Rain again. (What is with this place, this summer?)
Pain again. (Just enough to make me un-forget what I wish to wish away.)
Then, via the casual internet: the man who walks past our desert house every evening, the man of one thousand warm smiles, has died. Presumably, by his own hand.
Detached & afar, my immediate reaction was to begin planning, requesting & assembling offerings to the psychopomp(s). Fire? No, water. Piles of Alaskan wildflowers & fungi set afloat on the sea…
Then, I had to ask myself, 'Is this about gratitude for the Guides, or is this about me?' At day's end, no pomp for the psychopomps (or myself). I went to sleep still asking the question.
This morning, rain again.
Rain & rain & rain, but this day, no pain.
Then, stumbling casually across the internet: in the most unexpected of places, I fell in love. This new love evoked, renewed, rekindled all my loves. It whispered, love them now.
Now is the time to say, "I love you." Now is the time, because today they are walking past your house, passing you the coffee, pocket-dialing your cell, talking while you are not listening. Tomorrow, you may recognize your neglect & start planning your recompenses.
Don't wait for the psychopomp.
I am not prone to dedications. Except for now. Today, this rainy day. This is for all my loves, each & every one of you, kith & kin, old & new... the many of you, the plenty of you (& if you are reading this, it is most likely you are among them).
The Hawthorne Moon, by John Siddique "Isn't It Time We…"
Finally, this shamanic poem is for the psychopomps & the Spirit who walked past our house & kept walking. May he find Freedom & Love at the end of that journey.
Elder Moon, by John Siddique "Freedom or comfort which would you choose?"