I sit atop a tumble of red rocks deep within the canyon,
stark cliffs rising all around in shades of orange, tan and greenish-grey. My
dear friend Kelli continues the steep climb to the top of Kitchen Mesa, but knee strain and disinterest in destination~~even
one with such stunning views~~urged me to turn around and allow my journey to
unfold in a different way. I’d been moving steadily through stands of
weather~worn juniper and cedar when these red rocks called me to them. And now,
I simply sit.
We have come to Ghost Ranch in Abiquiu for a much needed
retreat. My life has been a whirlwind of activity these past few months, and
I’ve been spinning right along with it. It’s all been good, with a certainty
that I’m where I need to be, doing as I’m meant to do and, luckily, as I want
to do as well. In that way, I’ve felt in accord.
And yet, the rapid fire succession of experience following
experience, needed decision following needed decision, loved visitor following
loved visitor has left me externally oriented, focused on the temporal, tied to
a world of this and that. I’ve been all motion and no stillness. I’ve been all
rushing river and no still lake reflecting sky. And it is still lake reflecting
sky that I yearn for now. And so this is what I become.
I look up to the cliffs, down to the rough earth, deep blue
sky arcing over it all. Wind is the only sound as it rushes past my ears and
whistles through the branches of nearby trees. With a prayer that it be
recycled to good purpose, I release my frenetic energy to that wind, each
gusty blast of clean air taking what I no longer need.
I inhale and the surrounding expanse fills me. I exhale and
give it all back. Rushing water gradually settles into calm lake.
My relief is palpable. Do water molecules feel such solace
upon arriving at the lake after a tumultuous dance down the mountainside? Water
molecules~~some of the least likely teachers in this arid land, yet teachers
they are to me now. They love it all, they tell me~~the giddy glee of rapid
movement and the serenity of quiet
reflection.
The secret, they whisper, is to discover serenity in the
movement and spirited joy in the stillness. Yin and Yang, each embracing the
other within the boundless eternal.
I’m home now, sitting at my desk, the ticking clock the only
sound I hear. Life has swept me back into itself, a rushing river carrying me
away once more. Yet in this moment, serenity is mine, even as my molecules
dance with abandon.
Blessed dancing to ya!
Loanne Marie
But there's more...a poem that came from
the essay above. But first, an explanation...
At a writing workshop I attended
a few years back, there was a wonderful exercise. We were given about 45
minutes to write a few pages about some theme I don't now remember. After we'd
had time to work it and become enthralled with our words, the teacher said,
"Great! Now cut it down to one page." We groaned, but did as we were
told, xing off whole lines, keeping what was best. After 20 minutes or so, she
said, "Great! Now 25 words." What an exercise, learning to let go, to
not be too attached, to find the kernel within our wordiness.
So here’s the a poem I wrote
from this essay. You’ll find that it differs in ways other than length. One
metaphor flew the coop while another arrived to replace it. These things happen
sometimes and who am I to quibble?!! Here it is, to be read slowly, as a
meditation which, in fact, it was and continues to be with each re~read…
A
tumble of red rocks
Calls
me to the canyon floor.
Cliffs
rise...orange, tan, greenish~grey.
Wind
the only sound.
I
sit on hallowed ground,
Hallowed
ground hollowing me,
Canyoning me,
That
I might better hold the Light.
And that’s not all, gals and guys! Here are two pictures Kelli took from
the top of the mesa. Almost makes me
wish I’d made the climb! Namaste, ya’ll!
