 |
Poems On Site: 198,500+ Comments On Poems: 427,000+ Forum Posts: 105,000+ |
Custom Search
|
|
|
||||
| Welcome ! | Home · FAQ · Topics · Web Links · Your Account · Submit Poetry · Top 30 · OldSite Link | 29-May 18:20:39 AEST | ||
|
|
||||
|
|
||||
|
|
||||
|
Array
(
[sid] => 37727
[catid] => 1
[aid] => mick
[title] => Journey With Jaala
[time] => 2004-03-07 19:03:56
[hometext] =>
[bodytext] => I was seven years old at the time and I believed in the magic of stones, trees and water. I still do as a matter of fact although I'm closer now to seventy than seven. Nothing I learned in school, church or work has ever persuaded me otherwise. My mother first saw my father's reflection while glancing in a mirror on Halloween. She was eating an apple at the time and was alone in the room. She told me that she walked straight out of doors backwards gathered a white rose and placed it between two sheets of cotton. She didn't look at it again until Christmas Day, and being a wise one was unsurprised to find it still fresh. She wore it close to her heart and met my father in the flesh for the first time that day. You may not believe this tale and that's your prerogative but whether you believe it or not the truth is still the truth and belief or faith for that matter has nothing to do with it. I grew up as a quiet boy who had the whole world as his backyard. My mother who was a pink witch taught me never to believe anyone who claimed to be a witch. My father who came from Irish Traveller stock taught me about horses and dogs. He also taught me how to remain silent and watch other people closely He said I'd learn a lot more by listening to what people said and watching what they did than I ever would by telling them what I could do myself. He was right, of course. With this pedigree it's hardly surprising that I could read faces before I could read words, Or that subconsciously I was always searching for my "manitou". Even at seven years of age I understood that the mountains carried the wisdom of long-gone generations yet the murmurings one often hears in the silence of the night confused me. And then I met Jaala. It was in October the big chestnut month and the river was a gentle place with a lush forest of ferns on either bank. Jaala appeared as I sat trying to force the river to hold its breath the way it does when winter comes and ice covers its surface. She was just there sitting quietly behind me with long grey hair and flawless Native American skin. If it wasn't for the shade of her hair I would have guessed her to be about twenty. Her eyes were the colour of topaz and had flecks of jade in them which sparkled when the autumn sun bounced off the water. She was beautiful. "Who are you?" I asked hypnotized by the tranquil radiance in those eyes. "My name is Jaala," she replied smiling serenly. "I'm the soul of the tree," and she indicated an old oak on the opposite bank. "The soul of the tree?" "Yes." "Do I have a soul?" I asked with the candour of a seven year old. "You ARE a soul," she replied, "A bird of white waters who hears silences others are unaware of. "I'm not a bird." "Yes, you are a bird," she said, "and you will learn how to open the door of your cage at will. Limitless horizons are yours to own as they are everybody's but the illusion of the fettered foot holds too strong in most." It was to be several years before I grasped that I wasn't supposed to understand what she meant. At least not at a conscious level. Yet even then at seven years of age somewhere in the heather and the hills of my heart a wild magnificent sensation took wing. Changing the subject and getting away with it as only a small boy can I asked, "Do you get lonely?" "No, of course not," she laughed, "I have my lover." "Your lover?" "Yes. He is an old Shaman dancer and is the soul of that tree over there," she said indicating another oak. "With the first wind of morning our branches touch and we caress the energy of each other." They were the only two oaks I could see in a forest of lodgepole pines. "But," I asked never for a moment doubting that she told the truth "Doesn't a tree die if you leave it?" "No, of course not," she chuckled sounding more like wind chimes than laughter "The tree still breathes whether I choose to stay or not. "You've been sitting here trying to persuade the river to hold its breath and the one thing that prevents you succeeding is your own fear that somehow this will harm the river. "When you hold your breath the rest of your body continues to live beneath the surface. Cells continue to migrate and relocate with the changing seasons of your body and after as long a winter as you can hold the spring of your next big breath brings life and a healthy glow to the surface. "It's the same with the river and it's the same with a tree. "You leave your tree often as well only you don't remember it. Every night you fly and every morning you return. The trick is to do it while you're awake. "Mind you some souls don't return to their trees But of course that doesn't stop the tree breathing. It carries on for many years in a pointless battle between