Desert Labyrinth – Journey Poem

April 6, 2016 by Leave a Comment
Desert Labyrinth

Desert Labyrinth ©2013 Bo Mackison

“A labyrinth is a symbolic journey . . . but it is a map we can really walk on, blurring the difference between map and world.” ~ Rebecca Solnit

Labyrinth, A Journey

I walk in circles, around and back, around and forth.

There is a beginning, a middle, an end.

Release, receive, return.

Guided by lines of crooked rocks
and an invisible hand on my shoulder,
subtle pressure encouraging me forward.

Step after step
turn after turn
towards center.

And there I stand immobile, my breath fragmented.
The labyrinth’s center is marked with a large pock-marked rock
the bearer of mementos and memento mori –
small stones, rings and bracelets, army dog tags, holy cards.

Center – the farthest distance from beginning or end.
I move on
no longer walking a meditative pace.

Startled by a sudden flare of sunlight, heart pounding,
I seek to cast aside these memories that haunt.

And still
I do not disregard the worn path, the boundary of rock,
the unspoken rule of the labyrinth.

I stumble to its exit, blinded, my feet guided by the rocky lines,
the labyrinth expels me from its sacred interior
into this other world.

A ghost keeps vigil, its eyes the eyes of the cactus wren
perched on the thorny spire of a tree cholla.
Its whisper, low and moaning, travels in the arroyo
and disappears in the swirling winds.

Release, receive, return.
All is well.

~~~~~~~~~

Posting a desert-related poem each day in April, National Poetry Month. Updated poems from my blog archives, new poems written as sacred practice, and selected, favorite poems from other poets. Today’s poem inspired by a labyrinth walk at the edge of the desert, and yes, the desire to flee past ghosts. And the decision not to.

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Trees As Sanctuary – A Poem

April 4, 2016 by Leave a Comment
Looking at the Past

Tree Sanctuary © 2014 Bo Mackison

Trees are sanctuaries. Whoever knows how to speak to them, whoever knows how to listen to them, can learn the truth. They do not preach learning and precepts, they preach undeterred by particulars, the ancient law of life. ~ Herman Hesse

Trees As Sanctuary

1806, The People Build the Church

They press brick, kiln lime, raise walls, lay roofing,
paint murals, sculpt sacred ornamentation, build niches for the statues of the Saints.
They clear land, build fences, plant corn and wheat,
and from the priests’ cache of pods and seeds, they plant and then they tend
fruit orchards, nut trees, olive groves.
They learn the missionaries’ way.
They marry, raise children, care for their sick, weep for their dying, bury their dead.

1827, Weary, Ill, and Wary of Raiding Enemies

Many of the People wrap statuary in leathery strips of yucca,
bundled saints now cradled like newborn babes
protected from summer’s heat, shifting winds, monsoon storms,
from damage to their wooden limbs or painted robes or eyes of porcelain marbles.
The People walk north, leave the Tumacácori Mountains,
settle in a valley to the North, build another mission, settle in.

1848, Tumacácori Mission, Deserted in the Desert

No missionary priest leads his people crucifix in hand,
his carved cross held high, his silhouette a contrast to this blue bowl of sky.
No one gives signal to the last few of the Desert People
who abandon their homes, possessions, crops;
abandon their church, its stacks of brick adobe
with the limestone wash, white like angels’ wings;
now the church is pale apparition towering midst desert grasses, agave, mesquite
standing in the foreground of the mountains.

2016, A View through the Window

Open to the cool desert nights,
no roof for protection, no doors.
Only ruins remain and ruins they shall remain.
Window remnants frame the cottonwoods, green and tall,
that line the Santa Cruz River.

Spellbound, I walk to the water,
leafy branches arch a roof above my head,
provide spongy leaf-carpet for my weary feet.
Wisps of white cotton fluff, seeds of the future drift on a southwest breeze.

Trees as sanctuary.

~~~~~~~~

Posting a desert-related poem each day in April, National Poetry Month. Updated poems from my blog archives, new poems written as sacred practice, and selected, favorite poems from other poets.

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Desert Sun – A Poem on Faith

April 1, 2016 by Leave a Comment
Arizona Desert

sonoran desert sunset © 2012 Bo Mackison

“There is not a particle of life which does not bear poetry within it” ~ Gustave Flaubert

I shield my eyes from the intensity of burning desert sun
desert heat rises and
sears my soul my
searching soul
seeking light that surrounds but is not seen.

I sink into the sand-earth
earth carved hollow from desiccated cactus roots,
disappeared thigh deep into the desert underground and
imagine rattlesnake burrows and packrat middens in the seconds
it takes for me to pull myself onto firm ground.

Terra firma.
Be not distraught.

The sun drops off the edge of the world and
night slips in quietly to
settle on my shoulders, oh the
star shimmer that lights the way
it stuns me, evokes cries of praise from my
oft-silenced voice.

