Contemplative Inquiry

This blog is about contemplative inquiry

Tag: Poetry

A MAY’S EVE GIFT

Such casual abundance

In each passing moment:

A May’s Eve gift.

GREYFRIARS PRIORY HAIKU

within the Priory ruins

this weathered arch

frames a living sky.

Note: The priory is the Greyfriars Priory, Gloucester, England

BEING NOBODY

“I’m nobody.

So are you.

What ecstasy!

Join me.” (1)

According to Andrew Harvey (1), the translator of this brief poem by Kabir, “Kabir is far more than a poet; he is a universal initiatory field, as expansive as Rumi and as embodied, radical and ferocious as Jesus”. I certainly experience a creative shock in Kabir’s celebration of being ‘nobody’ in a world where being ‘somebody’ is such a highly valued social accomplishment. But what if the accomplishment distracts from something else, something of greater value? Kabir invites us to share the ‘ecstasy’ of being nobody. In another of his verses, which were performed as songs, Kabir links this ecstasy with love:

“You can’t grow love in gardens

Or sell it in markets.

Whether you’re a king or peasant

If you want it

Give your head and take it”.

In my experience, Kabir’s work opens a door to forms of contemplation and creativity in which my personality and personal biography are not the primary focus. Especially in darkening times, bearing witness to the way of the heart, and drawing strength from it, is a form of sacred activism. The liturgy of modern Druidry speaks of a love of justice and a love of all existences, embedded in a living relationship with Spirit. This for me is a commitment to live from.

(1) Kabir Turn Me To Gold: 108 Poems of Kabir Unity Village, MO: Unity Books, 2018 Translations by Andrew Harvey. Photographs by Brett Hurd.

(2) See also https://contemplativeinquiry.blog/2021/01/30/turn-me-to-gold/

BIRCH BARK HAIKU

Birch bark beauty

Between earth and sky,

Greeting another winter.

POEM: AT THE BEGINNING OF SUNSET

Looking out

from my apparently restricted life

I see the wide world,

expectant.

It is the beginning of sunset,

a critical moment

in the wheel of the day.

Facing east,

I have the sun behind me

still with some warmth –

but on the brink

(I know)

of accelerated descent.

My eastward vision embraces

pale blue sky

pink clouds

wooded hills,

and a residue of sunlight

on the majestic hornbeam

whose leaves have begun to turn.

Early autumn, early evening:

a whole world in seeming suspension

between one state and another.

The wheel turns

through both day and year.

States are not fixed

at any point in time.

Yet to notice the moment

with softened heart

and strengthened sight

makes that moment eternal.

Looking out

from my apparently restricted life,

I see the wide world,

expectant.

WHAT’S MY NAME?

It is September. I am thinking about my Druid name Muin (blackberry). The plant is flourishing as it always does when given half a chance. But the fruits are less plentiful now and fairly small: thin pickings for the wayside walker. In the human world, we have largely moved on to the making of jam and wine from our existing harvest.

Today, I am thinking about my psychic and imaginal connection to Muin, and why I am standing by this name. For me, a Druid name is neither an alter ego nor a simple add-on to my other names. It is the name that calls me into my Druid identity and practice. In this context, I ask myself: as Muin, who am I? what do I stand for? who might I become? As I asked these questions in an imaginatively opened state, these lines came up. In a way, I believe, Muin is talking to James, whilst being an aspect of him (me) and anyone else who wants to listen.

Muin is my name.

I am blackberry:

bramble, fruit and wine.

I have deep roots

unseen by the outward eye.

I run riot underground.

I am an ogham letter,

Linked to ancient knowledge,

And bearer of underworld wisdom.

I am a guardian,

My barriers and boundaries

Snare the unwary.

Protecting great treasures

They sharply test

The unprepared.

Lucifer fell on me,

Hurled from high heaven.

Rough landing indeed.

But the heaven-referenced war

Of this light-bearer outcast

Is not my concern.

I am fruit of the fair folk,

Crushed for your drink,

As an offering to you:

A gateway to Seership

If you dare accept me

At the right time.

I am blackberry:

bramble, fruit and wine.

Muin is my name.

‘I SWIM WITH THE SALMON’

“The hazels are rocking the cups with their nuts

As the harvesters shout when their last leaf is cut;

‘I swim with the salmon says the Green Man,

‘I swim with the salmon’, says he.” (1)

‘I swim with the salmon’ is a bold, clear statement. It evokes powerful images that leap out of their place in the flow of William Anderson’s poem. Green Man as a whole takes us on a wheel-of-the-year journey beginning on 22 December, successively featuring thirteen trees for four weeks each. The hazel is the ninth tree, whose time runs from 3-30 August. As the poem indicates, this is a harvest period, and the last month that fully belongs to the summer. It is also a time when you may find Atlantic salmon swimming home to spawn, though spawning doesn’t begin until October.

In this post I celebrate salmon naturalistically, through an account of their extraordinary life cycle. I am especially aware of the River Tay in Scotland, mostly thanks to a 90 minute documentary The River: a Year in the Life of the Tay (2). My personal experience of the Tay is limited to visits to Dunkeld, Perth and Dundee, where I nonetheless fell in love with the river and its powerful energy.

