New Growth, and Harvest, and Death

Spring has been gentle and abundant this year, in the outer world. We’ve had rains, unusually, and so everything is blooming and shooting and there are baby birds in almost every tree it seems! In the inner world there is growth, too, and harvest but this can’t happen without loss, death and some suffering, it seems. There is that which clings and it doesn’t help, I keep on discovering, to wish it would stop clinging.

bumper crop

Here’s a poem-thing from last night:


‘Say something true,’ the voices said

Said, or clamoured? Or whispered?

What can be heard over the roar of water?

What can be heard over the din of frogs?

Only the mind, the infinite voices of the mind.

All the friends and enemies you ever had

Preserved in aspic or honey or amber

Doomed to replay your version of them

Your pale imitation

Your creative interpretation of them

For forever

And still you keep collecting more,

for heaven’s sake!

Maybe if you collect a thousand, a million

they’ll drown each other out?

Ah, but there remain those potent ones

Those that stained your soul

So early

So deeply

You can’t bleach them out

No matter how many washes of white noise

You douse them in.


Last night, for instance, I dreamed I awoke

in a strange bed

In a hotel room, high up white

Around my neck was a string and attached to it

was a tag

And this tag lay where I would see it

when first I opened my eyes.

On it was half-written the name

of my girlhood sexual abuser

The other half continued onto the sheet

followed by

an arrow


to the sleeping body

Beside me.

Everything was alarm bells and sirens

I had to get out before he woke

Had to had to had to

But as dreams do to it

My body was a sack of sand

Barely able to move and only

with the greatest effort

Slowly, so slowly

Desperate, so desperate

The sheet over me was made of lead

But finally

I freed myself

And then I was running



For the rest of the dream.


Am I still running now?

Is that all I do, day in, day out?

Run away?

Is that all any of us are doing?

All day long

All night long

All life long?


This morning when I finally arose

Almost as heavy as the dream

I found a seat in the sun

And gazed at green

And yellow irises

opening in the pond

I let my head fall back

Exposed my throat to the sky

Back, back my neck so

tightly strung

it might snap

But the intensity

was a relief

And welcome


Was a word

That spoke


I thought of beheadings


And that if it could be like this

In sunlight,


It might just be a relief,



green raspberries



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