I have journeyed long
endless cycle of sunrises and sunsets
the ascent and descent of countless moons

Now a multitude of stars light the heavens
milky streams of light
and with faith bound tight in starlight

I await the return of the sun.

~~~~~~~~

Celebrating Poetry Month by posting (daily) from my collection of desert poetry, mostly mine, but with a few desert classics added to mix. Mining old blog post, journals, margins of desert-themed books, crumpled pieces of notebook paper in my desk drawer, and other places of possibility.

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Owl, Coyote, Desert

January 17, 2016 by Leave a Comment

HS8A8527

 

“hoot hoo hooo-ah” calls the spotted owl
haunting the cottonwoods that edge the Santa Cruz
holy crossroads through the desert

a shadow. prowls. leaps.
pins me to the dry earth strewn with needle thorns
coyote’s tongue slips in and out, in and out
like grandmother’s needle piercing rough cloth to mend
the thin places.

my breath mingles with his earthy breath
coyote uninhibited
unrestrained he carries no shame; so alive he is
in his shagginess
with no regard for pointed looks, creased brows,
sharp words.
without seeing he sees
the bruising, my spirit broken and trampled,
he sees the footprints of resentment, authority defied.

my heavy-hearted words are considered, a remedy is offered.
the flickering tongue again
laugh girl, laugh with me
the desert offers no judgement
split open wide
spill yourself upon the desert rock and you will see.

be wild, the desert offers wild sanctuary.

do what you must do
be not afraid
I keep watch over you, desert one
my eyes pierce darkness as I watch hidden deep in the cottonwood canopy
there exists no night so black it denies my vision. nor you.

walk away from the river. this river runs dry, layers of
dust settled like bone ash pulverized sand and broken shards

there is no drink for offer here; there is no room at this inn

walk away, the desert calls beyond this place
there is drink in sacred vessels carved in slickrock,
search deep within the canyon shadow
for a place to rest. seek solace there.

I see your restlessness. go.
no longer will your desires be denied
take that first step
your longing unbinds your feet.

what is it you seek?

do not say “yes” until you have considered no.

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Petroglyphs in a Desert Canyon – Interpreting Ancient Symbols for Personal Insights

September 29, 2014 by 1 Comment
Petroglyph Canyon Wall

Petroglyph Cliff in Sonoran Desert Canyon

“Men come and go, cities rise and fall, whole civilizations appear and disappear-the earth remains, slightly modified. The earth remains, and the heartbreaking beauty where there are no hearts to break….I sometimes choose to think, no doubt perversely, that man is a dream, thought an illusion, and only rock is real. Rock and sun.” ~ Edward Abbey, Desert Solitaire: A Season in the Wilderness

Deep in a canyon in the middle of the Sonoran Desert, the cliff walls transition from red and gray striated rock to a giant wall of petroglyphs, figures pecked and carved into an ancient layer of the black desert varnish which covers many of the rocky surfaces.

Scientists estimate that many of the petroglyphs were carved from about 300 A.D. until 1300 A.D..

The Hohokam may have pecked these petroglyphs while on hunting and gathering expeditions, or during religious or other ceremonies. Perhaps they are solstice markers, tribe symbols, decorative art, or even an ancient form of graffiti.

 Studying these mysterious symbols, I began to wonder at the message as it was intended, nearly a thousand years ago. A message whose meaning has disappeared just as the Ancient Ones disappeared from these lands almost overnight, back in the 1300s. Some of the markings do align with the solar calendar – one spiral in this canyon is precisely half-illuminated by a slit of light as it shines through a split rock, This happens only twice a year – at the vernal and autumnal equinoxes.

I viewed the spiral on the vernal equinox and watched as sunlight illuminated exactly half the spiral. On the March day when it is half light/half dark. Twelve hours of day and twelve hours of night. Halving the spiral into equal parts of light and dark.

Snake Petroglyph

Snake Petroglyph in Desert Canyon

Each thing in its way, when true to its own character, is equally beautiful.”  ~ Edward Abbey, Desert Solitaire

What messages might you take from symbols as they appear in your daily life?

After researching these petroglyphs, I realized:

  • things are not always as they seem
  • that sometime, in the mystery, lies the unexpected answer
  • that I see/study symbols and may incorporate meaning as I understand it into my life

For example, the snake petroglyph is geometric and prominent amidst the other carvings. There is no way to know what the snake symbol meant to the ancient Hohokam. Yet I can make my own interpretation of the snake and its message, as it pertains to my life, today.

Snakes become dormant in colder months, expending little energy. They are summoned by the lengthening days, by the sun’s longer appearance each day, and they move towards warmth and the life giving powers of the sun. Snakes move in rhythm with the natural cycle, the natural forces of nature. I, too, am drawn to the longer days and tend to slow down as the days shorten. Or I seek places of sunshine, places and spaces that provide warmth.

The snake is of the earth. It crawls upon the earth, burrows into the earth for shelter, warmth, protection. I feel grounded when I stand upon the earth, and focus my energy downward, anchoring deep within the earth.

Snake is ruled by instinct for survival. I, too, live by instincts – some of which I follow, often finding my way; some which I ignore, sometimes to my detriment.

Snake is powerful, often feared, and sometimes is killed or hurt unnecessarily by people who are frightened and do not understand the ways of the snake. How does this relate to me? When I follow my passions, and insticts, take risks, do the unexpected, how do others respond to me? How does this affect my forward movement?

What might snake’s message mean to you?

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