Night Breezes

comments 17
Poetry

Night breezes
tickle the chimes
we hung,
then rise
through the leaves above,
rinsing away the day’s hours,
then rise
to graze upon
the earthen rays streaming
from the crowns of trees,
then rise
to gather in counsel inside
a vast cocoon of starlight.

Underground,
the bees are sleeping,
their dreams sparking
along the synapses of flower roots.
Tomorrow they will harvest the nectar,
discovering the return of all that was given.
Life is neither plain nor mysterious.
Even a bee is a doorway,
a hidden passage.
All beings are such a circle,
a hoop that never repeats–
a night breeze blowing,
and a visible, holy need.
Sustenance is never-ending,
a line of waves continuously reaching the shore,
a field of stars by which to navigate.

Our fundamental work is
neither hidden nor obvious:
the joining of night and day,
the linking of all and none.
True desire shows the way.

Together, we incubate this world.
We incubate in this world.
Down along the shore, at night,
we meet where the breeze blows in off the sea
and winged dreams fill the sky.
The hinged doors on our hearts open
and the day’s memories are released
from cages of interpretation
to plunge into darkness
and carry their messages home.
Hollow,
endless,
becoming, we
await our dreams’ arrival,
as one by one they alight
to coo in our chest
and build nests
for the coming day.

At noon then, a sandwich.
Yes, please.  I would like more coffee.
A smile has come back to me.
A ray of sunlight strikes the table with Meaning.
I have an Idea that hatches
inside of my hollowness
then rises
in a single line up towards the rafters
like the smoke of a single
cone of incense,
then rises
along the slanted peak,
exploring the deeply cracked topography
of old wooden beams,
then rises
to huddle briefly around a single, forgotten nail,
then rises
up into the sky
where it is caught by the wind,
and taken.

17 Comments

    • There is something that feels good about our dreams arriving as beloved friends isn’t there… nestling inside of us for protection.

      There’s all kinds of stuff going on inside of us!

      Michael

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    • Many thanks, Hariod. It is funny sometimes what inspires us, how the material of any moment can be cut out and pasted alongside of impressions and musings to make a kind of collage. I was doing some garden renovations the other day and found we had a squadron of ground-dwelling bees in the Redevelopment Zone.

      Michael

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      • ‘It is funny sometimes what inspires us . . . to make a kind of collage.’

        Yes, though you have to have access to poetical imagery; and sadly, I don’t.

        Never mind, I’ll take pleasure in reading your imagery instead Michael.

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        • Yes, you are quite welcome to borrow mine, knowing that everything offered the whole comes back in spades… On second thought, take all of it… 🙂

          Michael

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  1. There’s a lightness and ascending feeling here. Also something close to the earth. I hadn’t ever considered where the bees go at night, thinking of them in the flower roots… now I know that’s where they sleep, I feel at more at ease. The idea that we incubate this world and in this world seems just right and this is immensely comforting.

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    • As I was just telling Hariod, we found ground-nesting bees that seemed more like welterweight bumble bees than honey bees. Then I went to the encyclopedia of all knowledge, the Internet, and found one un-verified reference to the fact that bees do, in fact, sleep. Or at least get catatonic for extended periods of time. So, that was that. I needed it for the poem so it became truth… 🙂 Those buzzing beauties are truly amazing. When they hover close to the earth you can see grains of dirt and sand being blown away, as if a helicopter were coming in for a landing.

      Michael

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  2. ~meredith says

    aren’t hollows amazing? i’m hardly ever afraid when my hollowness echoes… i almost always find the most magnificent discoveries for having followed echoes. L

    (good read!) ~Meredith

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    • That is a great expression- the echo of hollowness. Yes, they are amazing to discover. Everyone’s echo is contained in the hollow, and yet it is never crowded, and the reverberations are just right…

      Michael

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    • I love your phrase “the infection of the syncs”. May we all be diagnosed with a case of extreme sync, punctuated by bouts of playful upside down room gazing.

      Michael

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    • Thanks, Colleen. My breath has spontaneously wandered off upon sight of your paintings as well… 🙂

      Michael

      Like

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