Friday, January 06, 2006

Dame and I

Well, the sight of me in an old wash tub,
may be more of mirth than novelty --
feet sticking out from being fair tall,
and well earned paunch above the suds and all;
and my Em wished longish hair (no grey at 61)
may need a second rinse or three
from a tin can with holes punched
like my grandma did for me.

I'm not much for sittin' in a tub,
but will dance in a waterfall,
or just let the spring rain wash away
that which would cling to me --
yet I welcome the Dame's ready hand,
and scalding pot from the open fire,
for no matter what one's will and craft,
there is that spot you just can't reach.

but I will come as clean as I can …


SWEAT

The salt water that I carry within my veins cries out for return to the seas of its birth. My humanity, of course, seeks to climb the mountain peak and bask in the flux of desert heat and snowy cold. In journey, my spirit is caressed by the breeze and flower and animal cry. I need not yearn or choose a path for Adam's dominion over physical bond. It is mine by right, though I am not sure where my authority and accountabilities lie. Perhaps it is enough to enjoy, and by careful action to insure that others might do the same. But still, there is my internal fire that burns in harmonized death of millions of cells to protect this saline bond with earth and sea. My spirit strives for surrendered call to follow with Ancient's footsteps in repeated climb to hill and cross. Yet, each drop of sweat from my labored assent drops to Mother Earth in another real claim.


My path is short compared with that single drop which will filter through fractured stone to which a billion years is but a minute of growth. Yet, each layer of sand or crystalline spread is not a barrier, but a chance for that drop to blend with history and carry forth a message to the dripping spring or tumbling stream. The whole world washes clean of the dust from my feet. Oh, but that the dust that gathers in the corners of my mind be so purely bathed away! In a basin I can wash another's feet and feel my spirit renewed as well. I can plunge into a mountain pool and retrieve man's discarded effluvia and articles of disrespect. I pray that I can learn to recognize the useful, supporting themes from the bombard of trivial dreams and claim on intellect.

We speak of "peace of mind," but it should be concern for "piece of mind." The ability or gift to consciously select a chunk of useless thought or habit and toss it away without regret is not yet mine. The layers of my history's gathered pebbles are not sufficient to filter pure the distractions of uncharitable thoughts or my apparent need to classify as good and bad. So, what to do?

.........................................

hope the Dame has a backbrush!

faucon


4 Comments:

At 5:49 AM, Blogger Imogen Crest said...

Very inspirational!

 
At 10:36 AM, Blogger Luna said...

The salt water that I carry within my veins cries out for return to the seas of its birth.

I love this!

 
At 1:26 PM, Anonymous Heather Blakey said...

the Dame does have a back brush Ken. This is one of your best pieces. As Monika points out, it is inspirational.

 
At 4:41 PM, Blogger Leonie Bryant said...

This piece touches my soul, it's power flows out and fills my heart with humility.

 

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