Thresholds

From the ancient lore comes a tradition of stepping across doorway thresholds with a deliberate mind.  The forefoot advances with unformed anticipation, while the aft briefly lingers with grateful regard.  Grace resides in the pause between, a blessing from an unseen source.

SuntreeB:W
Winter’s Sun

Solstice is our planetary threshold, spacious enough for all to freely cross; the southern legions come north––come they must, and go we will.  In the intimacies of this grand affair––pole to pole––secrets are sometimes revealed, although usually overlooked for their subtleties.  If you were otherwise engaged to notice our recent global passage––sun to sun––take heedful comfort in knowing that a solstice resides in the center of every breath.  The lore instructs the attentive further, with an injunction to keep the door-stoop and threshold clear––a practice which speaks for itself.

On the archer’s range we deal with innumerable thresholds, one of the more apparent occurs at anchor-point, where/when a well drawn arrow reaches the nexus of tension between effort and surrender, time’s threshold otherwise called the present moment.  If the archer eludes the hazard of hesitation and the temptation of haste, the “still” arrow ripens into a shot that falls from a bow like an apple from a tree.

 

Pearls & the Golden Ring

In our August days, the afternoon Cicada buzz––the sound of southern heat––fades into twilight enchantments of the Katydid rattle. Rattles rattling through late summer nights cooling, then break into the wake of the silence––the dew-heavy webs strewn across meadow’s morning explain everything.  You ought to see the spiraling arrow scatter these otherworldly pearls of dawn. And speaking of pearls, the Moon, as you know, swells toward another crisis, ahead of its fateful encounter with the sun.

Jeremy’s Garden

Tended by a devotional heart              DSCN5688
Your tender-strong hands
Wrestle beauty from
The blistered earth
A Joseph lifted from
The deep well of knowing
Set dancing as leaf and petal
Pollen-drift and broken stone
Hear the spectral banners snap
In the wind
Merciful green to the gold ‘n red
Your fierce eye keen
To the indivisible moment
Of openings.

Generous hands provoke
Fragrance and fruit
But in the deep harvest
At your alchemical touch
Abundant wonders
And our quicksilver is found.

Leaving shoes behind, dervish-like
You step through the hidden gate
Of your garden
Into the secret one, nearer still
Where everything is
And everyone will be…
Hear the tattered banners snap
In the autumn wind
Hear the birdsong you alone
Comprehend
There–in–Love
You will entirely know yourself
As lover and beloved.

S.Scurry

Autumn’s Crossing

chestnutSummer’s spell is nearly broken, as the northern earth gives up another sun. Golden Rod bids a silent farewell, while our overturned shadows trace the polar paths of winter. The Horned Owl is already making plans with the full moon, disturbing the sleep of Hummingbirds that still linger. The treasury of green is sealed in wooden attic vaults, stored in cooling root cellars, and opened only with hunger’s master key.

Capricorn will greet the sun in Madagascar, they’ll swim together in Shark Bay then dance in Rio, before tiring of each other’s company. Till then, we’ll fix an arrow on the string of the waning moons, and bust the seals of chestnuts where winter’s sun hides.