Deer are pines in Mother

[Guest guest]

Love, Here we go again.

Begin. Begin to say this thing again.

 

Snapping fingers, Light crackles,

Flashing eyes, cracks a line right through the Sky.

 

I fall into the jaggedness, the utter raggedness of my Sky,

and my own body garment begins to bleed into Blue streams.

 

Streaming out and shaking the stick of i at the Moon,

shouting some ridiculous Love epithet into space and earth,

 

the stick snaps in two, breaking into a splintered thing.

little broken twig there. A broken stick.

 

Eyes still flowing from everywhere, they fall upon the torn,

lightning scattered pine tree lying there, so silent, staring.

 

little broken twig there. A broken stick.

I am become God's walking stick,

 

my head a crystal, ornamental handle, twisting right,

then left, breaking the Sky's imbalanced Blue from falling.

 

The feet under my legs, holding the earth still.

The giant, ancient pine tree lying still. Staring mutely.

 

Saying, Broken stick. Tiny twig Here. I lie down beside the tree.

Saying, "Broken stick. Tiny twig Here, lying next to You.

 

The next beginning is Here, listen Love:

The broken Shams-i goat-deer is gone today.

 

His other brother is not leaping so high today.

But everywhere along this meadow trail,

 

tea-cup tiny pines are traveling somewhere on still-soft feet.

Umbilically-bound with the tenderest green stem

 

into the earth-mother still giving birth to it!

Still suckling its tiny green stem to Light and Mother.

 

It might be a feathered God SeedHead sprouting up in Me!

This earth and sky and deer goats and seeds and me, and You.

 

We all are running around looking for Shams' forest glen.

There is a Gladness in this confusion of everything.

 

Tiny hoofbeats of flowers and great horse-beings are rushing,

sounding a tremendous Memory of when I was always running towards You.

 

Each one begins to grow into forests of thoughts

recalling, recovering the night at Cliff House, crying to the Sea.

 

All this Beauty breaking forth inside my Heart,

the utter Poignancy, the Tender kindness of Love and Death,

 

It breaks apart every last rounded orb, rounded mooned moving.

I move to Love's center, I moves to the Center of the OneHeart.

 

This Roundness is growing rounder, and Now,

I flow out to the edges of God, smoothing

 

His Love-Filled Face to a Golden Moment of Bliss.

I think it might be that this is all God's Bliss, this Love.

 

Love,

Mazie

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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