Honey Locust - August 8, 2010

Who can tell how lovely in June is the

honey locust tree, or why

a tree should be so sweet and live

in this world? Each white blossom

on a dangle of white flowers holds one green seed-

a new life. Also each blossom on a dangle of flower

holds a flask

of fragrance called heave, which is never sealed.

The bees circle the tree and dive into it. They are crazy

with gratitude. They are working like farmers. They are as

happy as saints. After awhile the flowers begin to

wilt and drop down into the grass. Welcome

shines in the grass.

Each year I gather

handfuls of blossoms and eat of their mealiness; the honey

melts n my mouth, the seeds make me strong,

both when they are crisps and ripe, and even at the end

when their petals have turned dully yellow.

So it is

if the heart has devoted itself to love, there is

not a single inch of emptiness. Gladness gleams

all the way to the grave.

floating in,

then the scouts going out,

then their coming back, and their dancing-

nothing different

but what happens in our own village.

What pity for the tiny souls

Who are so hopeful, and work so diligently

until time brings, as it does, the slap and the claw

Someday, of course, the bear himself

will become a bee, a honey bee, in the general mixing.

Nature, under her long green hair,

has such unbendable rules,

and a bee is not a powerful thing, even

when there are many

as people, in a town or a village.

And what, moreover, is catastrophe?

Is it the sharp sword of God,

or just some other wild body, loving its life?

Not caring a whit, black bear

blinks his horrible, beautiful eyes,

slicks his teeth with his fat and happy tongue,

and saunters on.

to follow a thought quietly

to its logical end.

I have done this a few times.

But mostly I just stand in the dark field,

in the middle of the world, breathing

in and out. Life so far doesn't have any other name

but breath and light, wind and rain.

If there's a temple, I haven't found it yet.

I simply go on drifting, in the heaven of the grass and the weeds.

As a child I loved the game kick-the-can. When the seeker would tire of the game or when the seeker had been defeated, we would yell All-y all-y in come free which means that all those still out could come in without receiving a penalty or losing the game. This phrase comes from "All ye, all ye outs in free." So to Mary, I say, all-y, ally-in come free. She as has me pinned to the mat, my heart clinched in an inescapable hold. I cry uncle and give myself over to absolute reality - that my hurt and suffering is due to some other wild body loving life. How can one live with such glad interconnectedness? Drifting I suppose in the heaven, no purpose, no agenda, nothing but breath and light. I lose myself but win the game of life and death. Mary has defeated this seeker.

How do you give yourself over to that which is greater than yourself?

Bear

It’s not my track,

I say, seeing

The ball of the foot and the wide heel

And the naily, untrimmed

Toes. And I say again,

For emphasis,

To no one but myself, since no one is

With me. This is

Not my track, and this is an extremely

Large foot, I wonder

How large a body must be to make

Such a track, I am beginning to make

Bad jokes .I have read probably

A hundred narratives where someone saw

Just what I am seeing. Various things

Happened next. A fairly long list, I won’t

Go into it. But not one of them told

What happened next-I mean, before whatever happens-

How the distances light up, how the clouds

Are the most lovely shapes you have ever seen, how

The wild flowers at your feet begin distilling a fragrances

Different, and sweeter than any you ever stood upon-how

Every leaf on the whole mountain is aflutter.

I have come across bear tracks and sign in the wilds of Alaska. Every near encounter focused my attention ever greater to fire side stories told by others who had actually interacted with wild grizzly bears. What would I do if I saw a bear, and if s/he charged me, what would be the best strategy for evading harm? Such goes the allure of bear stories – what would I do? Would I survive? The fascination of bear stories and spoor seems to be fueled by fear and ignites further anxiety. But what of the fragrance of flowers? When teaching Nonviolent Communication I often have given an example of the distinction between stimulus and cause with emotions. Does the bear cause us to be afraid? One person might see a bear bounce out of the berry bushes and feel extreme fear and start running .The next person might see the bear and be overwhelmed with a sense of beauty and connection (although probably also retreating to put distance between them and the bear). The bear stimulates our emotion, but isn’t the “cause” of emotion, or at least not the pure cause. Our cognition and history of bear stories informs our emotional response. So we can choose: to flee from this life or to be embraced by wondrous clarity and interconnection.

Do you have themes in your life that cause fear, such as bear stories, shark stories, or broken relationship stories?