Born & Birth

Can we born and birth ourselves?

Something in our body did.
Something deep within us.
In our core.
Our origin. Our beginning.
The hours here after our before.
One end of the universe
to the other end.
Right there in our forehead
and our skin
walking within panties or boxers,
walking with the beasts in the fields,
people in the cities,
trees in forests.
Walking by those elder elms
a whisper known to life
the turn of death, the turn of birth
known to self,
a self that does not begin nor end.
The moss on stone.
The mushroom of the kingdom dead.
Estuaries of darkness,
tributaries of light
in every genome and atomic particle,
programmed and programming
space and non-space alike.

Throw

Throw your Stone Age religions
of laws and fear out the window,
the Great Rightening of Civilization
is here.
The dawn of humanity’s childhood
is ending.
The cedars and the oaks
have known,
known for so long.
Or else,
how could they lose limbs and
still live?
How could they mold and rot,
bear both the dead
and the living
and still be,
still continue to live?
The Great Rightening of Civilization
is here.
The trees will lead the planet
hence.

Star Fawnus

It is a circle here.
Star Fawnus.
Two stars circling around
each other.
A solar system beyond them.
All that comes into the circle
is mineral and ghost,
and ghosts are everlasting.
Rocky hills.
Smells of brushy oak.
The burned tallgrasses.
Clouds sundancing
and night holding onto rain.

It is everlasting here,

where we have lost love.

Love In The Sky

I loved the moon last night
how I love you

Tracing curves
Trailing trails

It caused something deep in my heart
casting light
across
oak trees and prairies

something profound and proliferous
for glass creatures below

Its warm lit glow
reminding my neurons
the power in
I love you
and what belongs in a dominion
of breath

It moved tallgrass
sang wind-songs
Spread translucence
much greater than itself

It became love in the sky
there before
my pained, mortal eye

Its heavenly voyage made you be
the homestead of my earth

Yea though it created a moment in time
in space
an era of life verily unto thee

Lair Druidry

The trees can do
most anything you ask of them.
Go out into the woods,
find a grove, or find a lone tree.
Talk to them.
Speak your words out loud.

The trees communicate with each other.
There are approximately 3 trillion of them
on the planet.
They listen to everything.

You can request anything of trees,
but there is one limitation;

you cannot request anything evil.

And it’s not that you can request
something evil
but they will refuse to do it.
You can literally not even make the request.
Just by requesting something evil
you void their trust.
They will not act. They will not utter.

So ask yourself;
is this evil I plan on asking this tree?

If it is, it will be obvious to you.

This is but one way trees have
educated humans.
They have many contracts and spells
amongst the systems.

The Poet’s Guild

When we go into the woods
we lay down our weapons.
Place them at their feet,
their basin, their trunks,
on stones or behind shrubs,
on the edge of the forest,
before we enter.

The pine stops bullets.
The hickory blunts swords.
The willow catches arrows.
Such is their magic.

They bare time,
layered in their cores,
marked on their bodies,
growing towards the air;
the past, present, and future.
So what would you expect from
these beings?

In their presence,
we listen and learn,
feel their heartbeats in our heartbeat.
They show us how to become
into the All.
Consciousness masters.
So this
is why we lay down our weapons.

The Woods

The woods will ruin a lesser man.
They’re evil.
Teeming with creatures.
Teeming with whispers.
The woods carry cold,
hold onto cold,
but prosper insects in summer.
They’re everywhere;
the scorpions,
ticks,
centipedes.
You can’t lay down or relax
in the neverending mess of
leaves, dust, twigs, and pebbles.

Though the arms of the trees
bring you the moon.
Their dead warm your house,
build your pubs and tables.
Their leaves give you breath.

The woods are obstacles and evil to men.
They need to be destroyed
for new neighborhoods to be built.
Comfortable and romantic to women.
There for vacations and fires.
They are scary and alluring to children.
Home to wizards, witches, and faeries.


COMMENTARY

I live in a house on a hill, surrounded by tens of acres of thick woods. Mostly gnarled old oak trees, with an occasional pine, and some brambly trees like mulberry. The oak trees are interesting in their variability. Some are old, falling apart and decaying right before your eyes. Some are strong, sound, beaming, sociable and communal. Others, just years old, beginning their development and pining for the sky and moonlight. The woods are at once alluring, magical, enveloping, consuming, scary, and populated with a trillion spirits and life forms. They have the power to get into your psyche and expand your perspective on life, time, and existence, but also unsettle your deepest fears. I always feel I have been given something when I go into the woods and come back out. In a sense — the woods are psychedelic.

And yet many men (those of the testosterone sex) approach the woods as something to conquer, remove, and use for utility. I find this unfortunate, and something that comes from places of fear, insecurity, immaturity, and insignificance… nearly all evil and destruction of the testosterone male derives out of his struggle with insignificance. It originates in the importance, the stress, the need to perform his biological “duties” and the fear of those failures. Though his deepest fragility resides in his perceived reality of cosmic insignificance — which being a lone wolf (“my way or the highway”, “my family”, “my home”) he has failed to reconcile with the continuity of everything. And the woods; the woods are quite the opposite of this.

Trees are the guardians of Earth and our closest metaphor of the nature of the Cosmos. Our teachers. Our highest forms of life here.

From Oak Grove To Field

Sometimes
I go from the oak grove
into the light.

The moonlight over the field
of tallgrass.

As a prayer.
To be filled.
Felt, fallen, bathed, and cast.
All in one moment.

Only something
non-human
could do that.

I’m not even sure
I can grasp it.
I just do. I try to live.

Literally, the human being.

While there is so much
simultaneously
happening alongside being,
too dimensional for beingness.

Like I said; a prayer.

Some kind of ionization.
Something electromagnetic.

Into minimal light.
Oak tree stark winter neuronal limbs
reaching.
Into a vast, vast ocean:
        the calculus of consciousness
        Physicists have yet to decipher.
Though my heart drives me to pray,
to give thanks to the eternal moment.

The thing recognizing itself.

The Elementary School Across From Whataburger

The little girl is talking to the trees
But the trees won’t wake up
To tell her what she needs

How her hair is
Who her friends will be
What side of town her family should
Live

The trees are old
They’ve lived long enough
They think it’s stupid what they’d
Have to explain
So they stay asleep
And the other kids avoid
The little girl talking to the trees
Because she’s different
And won’t walk around in circles
In the parking lot
Like the rest of the kids are told
To do so by their P.E. teachers
Because it’s a part of the curriculum
The planning of making tomorrow’s
Americans
be like this

 

Poetry by W.T. tuqMairtin