Extempore (from Root of Desire)

Swift bare feet pound and release worn, gritty pavement.

Cobbled stone surrounds flowing fountain. Ecstatic feet pounding to the beat, to the swirl. A small crowd caught up in the trance, poetry, simple music, a lady dancing, glinting with glitter and smiles that light from her eyes.

Just as taskmaster day slides into night with welcome melancholy, rush of breeze reminiscent of dismembered yearnings. It helps to get caught up in ritual, undisciplined ceremony. Make a break from responsibilities. We don’t always have to be running to keep up with the plan.

Thrown, another dollar in the gypsy’s bright woven basket. Her exuberant craft reminds us to delight in the moment, feel being here as a part of shared energy, a tribal peace. If we could each rhythmically extend, sing out our own creations, move completely from serene centers, unconscious of pressing time or important matters, how could we continue as the labor pool we have come to depend upon to sustain the world we know? We pay for the service to our soul, and hurry on.

Renata learns this city in excursions, finding objects to fashion into musical percussions, colorful craftworks, collaged art. She finds open air markets and parks where performers display their wares. People gladly throw coins and bills into her open basket as she dances charismatically to the tunes of her spontaneous poetry. Betty plays rhythmically, supplies beats and counterbeats upon their found object percussion kit. Her eyes turned downward, her vision inward, Betty enjoys playing musical accompaniment on the instruments they fashioned, garishly or arcanely embellished. It can be amazing what people freely throw away that can be put to good purpose with love and imagination. Their audience also gladly buys other art pieces they have set out on their temporary stage.

Renata’s natural authority is obvious on an unspoken level to everyone who sees her. It is one of those unspoken mysteries that she, who counts on keen awareness, is oblivious to her own power.
By instinct Renata knows just when to disperse her audience to avoid unwanted attention. The spell rescinds, sending they who had gathered flocking back into the thoroughfare of public space. She collects their tribute into her pockets, art and instruments into the basket with its convenient sling for carrying.

“Let’s get some dinner to bring back to the house,” she urges Betty, who, pleasantly worn out from drumming, is languidly compliant. On the way home, new objects for their re-creations might be serendipitously discovered.

Happy children play.

Gaea: A Ritual Performance

It’s really a simple story. Beings find planet. Beings treat planet badly. Planet goes about her business.
Beings start to realize that they need planet, and had best learn to make friends rather than futilely keeping up enmity.

Gaea: A Ritual Performance

layers of imagery, music, tribal drums, futuristic dreams

Gaea was there, in the beginning. Gaea was all. Gaea was wise.
How could we not have seen, in the blindness of pride, of avarice,
of service pledged to false gods?

The journey was long.
The journey was harsh.
The journey was lonely.

Asleep in a box with wilderness dreams.
Or awake on the watch, wondering what was to come.

Thus it was those false gods bespake us:
Out of the cold vastness of desolate space,
out of base fear over years seeped in to overtake us,
out of a need to deem our fate Someone else’s scheme,
out of a need to believe all would be well for our kind.

Our world was dying.
We did what we could to survive.
Survival we find
an appropriate end
to any means.
Survival will give us
the time we need
to find a better way
to survive.

The bravest of us,
the proudest of us,
the meanest of us,
would not allow us to die.
We took off in our ship with the barest of plans

to find another land
where our kind could live …
expand.

Now,
hybrid children evolved
from refugees
fleeing a hostile star,
Skygods and Earth Mother of ancient lore.

When will we relinquish hubris, ruinous hatred,
accept Gaea as partner and home?
Build strength of unity so all may thrive?

The land, when we found her was warm and inviting.
We felt safe, supported, encouraged to grow.

We ate of her fruit, fish, herds.
We built with her trees, stone and clay.
We drank from her beautiful streams
which we soiled with our waste.
Gaea was saviour and womb.
We repaid her with rape.

We didn’t understand,
thought her merely land,
thought ourselves masters from afar.

Gaea sent storms to bring us to our senses, wild winds and seas.

Gaea tried to shake us off: Earthquakes, Floods, Famine, Plagues
sending us scattering into hiding,
intermingling with her primates, Gaea’s ape children.
Without question or shame, we murdered what we could not steal.
Without honor or remorse, we laid waste to our host,
to our adopted home,
then cursed her for not giving more.

By accident or design, chimera adapting to nature’s marketplace,
creating stories to redefine our origins from outer space.
We lied to our halfling children, denigrated their Gaean kin,
twisted their virtues into a false concept we called “sin.”

What Gaea did to us? Cruel, evil, in need of the whip.
We seal over her bounty
into mad parody of Mother Ship.
Unforgiving of the mess of living, the miracles of life.
In ignorant pride we gave ourselves law to decide
propriety over fate,
turning
in our minds
mother love
into a mirror of hate.

