Quiet Silence

QUIET SILENCE

There are several silences.

As in noise levels, there are levels of quietude.
Not measured in decibels nor like altitude,
they are perceived through the senses.

First is that which one commonly meets,
the mere temporary absence of sound.
Knowing noise will inevitably return,
true silence pauses and retreats
until the next time ’round
when it gets one more turn.

Another exists only because the din of civilization
has not yet reached it,
not yet engulfed it.
A silence of anticipation.

This silence knows only the muted sounds of nature.
The rippling of the stream,
the haunting cries of the loon,
the pounding footfalls of the elephant.

But true silence will endure.
Absolute silence, it would seem,
does exist.
We are led to it by Kabirian flute
under the rising new moon,
by the buzzing of bees,
by the gnawing of a tiny ant,
by the whispering winds
amongst the morning mist.

Immutable.  Incessant.  Incorruptible silence.

It is the space between ocean and sea,
the time between the beats of my heart.
It is the period between drops of pure rain
falling from clear, thunderless skies.
First the pitter, then…the patter,
the deluge soon will start!
Flowers stop their turning
as rain comes down in pails.

It is that pause between contraction and expansion of the universe,
that moment before, with tiny arms and legs churning,
a newborn baby wails.

It is the instant after the flash of lightning,
between one wave and the next
as they crash upon the white sand shore.

Between the tic and the toc,
the knock and the knock
upon some distant door.

In these true silences, all nature doth rehearse.

As God’s great art was painted in silence,
a canvas waiting for sound,
true silence envelops me in its quiet embrace
and I see the music of the spheres all ’round.

Not one note is louder than silence!

As before Big Bang’s creation,
before my first breath
life was spanked into me by noise.

Quiet silence left behind in the womb of space.

Until I return to that greatest of silences,
I am thrust into a life of sound so that,
in its absence, I may find peace in the moment.
If I live for and in those moments between,
if I am fully present then
and in the long progression of silent nows,
I will have a life of quiet bliss and harmony,
ever seeking true silence.

Which is joy.

There are different silences.
Some would say it is simply the absence of sound.
But I rather think sound is the poor absence of silence.

Which is love.

There is more than one silence…
—————————————-
mindbringer, 22 August 2010

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Joy Too Old

JOY TOO OLD
How silent is this spawnless, unending time before the breaking light does come…

Come to me sweetly, as does the dawn!
Swiftly, as darkness yields to light!
Run forth from the terrors of night.
Now far behind you, now gone.

Becoming day, you pause with I to play in fields of golden rules
and drink from draughts of wisdom’s ration.
Beaming we as one bright ray, oe’r river bars
and glens we go, gazing thru green gaps of tree,
we turn with hopeful wishful yearning
past cities, towns and countries burning
and spy on high with warming passion
life’s giving orb that shined forth thee,
that crowned us both in heaven’s jewels.

A new day’s chance again is given!
And though man’s hopes and joys, like geese,
by v-shaped spears of hate were riven,
As I, Compassion, rise, so thee do, Peace.

We offer all on bended knee
the rings of Saturn, the moats of Mars.

The joy of old – and this – I wish thee:
know you now that I and we and all are one.

———————————-
mindbringer, 12 January 2010

Sonnet in Bee Flat

SONNET IN BEE FLAT

There must be a place (but I’ve yet to find one)
beneath the Sol-drawn dawn of autumn skies
where cut-throat trout still find the heart to run
and the fullness of Summer’s life never dies.

There, as if Earth had changed rotation,
Instead of honey, nature gathers dew
and composes a world without notation.
Unlike the life of old, this work is new.

Despite the nearing gray cold wintry blast,
the twisted fir tree keeps her dreams of green,
of a chamomile welwitschian past,
and buzzing yellow flights of friends less seen.

But bees still dance their flower pollen-aise,
a song of haze gold mid-October days.

————————————
mindbringer, 19 October 2009

Blog Action Day

There are still those who reside upon this planet who do not yet accept that their everyday lives, their very existence, is as tenuous as that of the mayfly. They do not yet accept that the cumulative results of their actions, and inactions, of themselves and their fellow Earth-dwellers, when added to that of their ancestors, has, since at least the dawn of The Industrial Age, resulted in the planet’s current lifeforms being brought to the brink of extinction. They do not yet accept that it is human activity that is the prime-mover of this result. And, most terrifying of all, they do not yet accept that they, that we humans, can, if we act quickly and decisively and bodly enough, perhaps slow down and even reverse this tragic heading.

This horrific situation we find ourselves in is known variously as global warming or climate change.

The inevitability of the end of life as we know it upon this blue planet we call home is as real as anything ever has been. We have collectively taken the path towards our own destruction and that of our fellow living things. To avoid the inevitable, to save our own lives, and to guarantee the future of humanity in the universe we can and must take action now to mitigate our negative influences upon the planet and to multiply our positive actions in changing course away from self-destruction. But we must act quickly. We must act now. And we must act in every country, every province and every village.

Very soon, in Copenhagen, some of the world’s leaders gather to ponder this situation we are in. Some will deny that we are “in” anything, let alone dire straits. Others will say that we still have time to act or that there is nothing we can do about it. Others still will say that this is merely a cycle that Earth goes thru and that she will naturally come out of it in her own time. And then there will be those, mostly from the countries that are the most greedy, the most consuming and the most destructive of Earth’s dwindling resources that will say that their country cannot afford to do anything about climate change. They will say that it is not fair that they have to make changes when other countries, such as the United States of America, have acted so irresponsibly. And there will be much difference of opinion, much arguing and name-calling.

While Copenhagen fiddles, the Earth warms.

If the world’s leaders do not act and act now, the inevitable will be upon us. Some day soon, perhaps in our lifetimes, we will reach the point of no return. The point beyond which no actions on our part will have any positive affect. The point at which those who have not accepted reality will find themselves starting at the face of it. The face of death. Death of dreams, of goals, of families, of prosperity, of democracy, of good and of evil. And the earth, less blue, will still revolve, though lifeless, around the sun. And no one will be there to tell the tale of man.

Equinox Fox

EQUINOX FOX

Vernon the aqua fox,
swim fast ‘ere Summer’s fall;
wade wide-streamed Autumn’s lull.
Your rust red coat and socks
of white will fade at snowfall’s call
and, hunting just to keep kits full,
at moon you’ll howl and nip but fail
at Winter’s icy onslought gale.

These equal days of light and dark
will soon make way
for short days and stark
with cold and biting winds,
whose wide streams are too hard for play.

There!  Beyond the river bends,
you see the sun of spring arrive
and all the world is back – alive!
Now struggle fox with coat of red,
to out your den, back from the dead,
and greet spring’s dawn and all it sends.

————————–
mindbringer, 16 September 2009