Walking with Ourania

This season has been more difficult than most for a variety of reasons and I long for the refuge of healing dreams.  It is several hours after sunset and the end of a long day at work. The air is crisp and cold and a large part of me really wants to be in bed and asleep.  Tomorrow will come, but not just yet. This is where my thoughts are. My body is walking to pick up my car. It is parked in front of the mechanic in the next town who serviced it a few days ago, before illness came to my house. Time stretched out in a repetitive series of trips to the hospital, the bathroom, the sickroom, the kitchen and back again around the circle of healing. Now my daughter is resting once again and I am walking across the black pavement in the cold night air.

 

But that is not all of the story. The details of the material specifics are hardly ever all of the story. In and around them there is always the enchanting uncertainty of Mystery. Everything is alive and all of it is sacred, whether my tired mind remembers it or not.

 

This season has been a deep well from which I pulled up a cup full of shimmering wisdom after a long wind of the rope. It cut my hands and my muscles are sore from pulling up the endless cord out of the dark, cold water. I found that I needed to do things that I didn’t know were possible for me to accomplish. All of them were actions I didn’t want to take or words I didn’t want to say. Most of them brought changes that I deeply wished did not need to be released into the world. But I also knew in each case without any doubt that each choice was the right one to make and that it fell to me to make it. My hands needed to touch, my breath needed to speak, my eyes needed to see. My stories needed to be told in order to become part of the future.

 

Now I am walking down the shinning path cast by the Super Moon as she rises into the black sky above the mess of wires hanging from the power poles at the side of the rode. I step onto the silver roadway and keep following it, always keeping the great disc of light in front of me. I cut across parking lots and cross diagonally from one street to another. I take little roads that look like someone’s driveway. I climb over guardrails. Through it all, the moon is in my eyes and my feet follow Her path. I am walking towards Her as She rises in her majesty.

 

The ordeals and there marks on me fall away. The parked cars and closed doors become invisible. The orange glow of the streetlights fades away. There is only me, the Moon and my beloved darkness. In the darkness there is a powerful voice vibrating through all of the places where the night reaches out to caress me as I walk. In the voice there is the music of life, and the music reaches my ears as poetry.

 

You can find me in the Darkness

Of the trees before the moon

Who casts her shinning eye

Into a pool of gentle waves

 

You can find me in the edges

Where the silver never touches

You can find me under fir trees

The shadows are my daughters

 

You can find me in the night

The lights burn out to steal

Your place among the dreams

You have forgotten it is dark

 

When your words lose their legs

And your head ache is pounding

When the light cuts your skin

And the sound marks your soul

 

You can find me in the stars

As they rise into forever

Between them is my body

My song the one you sing

 

As you walk from headless pillars

In the time of hunting lions

To deepening night shadows

Behind a streetlight’s pole

 

Your song pours out like blood

From an open wound cut deep

Or swift and sweet like waterfalls

Born from the mouth of spring

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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