Tag: rewilding

  • A mercuric lake

    Campfire
    Photo by Ville Palmu on Unsplash

    I have many thoughts trapped inside my head. I cannot free them because they are thoughts without words to go with them, or the words that might go with them are inadequate to express those thoughts. Trying to express those thoughts feels too much like, as Alan Watts would have put it, trying to bite my own teeth.

    If I managed to construct those thoughts into something that could be understood, if I could find the words and unstop this mute mouth — would anyone read them anyway? I mean, really read. I am fairly certain that they cannot be words that can be heard, so I do not dare speak.

    I have for a very long time tried to personally touch these thoughts, hoping to better understand people who struggled in much the same way as I do now to express inexpressible thoughts. Now that I am on that path, I understand their struggle. There are no words, we need a new language altogether to get at the words needed to explain explain explain. Maybe, I think these thoughts can only be expressed sideways, with a slipstream sense.

    After I slip into the wilds, do you think you could find me? Would you want to?

    The buzz of insects over a mercuric lake…

  • two-twenty

    sunlight shining through old growth woods
    Photo by Simon Wilkes on Unsplash
    my body is my drum
    humming at two-twenty
    thumps per minutes
    from my thumb, terraforming
    my world before my eyes
    turning inside to see
    where everything is
    leaves and evergreens
    with buzz wing dragonflies
    dancing pastel skies
    slumbering in dream
    under a springtime sun

    hanging words on oak
    my heart bursts wide

  • hear her

    a path in the middle of a dark forest
    Photo by Wes Hicks on Unsplash
    fever head her
    birch song wind
    russet leaves dead
    sleet ticktaps pines
    as she stands strong

    hear her, hear her
    under the wood
    alder sap & painted
    hear her, hear her
    underdark
    underwood
    shadowsonged

    fever head her
    blackthorn pricks
    stone the river run
    river under ice
    and brambles strong

    hear her...

  • Of Underways

    They walk in underways, mirrored in us while raven laughs of treetops wending and above for all our blind eyes, all our deaf ears stopped up with the cotton of tomorrows never known. They lived in us once, too, and ache at our immaturity.

    People think me mad to stare at unseen campfires while my bed is burning, making mumbles at the slow folk gathering ’round as they warm their bones against the steel nights cold. At least the stars shine bright below on frigid nights, along with mother moon pale down in the skies.

    The madness is in ignoring the folk, not in engagement. As they say, the stone would tell if you just gave them space to share the tales. Rushing, most people are enthralled with the ghostly glow pouring from their hands to succumb to the rocks’ demands. They cannot balance their earth and their rivers, everflowing faster and going nowhere fast.

    As I said, raven laughs, raven is the watchman, amused as we move in circles and never going anyplace — least of all fast. Dead, blind and stupid.

  • The Dust Settles, But Not The Moss

    This morning I was able to identify the buggy element of the commenting system and now things seem to have settled down on the site in that respect. Or, rather, comments and WordPress.com integration have been behaving as expected all day and I’ll count that as a win.

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