Wednesday, September 21, 2011

from Wiggle 3-15

"In Cold Storm Light"

In cold storm light
I watch the sandrock
canyon rim.

The wind is met
with the smell of pinon
The wind is cold
with the sound of juniper.
And then
out of the thick ice sky
running swiftly
swirling above the treetops

the snow elk come,
moving, moving,
white song
storm wind in the branches.

And when the elk have passed
behind them
a crystal train of snowflakes
strands of mist
tangled in rock
and leaves.

-Leslie Marmon Silko

Monday, September 19, 2011

from "Song of the Universal"

In spiral routes, by long detours (as a much-tacking ship upon the sea)
For it, the partial to the permanent flowing,
For it the real to the ideal tends.
For it, the mystic evolution,
Not the right only justified, what we call evil also justified.
Electric, antiseptic yet, cleaving, suffusing all,
only the good is universal.
Over the mountain-growth's disease and sorrow,
an uncaught bird is ever hovering, hovering,
high in the purer, happier air.
Oh the blest eyes, the happy hearts,
That see, that know the guiding thread so fine,
Along the mighty labyrinth.
Walt Whitman

"All Is Truth"

O ME, man of slack faith so long!
Standing aloof--denying portions so long;

Only aware to-day of compact, all-diffused truth;

Discovering to-day there is no lie, or form of lie, and can be none,

but grows as inevitably upon itself as the truth does upon


Or as any law of the earth, or any natural production of the earth


(This is curious, and may not be realized immediately--But it must be


I feel in myself that I represent falsehoods equally with the rest,

And that the universe does.)

Where has fail'd a perfect return, indifferent of lies or the truth?

Is it upon the ground, or in water or fire? or in the spirit of man?

or in the meat and blood?

Meditating among liars, and retreating sternly into myself, I see

that there are really no liars or lies after all,

And that nothing fails its perfect return--And that what are called

lies are perfect returns,

And that each thing exactly represents itself, and what has preceded


Ant that the truth includes all, and is compact, just as much as

space is compact,
And that there is no flaw or vacuum in the amount of the truth--but

that all is truth without exception;

And henceforth I will go celebrate anything I see or am,

And sing and laugh, and deny nothing.

Walt Whitman

from "Not a Day on Any Calendar"

This is not a day for asking questions,
not a day on any calendar.

This day is conscious of itself.

Today is a lover, bread, and gentleness,

more manifest than saying can say.

Thoughts take form with words,

but this daylight is beyond and before

thinking and imagining.


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