Salmon begin their lives in mountain streams, as far upstream as their parents have been able to reach in their autumn/early winter spawning period. The new generation undergoes a remarkable series of transformations (3), hatching as alevin or sac fry when the water warms in spring, and growing into parr with camouflaging vertical stripes. They remain in the same environment for two or more years, by which time, as smolts, they have developed a bright silvery colour with scales that easily rub off. Driven by growth hormones, the 10% of smolts who survive to this stage experience the mutations necessary to become salt water fish and make their journey to the ocean.

They spend another two or more years in the North Sea, travelling north into Norwegian waters, becoming sexually mature, with a darkening of the silvery scales, before embarking on their homewards 120 mile journey up the river to its headwaters. They are much larger than they were when on their way out. The largest salmon ever caught in the Tay, in the 1920’s, was over five feet long.

To return to their own birth-place (remembering exactly where they come from) they have to navigate waters that include rapids and waterfalls, evade osprey and human anglers, and achieve the feats of leaping for which they are famous. “The salmon is able to jump upstream not by fighting against the current, but by utilizing its knowledge of the reverse current which flows beneath the surface current” (4). They are returning to their native headwaters in order to spawn and begin the cycle again. 98% of Atlantic salmon spawn only once and die soon afterwards: their adult bodies, equipped for a salt water life, never fully re-adapt to fresh water and this makes them vulnerable.

Swimming with the salmon is not for the faint-hearted. At the present time the population of Tay salmon is in severe decline (70% in the 30 years to 2019) although the river is relatively clean and is now managed to prevent over-fishing. The effects of the climate crisis in the Atlantic are the most likely cause for the decline of Tay salmon, as for Atlantic salmon in general. Yet even in decline they remain magnificent. Long before the Celtic Iron Age, during it, and for long afterwards, they were abundant in the rivers of Britain, Ireland, and other Atlantic maritime countries. With their complex shape-shifting capacity, their far-journeying years at sea, their uncanny homecoming knowledge and their extraordinary leaps, they seem marked out for another life, in human song and story. I would like to think that the salmon’s mythic reputation can help to save it in this interconnected world.

”’I swim with the salmon says the Green Man,

‘I swim with the salmon’, says he.”

(1) From:  William Anderson Green Man: Archetype of our Oneness with the Earth Harper Collins: London & San Francisco, 1990 See also: https://contemplativeinquiry.blog/2017/05/11/poem-green-man/

(2) The River: A Year in the Life of the Tay 90 minute documentary made for BBC4 in 2019. Presented by writer and naturalist Helen MacDonald. See: https://youtu.be/ZEmAXQIrDeg?si=wlaI0bNtM6YWevAf The film is well worth watching, covering the journeys of the salmon and much more.

(3) Salmon Wikipedia

(4) Philp and Stephanie Carr-Gomm The Druid Animal Oracle: Walking with the Sacred Animals of the Druid Traditions Fireside: London, 1994 Illustrated by Will Worthington. The face of their salmon card is pictured at the top of this blog.

THE IMPROBABLE HEAT OF THE NIGHT

29 July, 9.20 pm.

Gloucester, UK.

The dog days.

Humid.

In the reducing evening light,

I gaze at a twilit horizon

with its promise of a deepening dark.

Then I notice the house lights below

and their brick-bound interior life.

Like mine.

I prepare, standing in my balcony door,

for the improbable heat of the night.

ELAINE KNIGHT: HAIKU

Tick Tock sounds the clock

Marking the passage of Time

As does the silence.

It is a calendar month since Elaine came home from the Gloucester Royal hospital, after her hip fracture in Gran Canaria on 11 April (1). She is slowly recovering, but still housebound.

Two days before her accident I attended a meeting that signed off on a collection of poetry by local writers (2) to which we had both contributed. Elaine’s haiku below is part of that collection.

(1)See: https://contemplativeinquiry.blog/2024/05/12/unsought-journey/ and https://contemplativeinquiry.blog/2024/06/03/inside-looking-out/ (para 3)

(2) Random Writings by the Wrandom Writers Wroclaw, Poland: Amazon Fulfillment, 2024 (Editorial Copyright J.D. Warner; individual poems copyrighted by the authors).

IMAGES FROM A TOWN GARDEN

Tumbledown gatehouse

Unbothered to impress:

You draw my eyes.

A single bloom

Among spiky grasses

Insists on beauty.

Six hundred years

In the life of this carving:

How much has changed?

Across the road,

Restrained elegance.

Here, a bursting life.

The lushness of spring:

Who can resist

Its fleeting appearance?

NOTE: At the beginning of April I discovered Hillfield Gardens – a little outside the centre of Gloucester, yet still in easy walking distance (or an easy bus ride) from where I live. Originally the gardens of a large house, Hillfield Gardens are about 1.6 hectares in extent. They are managed by a Friends Group on behalf of Gloucestershire County Council. For me the gardens are a tranquil space, different in feeling-tone from other local parks. Beyond that I don’t yet have a narrative about the gardens – more a set of discreet impressions. The pictures and words above are an attempt to share these impressions. The third picture is a detail from an 18th century gazebo using architectural details from a 14th century market house in Westgate Street demolished in 1780.

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