Siren Song

It is a long, lonely road, that of a poet. There are, of course, incredible highs. Oft times, when Erato whispers in your ear, the whisperings are so intimate and seductive one literally loses one's mind. This is not a permanent condition--no, only a momentary transformation where one is overtaken and brought to ground by Creativity and Inspiration. These co-conspirators wish to access you, possess you, if only for a short time. (all too short a time) They wish you look from their vantage point, from their perspective, and rethink all it is you've come to know as true.

Many people ask me how it is I write poetry. As best I'm able, I try and convey that it (poetry) comes through me, not from me. There is no other way I can describe it. Mentally I "hand over" the conscious mind and try to follow where it is I am being led. Some describe this as the siren song, others as having a muse. While acknowledging and embracing these metaphors, I tend toward using the term, "Sacred Feminine." The reason is simple; when Creativity and Inspiration come, they often come by directive of their older sister, Love.

I am no sailor. The siren's song has never beckoned me to the rocks. For me she appears as wood nymph or forest sprite. It is uncharted glens and moonlit glades I am drawn to. Where cathedrals are formed by the looming presence of towering trees and ritual consists of ancient dances so powerful, so passionate, and so intimate, the very stars pay homage. The visitation comes at a price though, one must try and navigate the way home. That trek can be arduous and bereft of meaning after witnessing so sacred a ceremony.

Is it worth it? Sometimes I wonder. My description above (long, lonely road) is accurate of my experience. There is another aspect I haven't touched on, perhaps the most difficult. Finding the vulnerability to actually express what has occurred. (who believes what a river knows?) This can lead to a slew of doubt and misgivings, unmet expectations. Still the sisters are insistent--share! Nothing comes so readily to mind (speaking fluent 'Catholic' as I do) as John the Baptist; "I am a voice crying out in the wilderness." And we all know how it turned out for John.

Which brings me to the point of this post. After a lifetime of questioning, an answer. I wish to be specific; it was neither written nor sung for me. Not in the sense that anyone would recognize. But I do. It is Life calling out to Itself. It is validation and acknowledgement that "your currency is poetry." Let me introduce you to someone who appeared to me in the guise of an archetype. Her name is Mia Sable.

http://iacmusic.com/play2.aspx?songID=56174&source=Mia

Mia wrote that song 6 years ago. It is timeless. It is the song sung in the glade while I struggled to find my way home. Who knew?

Mia is a story well worth your time. Google away and be sure to listen to "It's Easy." She is amazingly gifted.

Frere Pierre

By means of all created things, without exception, the Divine assails us, penetrates us, molds us. We imagined it as distant and inaccessible, when in fact we lived steeped in its burning layers.

We are not physical beings having a spiritual experience; we are spiritual beings having a physical experience.

God is not remote from us. He is at the point of my pen, my shovel, my paint brush, my sewing needle--and my heart and thoughts.

The world, this palpable world, which we are wont to treat with boredom and disrespect with which we habitually regard places with no sacred association for us, is in truth a holy place, and we did not know it.

Our duty, as men and women, is to proceed as if the limits to our ability did not exist. We are collaborators in creation.

Science alone cannot discover Christ. But Christ satisfies the yearnings that are born in our hearts in the school of science...Science will, in all probability, be increasingly impregnated by mysticism.

Above all, trust in the slow work of God. We are quite naturally impatient in everything to reach the end without delay. We should like to skip the intermediate stages. We are impatient of being on the way to something unknown, something new. And yet it is the law of progress that it is made by passing through some stages of instability--and that it might take a very long time. And so I think it is with you; your ideas mature gradually--let them grow, let them shape themselves without undue haste. Don't try to force them on, as though you could be today what time will make of you tomorrow.

~Pierre Teilhard de Chardin     (May 1, 1881- April 10, 1955)