Sunday, May 13, 2018


In the fullness of death
life stills: a silent threnody
of loss, a prayer
to sorrow.

Lie within
this echo of grief,
seek solace in the quiet;
it holds no cure
but nurtures our soul
and honours the past

then, when the moon comes full
and spirit is aroused
open your heart to the mystery and

howl. Howl!

Howl with the primeval blood that sings of the yellow cedar, 1000 years old, and the ancient stones that gave birth to each note. Howl to the smoldering magna that shift the roots of mountains making them rise, yes, rise through layers of history embedding us to this earth and then howl as you emerge to the fern unfurling in spring and the butterfly shedding her cocoon to the nascent salmon berry on her bed of new growth. Howl from the deepest part of your soul to the gnats swarming over fecund land so recently recast from the winter snows and howl to the sparrow who impatiently awaits. Then reach high into the sky and howl

to the stars shining bright
pushing beyond the veils of
doubt and

howl, howl!

to the beauty of all there is
and know
you are not alone.

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