questions shaped like Ezekiel angels, spinning rapture, spinning warnings,
guarding, then falling as second shadows from my own within an almost, but never quite articulate echo.
BUT
there can be graced "unlikely's" too, can’t there? maelstroms with no mal(ice) - repurposing tumult towards soft hope and secretly splendid mundanity within rare events that happen all the time every day- perhaps it’s just become rare for us to notice them. sublimity slips by our storm radar. i like the word maelstrom - i'd assumed it meant a malevolent (mal -bad) frenzy of a storm, but it's actually descriptive for whirlpools - water not sky - in unpredictable movement. once, i met a particular storm miraculous - a dizzying progression of definitive items made from momentary thought and chance spinning towards lovely effect, even amidst sorrow and anguish - such contrast can clarify and emphasize their worth, though so many go unnoticed. i try to notice. and so, i am obliged to give you this example etched in serendipity's generous analogues, it allowed our souls (Sheldan's and mine) to retrieve what we needed from the harrowing sky, upheld by the wings of compassionate hawks.
meteorologists were happy to explain all the intricate components of the film's title, but i don't know all the pieces of the miracle that allowed our few minutes to come to bear - these here are a smattering of the jiggy pieces i was aware of- and they continue to endure, age well and hold in my very soul-memory.
+1 where does wind come from?
a child's question sorely mistreated in an era of false gods: human’s secretly worshipping ideas. where does wind come from? as a child i asked and received - some disappointed air molecules and different temperatures and pressure
and uneven heat and high low brow broo ha hoo hah (huh?) even the adult couldn't have bought at heart level, edification synonymous to vandalism of all beyond imagination, stripping away the ineffable gasp we dearly need and somehow lost. i imagine most children (sighing sighing long) long for something better somehow, something deeper in mysterious and more truthful ways. an abject "i don't know - not really..." from a wide-eyed, childlike unsure adult. i don't know ...
answers are easy to find and good for toppling- like blocks, whereby we build another and then, same again. could we spend more time in question realms- remember quests? important journeys , that we might arrive at even more uneven oblong lop sided lovely eye spinning four faced many winged angelic questions. guardian seraphim arching over the children in hallowed recall - the language of science humbled and hence, beautiful again - harken back to when we spoke about the music of the spheres, because first they spoke to us, and we were quiet enough to hear. but most children eventually get true questioning educated out of them …
i never quit questioning- i just stopped asking aloud. i waited. saved the ? as a sacred symbol, mysterious totem - seemed important in a way i needed to trust.
severe and persevering longing: stalwart expression manifest with a prayer in every gesture. don’t just sit there glutting on religion or pious theological conversation - might be a reason they call that bench a pew... gitty up and move; breathe - there are monks in Africa running marathons daily as a form of worship rich with vitality-not straight down concrete paths or on asphalt running tracks but within truefaced, benignly, roughshod whimsy- up down and through the jungly trees - bonus points for including spins and vine swinging.
i should like to qualify here: i know some dear souls that have very close relationships with their particular churches- i am absolutely not criticizing them or any church or religion. i have also encountered a few fervent church goers that rankled with the sinister but they’re entirely off topic- not worth discussing (at least by me). here, i am only calling into question the way we seem to have lost the plot- body as temple isn’t a mere metaphor. let my words be understood, not as confrontational but as reminders- some of the lost, forgotten artistry in being human that renunciates treating a temple like a servant or even slave…or old testament “wife.” (Shudder)
consider the way human bodies are built- our joints, unique in rotational capacity - never mind contemplating the navel, marvel at whirly gig spinny wrists: a relic from the ocean floor- my hand affixed- a graceful sea frond caught on the air, sent out scouting to bring sensate impressions home.
