April 30th, 2009

Alan - sunrise - Palm Springs area

Good Morning!!



I seem to be with the rhythm of dancing feet this morning, with the image of the feet of Native Americans tapping and meeting the ground.   Yesterday three year old Zach would pause periodically and look intently into my eyes and I would respond by looking into his.  I thought of the gorillas and how they sit and look into each others eyes, and what it means to look, just look and receive another in such a personal and intense way.  Zack always says his eyes and mine are blue and white.  He acquaints me with the sails, the petals, that support and augment the rich circled root.  



Here is a poem by Robinson Jeffers.


NEW MEXICO MOUNTAIN

I watch the Indians dancing to help the young corn at Taos Pueblo. The
    old men squat in a ring
And make the song, the young women with fat bare arms, and a few
    shame-faced young men, shuffle the dance.

The lean-muscled young men are naked to the narrow loins, their breasts
    and backs daubed with white clay.
Two eagle-feathers plume the black heads. They dance with reluctance, they
    are growing civilized; the old men persuade them.

Only the drum is confident, it thinks the world has not changed; the
    beating heart, the simplest of rhythms,
It thinks the world has not changed at all; it is only a dreamer, a brainless
    heart, the drum has no eyes.

These tourists have eyes, the hundred watching the dance, white Americans,
    hungrily, too, with reverence, not laughter;
Pilgrims from civilization, anxiously seeking beauty, religion, poetry;
    pilgrims from the vacuum.

People from cities, anxious to be human again. Poor show how they suck
    you empty! The Indians are emptied,
And certainly there was never religion enough, nor beauty nor poetry here
    ..... to fill Americans.

Only the drum is confident, it thinks the world has not changed,
    Apparently only myself and the strong
Tribal drum, and the rock-head of Taos mountain, remember that
    civilization is a transient sickness.


- Robinson Jeffers


space - center of our galaxy

Contemplation -




Today I spent time with a writer friend, a woman who has put together many books, and she gave me the reality of what it might mean to publish Breast Strokes. I am sitting with the work of it, and realizing, "Be careful, what you wish for. You might get it." I am feeling lessons have been learned. It may be time to let this book go and move on to what is next.


I just read Joe Haldeman's book, The Forever War. I am with these words.

"The 1143-year long war had been begun on false pretenses and only continued because the two races were unable to communicate. Once they could talk, the first question was "Why did you start this thing?" and the answer was "Me?"

The Taurans hadn't known war for millennia, and toward the beginning of the twenty-first century it looked as though mankind was ready to outgrow the institution as well. But the old soldiers were still around, and many of them were in positions of power."


And on it goes. We need to recognize the value of communication and peace. I thought I wanted something and tonight I wonder if I do. What is our true purpose here? What is ours to do?


Joan posted this today. I place it here.