted in earth
and reaches the vaulted blue sky.

******

If it happens once it can happen again.
This may go on forever.
It may wait for us to stop,
to renew our forsaken pledges
and show that we really do care.

God is in the garden.
God is not hidden in prayer.

******

I remember the sweetness of scented air
stretched out on the open moors
where the plaintive song
of the birds above
the high hard winds at the Tor
resembled a holy choir.

Now we walk beneath
through the mire.

******

We are living in Plato’s Cave
watching ourselves as shadows
thrown large across a wall
and failing to see the fire

The world that I entered has shrunk to this.
We are in retreat.
Delusions have swallowed us up.

My desire to create is both flight and fight
an expression of love to kill demons
when the shadows stalk my sagging floor
in the lonely long late hours.

******

Incandescence,
pure and fresh,
can still be seen through a wavering veil.

I do not cease to seek a glimpse
of the light I once so clearly saw
in the glory of life’s central core .
I’ll surmount this bitter clay
and find that powerful vision
while any days remain

Reflections in rain on ice cold glass
make rainbows of window panes.

Four ponies out there in the snow
are kicking up crystal brightness.
Their tails become heavens banners
in the fields of battle again.

I will be as I was before,
as we are born to be.
Not sad-eyed sitting here
alone, empty,
exhausted, numb,
as sometimes I become.

That light I cannot hold or name
will still on earth remain
held in the winding spirals
of infinite energy.

We surely can be the same.
Angelic, fallen, human.
Our hearts are deeply hurt
but our souls will never be lost.