Our fascia spins through our form with the same template that gives dna 🧬 its shape - and those strands silhouette a fetus in the womb like the crossing patterns our limbs fall back into when we sleep on our sides. during slumber the body seeks its need- designed to spin through transverse planes. - rotational whirling dirvishes - we’re ever in orbit of our selves and we suffer the world where walking straight sidewalks and counting steps via devices counts for… any sort of accomplishment physically. health clubs full of straight lines of equipment that encourage movement in the sagittal plane (aka straight line forward backwards upwards downward).
for most of (forgotten) history, we held movement in our fascinating forms to be the joy and gift it actually is. once it occurred as an expression of thanks unconsciously, steadily - watch a child play or almost any sport centuries before anyone counted ridiculous calories …
body language poetry in motion
+ 2 forest monks -
buddhism practitioners living as hermits - dedicating their lives to the benefit of all beings.
musical vibrational frequencies. the profundity of all we can’t see that still affects us. i am told church bells used to toll at 432 megahertz - a mysterious healing frequency that’s been largely replaced in today’s modern ear at 440. the discussion goes on but i want to get back to forest monks. - the intention, while living alone, to dedicate everything you do to other beings ... just that mere intention - radiating a frequency- we talk about people’s auras energy vibes- like that - i imagine their life force hits gently, the 432 vicinity.- or something even more lovely - if not healing, then at least soothing towards this world’s mega hurts. just to know they are there helps a little on some days ... thank you guys.
imagine if our species held forest monk intentions as their foundational premise, instilling it intrinsically into our children - a way of seeing themselves and their world. but don't talk about it - don't brag about all the good deeds of your congregation or political party or how you gave that poor guy ten whole bucks ..... no. don't say just be - be a church bell - who are you when no one is looking - what is in your heart? this- vs a right to the pursuit of happiness- my guess is a forest monk's heart is a very happy place to be without pursuing anything.
imagine a woman, nearly 60 years old, spinning through a forest, aspiring towards forest monk(eying around) with her golden retriever, rather than striving to master the art of blending into shadow without becoming shade -falling down a hallway of locked doors ... imagine that maniac - unlearned and asking, please help me understand me (elementary my dear watt son) …
+ 3 learning forest tree 101
the difference between a forest and the woods comes down to tree count per acre and some other features where Sheldan’s forest falls short, by literal exacting definition - but hers is a forest for reasons the dictionary can’t quite reach out to touch. to most eyes, its a semi-defiled space behind the zoo, expanding beyond itself -
it runs up along the back of the cage for the zebras and the buffalo. you learn how to navigate around concrete and structures, over or under fences and twisted rusting metal to find its beauty.
i've the same navigational challenges around finding my own - its worth working out the detours to create beautiful paths and patterns we understand intimately -in her forest, and in my heart too (i hope).
gas gauge at empty
“ 10 dollars on pump 6 - unleaded please “
"uh the awful wind" the cashier said, watching me as it whipped the door out of my hand to slam it shut. “no one likes the wind"
she finalized.
the awful wind - likely the most common comment to bounce by her cash register, while all day long she changed dollars into small talk and small change. "ya' all be careful out there. don't let it blow you away ..."
and off we went at long last to retrieve our answer from the trees ... (we were blown away).
where does the wind come from?
on such a risky, ferocious day, going to walk around in a forest. might one or both of us been badly hurt? - perhaps we already were and this was the only potential remedy -though that sounds ridiculous and i can't really defend my choice to set out on such a day except - i didn't really think about it - it was just time for Sheldan's time. a brief segue way here will likely be helpful towards explaining:
(a bit about obligation and its etymology):
old school andy griffith gentleman - i remember andy often saying "i am much obliged." to aunt bea for things like … chicken and dumplings (?) …tracing back to texts gone to dust, the negative, grim duty implications for the word obligation - they simply weren't a part of its meaning. scratch off modern day, quick dry surface definitions - is it under there? a hidden archaic aching master piece? maybe we've just forgotten. maybe it's not even true for us humans anymore. humus - of the earth - connected by humility, estranged by hubris. obligation's Latin roots: obligare
obligatio
being bound by duty but that bond is interdigitated with thanks - a debt not infused with commerce - or if you want something you gotta give something - love is not a trade. and here is something else about gratitude - in its truest form it is a form of joy. much obliged. thanks and reverence. no if and but or also.
