House of Being

The sound of wind through the trees
in a soft rushing wave
awakens the forest
in the bright light of morning.
The tide travels back
filling the coves and beaches,
refreshing the creatures
that cling to the rocks
and in burrows below the sand.
Do you hear the calling,
how silence beckons
with the wind its emissary?
The sea stretches far,
your eyes blessed by the distance,
the wholeness of life present
with invisible touch.
You recall the architecture
unsullied by confusion,
the house of being
broad in foundation,
graceful as it reaches to the sky.
Entering under open porticoes
we return as if we never left
and from the great hall
the sounds of music and laughter.
Joy is the treasure, free for the living;
enveloped by that mantle
we walk in the light.

 

 

 

photograph by Rebecca Hynes

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Reading of “House of Being” with music by Diane Arkenstone

 


Rushing Tide

Spring grasses surge
as soft rain falls on the greening land
lifting us from winter sleep.
From caverns beneath the cold ground
ancient voices stir and ghost dancers
move their tireless feet
to the pulse of earth music.
Above and below urge us on
across the waters of time,
toward the grail
that holds the lost truths
of our mysterious birth.
Out into the rain we stumble
clawing on our oilskin jackets,
answering only to the sea
and the rock bound shore
as we forge our way
in the rushing tide
of awakening.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Reading of “Rushing Tide” with music by Art Patience

 

 

 

 


Fool for April

The sound of gulls,
of raven, crow and nesting geese
in their morning cloche…
then silence.
Silence like gravity
holding the earth
with the weight of time.
Silence the currency
of the guardians,
opening vision
to wind on the water,
the hunger for light.
Silence in the writing
of invisible touch,
erased then scored again
on the sea and sky
in the calligraphy
of the eternal.
Few may be who read
the manuscripts
yet the writing continues,
etched with heaven’s desire
for earth to come free
of winter’s veil.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Reading of “Fool for April” with music by the Velvet Underground

 


Mail Boat

Early morning under clear skies,
I load our trash and a few tools
onto the Mail Boat
and ride the channel
with the pilot and a passenger
to Deer Harbor.
The old boat putts along
in the slow diesel stroke
of an earlier time
before the rush of horsepower.
The sea softly rolls in light winds;
snow capped mountains frame the distance.
I hesitate before these journeys,
not fear of water as much as losing home.
The older I get the deeper I root,
walking among moon shadows,
hailing Aldebaran and Sirius
and Luna’s first quarter.
I’ll work on our boat at the marina
then grocery shop and return
with the afternoon mail.
I come and go with the ease of these times
yet an unspoken part of me never leaves
and to that fertile darkness
I truly belong.

 

 

 

Loon – the Mail Boat

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Reading of “Mail Boat” with music by R.L. Burnside

 


We May Rise

The tree that grew on the hills above Jerusalem
was cousin to the juniper growing here
on this rock shelf above the Salish Sea.
Stately furrows, roots like cable,
branches bearing delicate spindles
to capture the rain and light of this spring day.
We cut and shape these trees
as we did that one on Golgotha
those centuries ago,
forming it to a cross
to bear the weight of love.
It is a heavy burden
and one many choose to reject.
I remember that terrible day,
the punishment of the Via Dolorosa.
Here and now there is only
water, light and stone
and the body of forgiveness
taken down from the cross,
placed in the earth
and from the earth risen,
as we may rise
into the sunlit presence
speaking to us softly
in the murmuring voice
of the endless sea.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Reading of “We May Rise” with music from Passion Week by Alexander Grechaninov

 


Rope of Stillness

I sit quite still
in morning light
becoming like the trees
in deep-rooted silence.
Mountains rest beside the sea,
the tide moving slowly
in the first hours of ebb.
There is an old song
in the hushed music of the earth,
of ancient stone, rustling leaves
and the daylit dreaming of the forest.
I climb the vine covered walls
using stillness as a braided rope
and drop like a cat
into the garden of the eternal.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Reading of “Rope of Stillness” with music by Jack White

 


Finding Faith

I count the days
under cloud filled skies
as the long arms of winter
slowly recede.
My hope like raindrops
falling to the wet ground,
finding faith in the dark soil
for what surely rises.

 

 

 

photograph by Sandy Brown Jensen

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Reading of “Finding Faith” with music by Carlos Santana

 


Lighting the Way

The sky closes in,
gray water and strong wind
surround the island,
dissolving old stories.
I’ve failed you many times
yet still I rise to the day.
Dallying is no good,
better to strike quickly
and release the inner gifts
supple and undying.
Hardened memories break open;
from the shattered past
the seedlings of love
lift into the storm,
fearless as ancient warriors.
The pure in heart
find strength in the wind,
courage in the wave
and against all odds
light the way
with inner flame
into the chaos
of the morrow.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Reading of “Lighting the Way” with music by Jack White

 


Taste of Freedom

Light rises in the east,
the sky a blush of orange and pink
to greet the earth with morning.
Winter’s peace yields
to the cleansing spring,
the melt of mountain snows
swelling the rivers
with the joy of high water.
This may be a season like no other
when fear is swept from the land,
the corrupt in a flood of purification.
The gods of earth and sky
have only rested,
the season of renewal
coming like the dawn.
Those who love will love still
as the long genuflection to death
is forgotten beneath surging waters.
The sun has not forsaken us
nor the earth our humble prayers.
Let us rise with the light
and take a breath of the redolent air.
You’re not mistaken,
it is the taste of freedom.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Reading of “Taste of Freedom” with music of Beethoven’s Sixth Symphony

 


Mystery Unfurled

With a muddy road ahead
and a steep wall behind
decisions aren’t as important
as the resolve to continue.
Keep faith with the flowering trees
and align your thoughts
with the strength of the tide.
You will be disappointed,
wounded again and again
but you will not fail
no matter the oppressor.
The inner deity will shine bright
and the mystery of your spirit
unfurl in the gathering dark.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Reading of “Mystery Unfurled” with music by Ennio Morricone