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WHITMAN AND THE SUN AND THE TRACTOR

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Whitman says that the communication is interesting and well though we shall never meet, - and he leaves messages for what he refers to here and there in Leaves of Grass as, I paraphrase, his clan or spiritual progeny. Yes and the sun raise high over the field, and Whitman pages have been closed but the messages are open. Nobody can bring their envy and discordant vibratory karma to the fields. All the naysayers and doubters, the unconscious who are, some of them, - proud of their unconsciousness! - are held back by a secret spirit. Only the empath, the psychic, the ones that have done the spiritual work are allowed in the fields. There, the old farmer comes past in his small tractor and the yellow paint peels but is somehow beautiful in the sun. Two hawks survey the land from afar. The coy insects retreat from the walking line of the purlieu. There is then, for the day and positivity and brightness, nothing lurid about the environs for the atmosphere, if not sacrosanct, is close, - ...
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VALLEY AND OTHER

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The sun filters down through the trees and marries the moss here and there or else touches rocks. There are trees grand and old that have fallen over into the valley and what strikes one most is their root systems. These once secret under the earth labyrinthine systems now also accepting, against their will for a time I suppose,- the air and sun and other. Crickets or beetles live under them, and perhaps some snakes or frogs and other things. Some of the roots still have dirt that clings like a half forgotten dream and some are bleached, flaxen from the sun and long exposure to the air. Looking up, I thought I should take stock of my surroundings now and again, to know where I was, to mark the land there in my mind. There was nobody around and then someone’s dog and one of mine sniffed or saw one another. The other dog was far and far up on the summit,- and someone called it, Coco, to come back. My dog disappeared in that direction, and then reappeared, so fast and full of prowess i...
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THE MAGICAL FOREST VALLEY

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c. There is an introduction by Joseph Conrad for one of his short stories where he is bothered by a critic’s question as to whether a character in the story might have been experiencing something supernatural or metaphysical. In the story, like in much of Conrad, ‘place’ seems to be such a haunting character, that perhaps the critic was swayed almost to other worlds, because Conrad did his job so well. But Conrad wanted, he said somewhere else, to make the reader, ‘see.’ It’s all perfect in the end, because Conrad succeeded, perhaps better than any other, and by see, he means far more than see, but see-feel-intuit-practically ‘live’ what is being told. I am no Conrad, but I thought of this tonight because earlier in the day, or rather the afternoon, I visited a forest valley where I did not see the other-worldly (though I have seen the other-worldly before and know personally that it exists), yet the forest then and there was so magical, that it did not need actual metaphysica...
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FALL BEGINS (OF BEAD WORK, CHAGA, DOGS, MELVILLE, CONRAD, CASTANEDA, THE COOL AUTUMNAL AIR, AND OTHER)

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The temperature has dropped and the heat has broken. Thank God. It was too humid. The fall can begin and a sunny day so called can be warm, but remain pleasant without it’s over arching oppressive sun and humidity. The dogs and I walked seamlessly and languidly through the cool forest paths realizing what we knew all along: That our path, literal and figurative, was not far off the mark to begin with, was, in fact, right on the mark,- poetic, beautiful, imbued and strewn with grace, mystery, and even a sort of natural and sometimes metaphysical magic. God, how nice it was to go back to the routine of the forest paths and the open fields, of the little stream and what’s more, the butterfly and butterflies were following us as totems, as angels, as guides, as messages. After, - a snack and coffee on the way back, - and the world was kicking into perfection once more, - for autumn is the best season of all, - the creative month, the month of sleeping and living dreams, of jeans and k...
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WATER WALK AND BUTTERFLY

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The water was cool and the sun fell towards it and upon it as little spiders crawled across the top. Underneath a few fish, small, silver-looking or seaming, and they darted here and there. A frog was near the edge and he jumped in and the dirt underneath stirred. There were not many people around and at that time, nobody was around that specific pond. I remembered it there when it was winter, - frozen, the wind coming across the icy top, almost vexatious, and yet there was a thrill and alertness and a certain winter beauty though rugged and fierce. That old pond must have seen everything there is, - all manner of storm and person and animal, but also things like stillness and quietude and calm. I wonder and think then, - if there be fairy folk, devas, et al. - they are there and the forest knows these creatures well. I walked on, but not far, - just around a small loop as it was incredibly hot and without the water source to cool off the dogs, - would not have ventured there or any...
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SEASONS (ON THE FIRST DAY OF AUTUMN)

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The sun came through the treetops but only in shards and sparkles somehow floated through the air. I saw a snake, long and learn and mature and looking for a hole to climb or slither into. The fall leaves were there, but there will be more. I think that the water when it rains will be like manna from heaven and so interesting to see and feel and touch. I know the grassy summit and the pebble walkway and the big stones and the valley corridor along with the tractor laden field and the side paths full of feral berries and peculiar shrubs of all sorts. The sky, seen in a parting of the treeline, is light blue and without clouds. When will the place cool off? Enough of summer, though it is pretty. I pick up a cool rock in my hand and look at its markings. I also see the leaves around, large, yellowed, crumbling, falling. Maybe autumn shall come practically overnight, the way seasons have sometimes been known to do. The branch hovers in a secret breeze and makes shapes on a log, on a sto...
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HOT AND LOOKING FORWARD TO REAL AUTUMN

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High enough summits and its quiet there less people and the day is hot but the shaded areas nice. Berries and butterflies are around, and things can be seen such as the brown and deep valley and the blue sky with white clouds dispersing here and there. A plane is heard in the distance and some strange cricket songs afterwards. I could not see a snake, a frog, or a praying mantis, but it was enough to enjoy the sight of the dogs running back and forth under the cover of the trees and their still relatively full branches. We await the real and true autumnal hues and temperatures and atmospheres’. At that time, we will romp through the land, just a bit happier and more relaxed. It is a time to wear jeans or khakis and sweaters and/or plaid work-shirts. Thoughts will sway towards things like pumpkins and fun ghost statues and stories, to the shortening of days and the crisp air of well wrought October nights. -----------------------
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