Cross-legged in Spring
I’m the one who let the rain in. A crack in
the window on the off chance someone’s
speaking. Contemplating mindfulness while
a nation is at war, imagine that. This frivolity
of customer and quantity, of might and all its friends.
But at once my ears were free - of the clamoring bits.
I run circles round the room, it’s easy. It’s makeshift.
When I clench my eyes hard, the white spots
make dream maps. Aboriginal in spirit.
I find tulip, obsidian, seagull.
What word means to be at one with?
Is it vast?
Is it feeling?
I found these two little fragments in a notebook from this spring, and though they played nicely together.
I’m thinking a lot about the phrase Mitákuye Oyás’iŋm, a phrase in the Lakota language which means “all my relations” referring from frogs to mountains.
Years ago, D & I went to an exhibit on Aboriginal Dreamtime Maps. We were shocked by the way these maps were used to chart visions, as well as to serve as functional navigation tools to get through barren land in Australia. Each dot a different meaning, each map a different journey.