decisions it has not chosen for itself. The worst evil of all is to leave the ranks of the living while your body still survives. "Shame on those souls but it truly is their choice." She was silent after that and all you could hear were the insects playing their melody and the soft gentle lapping of the water. I didn't know what to make of it all so I kept quiet too. There was something calming about her presence as if her hushed pace was a choice made long ago. Serenity moves faster when it's going backwards. After a while I don't know how long she said, "Sometimes my branches get very heavy Too many acorns perhaps You have many acorns on your tree too." "I do?" "Yes Everyone does That's why we're all here Not to learn such strength to enable us to hold all our acorns but to learn how to drop them from the branches at will. "You don't have to carry them everywhere you go, you know. Let's leave them for a while, shall we?" I nodded, speech seeming superfluous. "Look into my eyes and feel the wind on your face." Those topaz-coloured eyes came right at me and almost immediately I became aware of the light breeze coming off the water. "Drift into the wind on Indian dreams and listen to the silence ….. a silence full of sounds. Remember it takes a very long time to become young. And as you look into my eyes you may realize that you can smell all manner of things ….. the river the grass the earth the flowers ….. throwing their fragrance at you. "And the air pushes you around." I started to feel light-headed and it was hard to keep her eyes in focus. It was a pleasant feeling, though and I was enjoying the sensation of being pushed around by the air. "The perfume of an autumn day ripples through your imagination like magic ….. and as nature talks to you in this way the water follows its ancient path from the river source Its journey filled with the music of colourful birds ….. listening to the wind playing in the trees ….. looking into the mirror of your soul ….. smelling the true fragrance of freedom." I was drifting now So many colours and sounds and smells I didn't know what to concentrate on "Your reality is created by your inner being," I could hear her saying "There is no situation you cannot change You have an ancient culture in your veins ….." And everything floated into one after that. She spoke to my subconscious for what seemed like hours although it can't have been that long. I was just happy to watch the pictures that appeared unbidden in my mind. I watched trees tossing their branches in the wind They were so free I saw a sacred medicine wheel and Jaala was standing beside it She told me that Wolf Spirit would make me more dynamic and that the Eagle stood for illumination and wisdom She said that Buffalo wisdom brought good luck and the Grizzly Bear was to remind me to be gentle with myself I entered a Shaman's cave and was told that the Eagle saw the largest perspective of life. I was given a red leaf and could hear Jaala singing reminding me of a long-forgotten dream ….. a race of people who originated from the stars ….. whispering to me through the wind. And the world went by somewhere else. Jaala had disappeared as quickly as she came and it was to be ten years before I saw her again although sometimes I imagined I could feel her presence. I spent hours resting under the two oaks That was my private place and I gained a quiet strength there. I've since come to realize that the strength was always inside of me and I took it with me wherever I went. The oaks just focused it in the same way Christians use an alter to focus their prayers or West Africans use a juju charm to protect their tomorrows There's little difference. At seventeen years of age my body had a shy sturdiness to it and my relexes were fast I was more at home on the back of a horse or in the water than I was on my own two feet. I was swimming naked in the river enjoying the refreshing coldness of it challenging its power as I wrestled the ever-changing ebb and flow of current when I next saw Jaala ….. ….. But that's another story. [comments] => 1 [counter] => 147 [topic] => 62 [informant] => karl_wiggins [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 5 [ratings] => 1 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => spiritual )
|
Menu
· 
Poetry
Community
Members
Areas
Reference
Search
Top
Others
Poetry is much like a great photo, a single "moment in time" capturing many feelings and emotions. Yet, they are very alive; creating stirrings within the readers who form visual "pictures" of the expressed emotions within the Poem. ©
Opinions expressed in the poetry, comments, forums etc. on this site are not necessarily those of this site, its owners and/or operators; but of the individuals who post items to this site.
Frequently Asked Questions | | | Privacy Policy | | | Contact Webmaster
All submitted items are Copyright © to their submitter. All the rest Copyright © 2002-2050 by Your Poetry Dot Com
All logos and trademarks in this site are property of their respective owners.
Script Generation Time: 0.052 Seconds. - View our Site Map | .© your-poetry.com