we don't pray while walking, the walk, the walking is that already and our only prayer is thank you - obligation swaha (sanscrits for yippee! loosely translated). obligation is a privilege - seeing your happiness rescues me entirely from an unthinkable otherwise. much obliged to you Sheldan, and this upends to extend to how we are obliged (Sheldan and i) to frequent this forest with the best possible frequency's we can, via witnessing and loving it and offering it important questions ....? courage whole hearted fearless - is that enough? i pray it is - it might be all i have,
a favorite route for us - on the other side of a private property sign. we weren't outlaws and had express permission from the landowners to wander in this "best spot." the man who decided we were "ok" on his land, told me Sheldan was beautiful; her colors complimented the grass and other landscape, particularly in the autumn - and he said i looked to tread lightly, as if my feet didn't much need the ground to propel me, so i wouldn't likely pose much of a threat to anything
what a lovely thing to say… that touched me as one of the nicest things anyone has said to me
+ 4 EXCELLENT BIRDS
we’d just cleared the “No Trespassing “ fence when i first saw them
-they flew directly and with purpose (seemed to me) to us, then stayed. 4 of them set their wings and each in its own dance with the air currents, arabesqued, air a breast the space above our trudge - how long? i am not sure … maybe ten minutes or a bit less- that’s a long time though for something like this. might it have been a coinciding dance coincidence, and they just seemed to be with us, but really would have hovered there regardless of our presence (?) - sure. i remember though, how it felt - it FELT personal - they were there -with us - companions forever in a way and there still or, at least, - 10 minutes - and then just as they had come, they let go and allowed the wind to carry them away to gone.
Melissa is the one other person we tend to see in the forest, regardless of temperature or weather. she loves it here as much as we do, i really suspect she does- on our way back to the car, we met: “did you see them? those black birds or ... i don't know what color … all birds reel in; take on their shadows, in dark storms …if you saw (?) do you know?"
she smiled "hawks - yes i saw - listen - that's them - that shriek/shrill call (?) - when they do that - stay over and travel with you like they did - that was something - it means - i forget what- something about compassion love courage maybe… i forget but - it’s a blessing ...you are somehow blessed - i remember that.”
what are the odds - they chose a wind that led to us, readjusting the angle of wing to air - a bright light blade slicing away wrong directions and floating like lost pages from a love letter, finally into the intended recipient’s surprised hands (and paws).
tiny web of bone affixed via joint to their bodies near the heart -wings architecture by design, holding up the heavens filled with the winds that lift the hawk and its cry. needing no anthems of reverence,. they are themselves, the hymn.
prayer answered even before uttered, long before, before … brow bent to altar in composition, the calm position of wing set across turbulence-
by the time mankind builds a temple, writes a sermon, does sunday’s best dress for church, learns to play an organ, rehearse- chorus- verse -
they are always already there - nobody likes the wind? the gas station clerk forgot about hawks- or any winged creature that seeks out strong winds... just watch them: just cuz. not to get somewhere or accomplish anything- more like humming sacred tones with one’s essence. wing finding its identity as much in the wind as the feather and bone - maybe most of all - it looks like they are having so. much. fun. and this - i imagine, makes the creator very happy - i imagine god
beyond all imagining, weeping maelstroms of joy, obliged to this creation: hawk soaring in surging forest monk level frequency brought to fruition - poetry’s motion and all the rest... why though, by what graced occasion occurring. why on earth - it’s over our heads. they saw our SOS for
ANY kind of warmth with only skinless blizzards on the way ... those birds felt us and they answered and we were rescued-excused for a short time from time - a moment stuck, stranded, and we
are much obliged (Sheldan and i).
and by the way
if a child ever asks you about the wind’s origin- according to hawks, it’s something like this: ALL breath begins basined and tangled through root systems deep in earth's belly. it then rises with bellow-like thrusts through foot soles to heart/soul - the collected exhale from all and any breathing beings, is again recollected via tree branches and with these, redirected - conducted orchestrated …
of course, much more complex than this quick sketch but likely you already understood, albeit unconsciously, that your inhale was never taken by you so much as given - and the exhalation - is let fall from your being back to the place it never left - one’s very life participates in upholding the hawk that balances the whirling universe across its gracious back … skeptical? good - maybe go ask a forest or one of its monks, for yourself