Frozen in fear and rage, children swept out in the storm,
trapped in a self-made cage we had hoped to protect us from harm.

Gaea, we cry, why do you treat us so angrily?
What will it take for us to wake up and see it is we who are wrong?
To hear and be aware of Gaea’s song singing in our blood?
To learn the cycles, the seasons,
the reasons for fire, wind and flood?

To redefine our race,
to find out that our place is here among our Gaean kin?

The telling of new tale must begin.

Gaea opens to sunshine to ease our agitation.
Easy winds, breezy gush of summer rain.
Feeding the greedy young grains,
growing along the plains, the flowers of the storm.
Feeding the beasts of the field,
celebrating the cycle, as all is revealed.

Love is the web,
craftily spun by great mother spider,
Gaea’s familiar,
weaving magestic grace
no longer concealed. It was never our place
to control, nor others’ to steal.

Gaea creates in intricate arrangements,
feeding us all of us all, a transformative stew.
So much energy wasted; painful lies to find our way through.
New beliefs, guiding stories to provide for, enthuse
children, reaching out to become and be free,
embrace our destin,
as Gaea’s beloved.

Arising in the circle, giving voice to release pain —
grateful to Gaea’s grace, dancing in her cleansing rain,
we sing, rejoice, united:

It would be so nice (paradise)
You and I
Floating in the sunlight
Ready to break free
To be
Exactly who we are

Birth Cry (from Something Sacred)

Contractions to crowning to birth, and
Caela showing off their grandchild to
Singer’s tears of overwhelming joy.
Felicity, after screaming her head off in
amazingly colorful language, and
otherwise expending her legendary energy
in biological abandon, now is blissfully
happy to let her mom and dad extol her
virtues. She smiles, though wanly, at
Teren, sharing this moment of deep
satisfaction. New mother and baby
daughter, Solia, trade in their well-earned
exhaustion for sleep.

Caela knows that where Felicity has gone,
Maea won’t be far behind. She too takes
this opportunity to nap between
birthings.

Singer, with more emotional high than
even he knew possible, makes for the
woods to compose appropriately
expressive song in collaboration with
nature. She is certainly in a receptively
collaborative mood, brewing up a storm.
Loving the musicality of storm winds,
driving rain, crashing thunder, cracking
electricity, Singer exults. What a beautiful
day!

Maea’s child, though clearly moving
toward being born, has moved into an
inappropriate position for ease in exit.
Though not the norm, this situation is
not one with which Caela is unfamiliar.
She knows all it will take is intense
concentration into this newly forming
consciousness to guide the child into
position. First casting an aura of calm
through Maea to enhance relaxation, she
calmly links to the baby, so gently he feels
only the relaxed presence of mother love.

Despite the wildly loud storm picking up
outside, within the House all is secure.

Deep crack of thunder and accompanying
swath of light outside suddenly coincide
with crashing painful agony so loud it
reverberates throughout, it seems, the
world. In an instant lives are shattered as
one is lost, killed by the woods he loves.

There is nothing but screaming, blinding
pain. Caela can always feel it if she looks
there.

Maea, in shock and overload, suddenly
freed from the woozy peace of Caela’s
ministrations, goes through the motions
necessary to complete her separation
from newborn Larik. He appears a healthy,
if inconsolable, child. All his parts in their
right places seem to be functioning as
expected. Maea is in no condition to
notice what is missing, her mind
overtaken with Caela’s silent screaming.
http://caelastory.blogspot.com/2009/08/something-sacred-caelas-story.html

Make Peace The Issue

Singer’s Song (from Something Sacred)

Singer always made her feel lighter, so matter of fact and invested in having fun. Really, isn’t that the way, salving wounds with healthy living joyously engaging? Yet wounds, chunks taken out of all of us from time to time, need, deserve, tending. Learning who she was, what she valued, Caela grew to understand that loving the wounded meant for her an attunement to discovering ways to heal. It’s not about denying the wound, but helping the wounded to find a way back to wholeness. Who she was, influenced by her time, tribe, circumstances, DNA, not some preordained destiny, carried her moment through moment, creating the weave, the fabric she lived, as Maris created beautiful works of woven wearable art. Enjoying the feel, the weave, of such a perfectly fitting radiant garment, Caela’s consciousness dances. Like all art, this dance tells an enthralling story to those with the will to see, to feel resonance.

