Surrender. A Poem

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Duality ©2016 Bo Mackison

Surrender. I know it is time.
Is there a choice?
What would that choice be, if not surrender?

Already I am on the ground
arms splayed on the solid earth that holds me,
a spinning world, this ride I’m on,
riding for life.

High on the mountain
the view is wide,
beautiful.
Head-in-the clouds rapture.
Yet, in a time of blindness
one misstep can prove fatal.

There are times to surrender.
Put your faith in the ground.
From this vantage one can fall repeatedly
and continue to get up,
no harm.

The be of life
for a time such as this
not the do of life.

When taking the first next step requires
the patience of a saint (and there are no saints in sight)
when even that first next step
towards that which is most desired
demands my intellect and will,
and those have been annihilated

This is the “night of non-being”
a phrase wordsmithed by Parker Palmer
who speaks of the black of depression
as only one can
from experience.

Surrender.
The tighter I hold the secret
the deeper the exhaustion,
and the deeper the exhaustion
the more I feed the beast of annihilation

surrender the secret
and speak the truth

speak the truth
and cling to the earth

for to survive
in the clutches of hard places,
where darkness hides all details in shroud
where will loses all sense of direction
where intellect refuses to awaken and
feelings shift-change into nothingness

I search for the life force deep within;
a flicker of light in the depths of dark
and a howl now hushed, though echoes still pervade.

Light of hope.
Echo of recognition.

The soul holds on and
the ground supports

for it is this that allows the dark its full expression.

Palmer asks can you see
depression
not as an enemy determined to destroy
but as a friend,
–yes,
a friend, sigh–
a friend pressing you to this one small square of ground
where it is safe to land. sprawl. crawl. stand.

For it is in the standing within oneself,
the turning within
that one finds truth
and learns to hear the whispers of saving grace.

Palmer names this familiar
this time as

‘full body immersion’
and I think
yes,
full body immersion, a baptism in the darkest of wells

and then as

‘full body expression’
and I think
yes,
full body expression, a closing tight and pulling in
so that
–eventually–
an opening is made ready

to the wonder,
to the mystery of the silence,
to the awe.

I stand in the awe,
in the essence of the sacred.

I surrender to the tension of light and dark
until I can bear the duality,
accept the duality,
embrace the duality

of the ongoing journey.

 

~~~~~~~~~

This writing was inspired by this podcast:

On Being with Krista Tippett | Parker Palmer  (On The Soul In Depression)
http://www.podbean.com/media/share/dir-a6nig-fb8db1

 

How to Love – A Poem

Sedum in a Garden ©2016 Bo Mackison

Sedum in a Garden ©2016 Bo Mackison

How To Love

Start. Sit at the kitchen table. Reach out.
Touch the sunlight slanting through the window with your finger tips.
Or sit on the porch swing. Listen to the breezes whistle through the garden grasses.

Look for the sweet spot. Its location may surprise you.

The flowers on the bleeding heart plant have wilted. The late tulips
have withered and dropped their petals; the foliage too has fallen to the earth.

There, emerging from the rock wall, the waxy sedum, gray-whiskered saxiphrage,
rose moss ‘midst the rocks, in earth pockets and shadow.
It is enough for sedum and saxiphrage and moss to thrive.

Realize. There is no destination. No path off yonder that leads to the promised land.
No path at all. No map.

The path is the footfall; the map is the hand grip on the walking stick.

Listen. A glossy blackbird perched on a fence post
trills caaa-ca-ree caaa-ca-ree.

Remember. The ancient courses through your bloodstream,
you inhale the exhaled breath of millions.
You drink water that has circumnavigated the world: it has risen, it has fallen, it is flowing still.

Become one with the air, one with the wind, one with the earth. You already are. Accept this.

Make a torch. What will you use for the stick, the rags, the fuel?
And once it is aflame, what will you see?

Will the stars pour milky trails into the sky to lead you onward?
Will the blackbirds invite you into the forest with their song?

Or will the torch blind you to your surroundings, restrict your vision to that which is already within reach?

Perhaps the choice is not one of leaving but of staying.

At the kitchen table. On the porch swing.
Between the rock garden and the hard place.

There is a bowl of blackberries, a book of poetry. The sunlight slants through the window.

And when night comes, you will see stars.

