Spoken Word Poet, Writer, Author, Broadcast Journalist.
Saturday, February 17, 2018
A New Moon and the Promise of Spring
You can listen to this being spoken on Soundcloud:
” . . . and I heard trumpets sound across the Eastern skyline and tilted my chin, upward, to witness majestic cirrus constellations of sketches of ancient poetry of the pyramids scrolled upon the backs of my eyelids and felt my spirit shift between dimensions . . . “
– Susan Marie
There comes a time in your life, not age, but life experience related, when you are one hundred percent, beyond any spectrum that requires defining; where you absolutely refuse to accept anything less than what your divine, beautiful soul needs and deserves.
There are poets, philosophers, great thinkers and souls of our time; this human race, that have stated these things profoundly before. Yet, here I am to reiterate those things in a different fashion because I, too, am an awake, alive soul that wishes to continue forward and progressing,together.
If the human race is not ready to come along with me on this rocky, well-trodden, lovely path, well, I simply continue to walk it alone. You see, you do not have to have anyone with you, although having another understand your mind, soul, and the scent of your very being is precious, quite priceless and rare, there are no requirements. I may add, however, my dear soul, please, do not wait for a hand to hold as you step lightly into this deep forest called life.
Life is a strange and beauteous adventure. One day I shall write a most distinguished book full of love and loss, horror and pain, heartbreak and healing, and absolute divinity, but for now, all I have are my fingers, palms, hands, heart, soul, mind and my words, on this day, in this moment.
A lovely soul once wrote:
Ordinarily, I go to the woods alone, with not a single
friend, for they are all smilers and talkers and therefore
I don’t really want to be witnessed talking to the catbirds
or hugging the old black oak tree. I have my way of
praying, as you no doubt have yours.
Besides, when I am alone I can become invisible. I can sit
on the top of a dune as motionless as an uprise of weeds,
until the foxes run by unconcerned. I can hear the almost
unhearable sound of the roses singing.
If you have ever gone to the woods with me, I must love
you very much.”
People ask me to go into the woods with them and I do not decline due to the person, quite the opposite. When I am in nature, this is my church, my altar, my prayer, my being, and my rejuvenation and healing. This is where I talk to my ancestors, the great Gods, whoever they all are, and when I reconnect with my own being.
The trees, I hug, touch, and listen to what they have to tell me. Deer prance, stopping beside me, peering into my soul to see if I am indeed an animal just as they are or a human that is going to disturb their existence. The crows caw, flying overhead keeping watchful eye and the squirrels and ducks follow me, along with chipmunks and all of the glorious birds flitting among the plants and flora that convey secrets to my ever-accepting heart.
I walk through woods, water, cemeteries, grassland and gravel, boulders and dirt, through and up ravines. I am one with the pulse of this land, of those before us. I am listening to my heart, beat, and my feet; they are roots pushing deep within fault lines of this planet.
They step, ever so lightly, my feet, in a most blessed, sacred fashion upon the face of dear Mother Earth, one of mindfulness, the realization that I am walking upon hallowed ground. Father Sky greets me with sunshine and clouds, rain and grey skies, snowfall and flakes and as they fall upon my face, the rain and snow, my spirit is ignited, mythical and volcanic.
If you were standing by me, it may appear that I am present in this world. You just might call my name and if I do not answer, know that I am peering at salamanders, holding in my hands rocks taken from the breast of great bodies of water and when I tilt my chin upwards know that I am speaking to that which created all of this.
You see, my dear, the wind in my hair is the touch of a lover.
People, we discard what is integral to our own existence, to this planet, to the continuation of the human race and more importantly, we are visitors here. I implore you to get into nature and simply be quiet. Open your eyes, look up and into limbs of trees, for they too, are your own arms. Crouch down low, watch bugs scramble about their day in the dirt, listen to the water for she has stories to tell and be humbled beyond comprehension when wildlife is present. Breathe into your powerful human lungs the very being of the essence of all things our feeble human brains can barely begin to comprehend.
For those that have gone into nature with me know that I love you so very much. For those that have yet to go into nature with me, I look forward to introducing you to yourself.
“I am restless.
This state of being greets me in times of immense change.
When I look out at the world, I see my both technicolor and black and white, simultaneous.
A world I am fully conscious of, yet do not completely belong in.
Maybe I am impatient. Maybe I am growing more enlightened.
Maybe I am simply plain crazy.
All I am sure of is I must keep stepping forward.”
– Susan Marie