Let us go dancing into ceremony of joy and tribal cohesion. I see, smell, feel a firepit on a cool evening. Shared sacred time for histories secured to memories, mingling ideas, fears, fantasies, the reassurance of the constancy of love. Why do we think that we need more? Ah, yes, man is built to defy the capacity for satisfaction that we may ever be hurtling forward in our grand endeavors. Drama requires friction. But does not enlightenment require an eternal flame? These are not Caela’s thoughts. They are thoughts that surround her, always within her reach, perhaps awaiting her perusal. They are not conscious thoughts, but of the philosophies that shaped her. Self-evidently, what happened happened. This does not imply destiny. If the story had turned out otherwise, we would simply have told a different story. There was a time she had to traverse a forest. Thoughts from a close surface may manifest as traveling companions when regular companionship is scarce.

Singer loved to explore, or rather wander into serendipity, in the vast woods surrounding the community. There had been a great enterprise of clearing space for shelters and farmland, as well as, as different projects were conceived, commons for whatever needed accommodation. Wood cleared for space was a major resource as well for buildings, furniture, fire fuel, whatever could be fashioned from it. Very little dent was made in the deep, deepening, deeper acres of forest which had long dominated that part of their world. The city from which they had come and its outlying farmlands and open fields had been cleared forest, developed over time and perceived need for open space in which to grow, build, civilize.

The exiled, at the beginnings still of their epic march, upon reaching the outlying farming area thought to exchange the money they carried, as they were leaving a social market system in which it could be of value, for tools, seed, livestock. They understood they would need to start a new farming community far within the forest still to come on their journey, once that land could be attained and cleared. Ready food and food preserved for future readiness on their way to their new home land was also purchased, as well as grazing pack animals, adapted to the local flora, appropriately accoutered to help in carrying the load.

This forest had never evidenced harboring creatures with any interest in preying on man. The local wildlife were mostly small and herbivorous. Those who were carnivores were content with the smaller forest creatures upon which they had always preyed. Even the large farm animals brought with man as frozen embryos to eventually be bred for foodstock (as who could know if indigent species would be nutritive to man) were not part of the dietary plan of indigent carnivores. For the most part, they preferred to lie low, maintain an invisible noninterference compact.

Singer felt in tune with the natural world, the living planet. It gave him a constant flow of music he could feel throughout his body, rhythm, melody, sweet sweeping choruses, in constant improvisation. He loved wandering in the woods, singing along. Caela knew to find him there when he hadn’t already dragged her along proclaiming on beauty and the sensual thrill of it all.

Making love on a bed of wet, slippery leaves, at one with the glistening beat of the rain, she could feel the smile inside her expanding into ecstasy. Singer’s smile, where she felt rooted.

http://caelastory.blogspot.com/?zx=a5e8d79e7dab53fd

Missionary Positions

Three nuns and a rabbi were chosen as delegates to a newly discovered human-like species on a fairly distant planet. This, of course, meant that Sisters Christina, Angelica and Mary Margaret, and Rabbi Daniel had to first endure a long space voyage. After landing on planet, they spent many Earth months ministering to the sick, the poor, the spiritually questioning, to great acclaim. Their mission was marvelously successful.

As it turned out, the humanoid people of this planet were all female. The result of their unique biological evolution was that they reproduced by a complicated and private ritual, highly intimate and enjoyable, which resulted in each member of the mating couple becoming pregnant with biologically identical fetuses.

Thus the natives had no surprise or concern when two of the nuns started showing evidence of pregnancy. Rather, they were more inclined to take the human women into their social network, especially showing regard to Sister Christina, who was not currently blessed.

As time and circumstances progressed, Rabbi Daniel realized that he had better contact Mission Control back on Earth and apprize those in charge of the emerging unanticipated developments. He went to the ship and made use of the interplanetary communications gear installed there to call home, with some trepidation about the likely response.

“Well, it’s like this,” he started, “Sisters Angelica and Mary Margaret are about to become mothers, and Sister Christina has asked to be allowed to stay here and make a permanent ministry.” Having gotten this all out at once, he wiped copious sweat from his brow, and waited for:

“Mothers? Have they gone native? Is there hanky-panky going on with these people you were sent to start negotiations with?”

“No, no,” Rabbi Daniel assured them, “nothing like that.”

“Make your report, Rabbi. Just what has been going on there?”

“Well, as you know the sisters and I had to endure a rather long voyage.

As you know, we Rabbis are not required to be celibate. As you may know, our training involves learning much of logic and persuasive argument.”

“Are you saying what I think you are, Rabbi? Did you seduce the nuns during the voyage out? And what about Sister Christina? Is it that she is so pious you could not persuade her to break her vows? Does this have something to do with why she wants to create a permanent mission on the planet?”

“Well, in a way. You see I was able, over time, to persuade Sisters Angelica and Mary Margaret to cheat on Jesus, but Sister Christina is consecrated to the Holy Mother Mary, if you get my meaning.”