~~~~~

Inspired by the poem “How To Fall In Love” by Susan Elbe

Bird Life in the Desert

 

Gambel's Quail ©2016 Bo Mackison

Gambel’s Quail ©2016 Bo Mackison

I wonder at my daily sightings of the mama
and papa quail, their brood of chicks dart
like scattered billiards balls, each pecks
for seeds in the rocky soil.

On hot afternoons the adults settle into
the desert earth like ancient ocean puffer balls,
keeping watch, the chicks tucked under
a prickly pear cactus hideout.

 

Road Runner © 2016 Bo Mackison

Road Runner © 2016 Bo Mackison

He has the habits of a slap stick comedian,
a relative of acclaimed characters in
Western tall tales & Saturday morning cartoons.

I’ve seen him do a helicopter dance,
land with a bird in his beak.
He’ll do combat with a rattler…and win.

And yet in courting, he presents his intended
with a twig or blade of grass,
then the chase is on — ’til she decides yea or nay.

On cool desert mornings he spreads
his tail feathers, exposes dark flesh,
& warms himself with the heat of the sun.
An energy conservationist.

Opening to the Sacred – A Poem

Wupatki - Finding the Open Spaces

Opening to the Sacred © 2014 Bo Mackison

A poem is . . . an act of devotion and holy rebellion; a source of healing and a journey of risk. ~ Edveeje Fairchild

I enter emboldened.

I come in holy rebellion.

Enough groveling at feet of stone-struck statues
incapable of emotions, no welcoming nod,
refusing to utter soothing words as balm to my aching heart
or offer celestial embrace.

You.
Safe behind barred doors,
chain link fences,
security-guards on watch.

From whom do you seek protection?

The penitent, the silenced one, the hesitant seeker?

I rise in holy rebellion.
I will not bow nor cover my face with
a black mantilla and your rules.

I do not come in holy rebellion.

I am Holy Rebellion!

Practice Resurrection — Photography to “Manifesto” by Wendell Berry

All Text: Excerpted from “Manifesto: The Mad Farmer Liberation Front” by Wendell Berry

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Love the quick profit, the annual raise,
vacation with pay. Want more
of everything ready-made. Be afraid
to know your neighbors and to die…

Pop Art Shopping Carts

When they want you to buy something
they will call you. When they want you
to die for profit they will let you know.

Garden Water Pump in Sanford Farm Garden, Old World Wisconsin

So, friends, every day do something
that won’t compute. Love the Lord.
Love the world. Work for nothing.
Take all that you have and be poor.
Love someone who does not deserve it…

Give your approval to all you cannot
understand. Praise ignorance, for what man
has not encountered he has not destroyed.

Redwood Abstract

Ask the questions that have no answers.
Invest in the millennium. Plant sequoias.
Say that your main crop is the forest
that you did not plant,
that you will not live to harvest.

What's in this Pond?

Say that the leaves are harvested
when they have rotted into the mold.
Call that profit. Prophesy such returns.

West Bluff, Devils Lake State Park

Put your faith in the two inches of humus
that will build under the trees
every thousand years.

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Listen to carrion – put your ear
close, and hear the faint chattering
of the songs that are to come.

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Expect the end of the world. Laugh.
Laughter is immeasurable. Be joyful
though you have considered all the facts…

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Ask yourself: Will this satisfy
a woman satisfied to bear a child?
Will this disturb the sleep
of a woman near to giving birth?

Lavender Fields and Bee Boxes

Go with your love to the fields.
Lie down in the shade. Rest your head
in her lap. Swear allegiance
to what is nighest your thoughts…

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As soon as the generals and the politicos
can predict the motions of your mind,
lose it. Leave it as a sign
to mark the false trail, the way
you didn’t go.

The Path Beyond

Be like the fox
who makes more tracks than necessary,
some in the wrong direction.

Kure Beach Sunrise, November 8, 2013

Practice resurrection.

Excerpts from “Manifesto: The Mad Farmer Liberation Front” by Wendell Berry

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I’m posting a 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 photography essay was inspired by the words of Wendell Berry and posted in honor of Earth Day 2016.