Poetry Love Crown

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For the past three years , no one had spoken to me , spoken about the ancient spiritual truths with me since leaving the island , this island of great calling . I had to learn by myself to grow alone in fortitude and to cling to the meaning of a divine name once given to me in ceremony by my teacher , a name that symbolized “courage “. There was a mystery about that man , a mystery I wanted to unlock like a rusty gate with honeysuckle and fern caught in its small key-hole . The past I had spent here was different now . I was changed too and the island felt smaller like a blurry ghost in the distance , panting with a sorrow of long ago , a sweetness and a sorrow that wrung my heart . . .

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Sitting alone outside the yoga courtyard , a cool overcast morning , I saw her pass by on a bicycle ( I had never seen her before ) . She gave a hand signal to turn , a clue that she was from Europe . I felt a small , sharp , piercing inside my body and just sat very still for awhile . And then I knew everything was alright and life was exactly how it was meant to be and with this acknowledgement , a gust of music blew thru my braided hair loosing and setting it free and it comforted me . I had a letter to mail and walked to the post office and suddenly again , a feeling of fire burning me deep inside … she was exiting as I was entering … I looked , for a quick moment , into her small close-set eyes and saw a recognition between us and too , I saw her eyes merge into one large beautiful eye of translucent light , the light of a goddess . She was perfect for him . I felt her strength and was surprised at how tall she was , larger than me , and beautiful like a cloudless blue sky morning .

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I walked and walked , an enormous silence enveloped in my soul . I wanted to be near the beach , near the cool water to calm the fire in my heart . I walked slow , panting from the mysterious moment so unexpected of seeing my lost loves , new love . And then as suddenly as it had occurred , my past detached and the freedom of its acceptance was like a waterfall , an untamed waterfall so clear and fresh like cool air molecules of the wooded pine where I had once rode horses with my beloved . And a new gust of music overwhelmed me in its joyful sound , rushing like the note of a gentle flute above the pounding of a beating drum  . Feeling in the presence of a rich and gripping masterpiece that I was surrendering too , a white car passed me from behind , down North Beach road … it was him ! … he glanced at me  … I saw his face … but he didn’t know it was me ( or didn’t want to stop ) . I stood silent on this immense island between  sand and sea . A single tear fallen , a voyage flowering , cascading like the river flow of my heart , while no one speaks to me . . .Image

 

Eastsound Bay by meg dickerson

 

remember the fish on the shore

love was a glowing blue eye

remember we stared and stared more

and then found a place on the bay to lie

two lovely eyes

a winter to die

two lovely eyes .

 

remember my statute that would cry

its broken arms you tried to heal

you came over me like a holy light

following the fish on the shore for more that night

two lovely eyes

a winter to die

two lovely eyes .

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” Freedom and love go together . Love is not a reaction . If I love you because you love me that is a mere trade , a thing to be bought in the market , it is not love . To love is not to ask anything in return , not even to feel that you are giving something … and it is only such love that you can know freedom “. … Jiddu Knishnamurti

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Reality Interlude #3

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Awakening after my first evening on the “Empire Builder”, I am grateful to my green vintage coat , that used as a blanket , kept me warm in the chill of the night train . A train immense in its pounding power and gentle in its rhythmic rocking , the wheels touching fast the metal track sounding like a lullaby from outer-space , the velvet sky embracing the swift movement of the mighty train beneath it . I remember something … Sleeping , I had a dream , a dream of a train wreck with the luggage thrown all over and name tags I could clearly read , floating in the air with clothes flying about like the spirits of ghosts . And I saw my old friend too . I saw her young and on a beach holding a framed in glass photo of her and her now dead  lover when they were young , young and very beautiful . She begins running away from me on the waters edge , her long , auburn in the sun , hair flowing down past her narrow waist …

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The train is now somewhere in North Dakota passing thru Fargo last night where the plane was bound for when Ritchie Valens and Buddy Holly died in a crash , known as ” the day the music died “. We passed on thru Devils Lake , a remnant of a glacial sea the Indians called  ” Evil Spirit Lake “, believing the loose rocks were the result of a mammoth struggle between thunderbirds and water monsters . And on thru Minot , known as the ” Magic City ” because it grew overnight , like magic , the moment the Great Northern Railroad announced it’s route and too , where Al Capone used the town as a central hub for his liquor smuggling . Gazing sleepily with stardust still in my eyes making my sight blurry , I watch a rose colored dawn appear out my window as we pass by Fort Buford , the sad place where Chief Sitting Bull surrendered after the Battle of Little Big Horn in 1881 and I hear a melodious note of a crying violin .

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The breakfast car is just opening , it’s 6:30 . The waiter seats me at a crisp clean table with three others who are already looking at the menu . We introduce ourselves … this is a very polite car … where the passengers seem on their best behavior . Let me introduce you to George , Cathy and Matthew , the following is what they revealed to me :  George and Cathy have been married 45 years . George is Greek , retired and a sportsman who really wants his 14 year old grand-daughter , Isabella , to become a TV weather woman because she’s a wiz at math and could make a lot of money in this profession . But instead she already is a trained , professional ice skater who won’t listen to his good advice ! Cathy , as small and short as her husband is tall , wears no make-up and is naturally pretty . We talk about creative personalities and her career as a ballroom dancer . They tell me I would love Boston . And now as the food is served , silent Matthew comes alive . He is a rather plump , unassuming man in his 40’s with wonderful eyes that look directly at you with kindness . Living in a condo in downtown Philadelphia , he walks to work , owns no car and is traveling to Seattle just for the enjoyment of it . He asks us only one question , ” How are your pancakes “? and when Cathy says , ” delicious  “, Matthew exclaims ,” Ditto”! ( obviously a foodie ).

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The train of insomnia comes to a stop again in the middle of the North Dakota plain because of the right of way of the freight trains . As the four of us admire the beauty of a sparrow , outside the window , sitting on a tall blade , a sparrow out of the nest for the first time looking for a cricket in the tall grass , we say our goodbyes . Returning to my seat , still sleepy from the nights dreamland crossing , a message appears on my phone ….. “she died last night “.

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All photos taken on the train