Of Leaves, Squirrels, Dogs, and Dances

~gazing out my kitchen window~

~change of seasons landed~

~nature again makes her mark~

She didn't ask my permission

nor scatter her leaves orderly.

She allowed them to fall where they may;

with great purpose she allowed it.

~squirrel~

All that matters to him is the next nut

or the next squirrel to chase around the tree.

~dog~

All that matters to her is

the next meal,

the next intruder,

or the next two-legged creature

that comes along

to caress and talk with her.

The animals do not worry

or engage in much ado.

Aye, I do think the animals

in many ways are wiser than man.

What is their secret?

Simplicity and instinct.

~oh humankind!~

Why have we allowed so much complexity,

strife, unease?

Where have our instincts gone?

Who stole them?

Why did we allow it?

Perhaps if we jump off the Jones' wheel;

perhaps if we smile and touch again;

perhaps if we quiet ourselves

long enough to observe the animals,

even in the cities;

Perhaps we can again arrive at simplicity,

arrive at instinct,

arise each day

with thankfulness in our hearts

and a skip in our step...

Perhaps then life in all its richness

and oneness can be enjoyed

and we can bask in all the goodness

with which we are surrounded.

Will you join me?

Here, take my hand

and dance with me.

Show me your steps

and I'll show you mine.

Together we can make our lives,

our families, our world

A little better place.

december, 2004

carol welch

~*~

I stood at my kitchen window one winter day. I gazed into the unkept woods beyond the backyard, noticing how nature cares for itself. I longed for simplicity. I longed for people to live as one. I longed for the non-sterile life of the wild. I longed for relaxed standards from perfection. I longed to find me.

When I wrote this prose I was still involved with a high-control religious group which believed (and I imagine still does) that the true believers were those who believed as the group taught. To desire oneness with unbelievers was not of God and could result in becoming contaminated or possessed or influenced by the adversary (the devil and devil spirits).

I hid this poem in my journal until after I left the organization. After some of the toxicity was neutralized, I was brave enough to share the poem publicly. But even then I slightly trembled, for fear of being open to inclusiveness. How sad for the family of man to be so divided that to think of peace and tolerance among various beliefs is evil.

I'm glad to be mostly free from that school of thought; though it does try to creep in from time to time and whisper to me that I am wrong to desire harmony among humanity's many tribes. When it whispers I remind myself that I am o.k., that inclusiveness is a good thing; and to remember to dance together with those who wish to dance, to share, and to continue to reach for peace.

I also hope that mankind is the master of progress and that we do not allow progress to master our moments of life.

Datura Stramonium: To Dance with the Devil

Sun ablaze
August heat
Beads of sweat
Fleshly dew

Steady hike
Upon the trail
Through the pasture
Amid green meadows

Insects play
Crickets chirp
Butterflies dance
Innocent choreography

On feathery palms

Of trumpet flowers
Gracefully adorning
Poisonous pods

That incubate
Wicked seeds
In spiky armor
The Devil's weed

Once ingested
The netherworld
Displays its horrors
Ten-thousand fold

Fears take form
In ghastly fashion
Terror personified
Soul's violation

Gills to breathe
Housed with the mad
Aquatic sphere
Of cryptic lunacy

Open rape
Asylum incarceration
Flesh-eating roaches
Parasitic hallucinations

Upon return
To the light
Forever changed
Paranoia's blight

Harmless dance
Of butterflies
On nectar sweet
Of madness divine

september 8, 2oo7
judithpiper

In late August, 2007, my husband and I hiked some pasture fields in Virginia, directly off the Blue Ridge Parkway. I counted some 30 thistle plants with seed pods, which brought to mind datura.

Though the thistles that day weren't datura, the image was intriguing. This poem was born..

Betwixt the field thistles butterflies danced. I thought they probably do the same with Jimson.

Inside datura's spiky pods, rest devils' seeds. I thought, "How ironic....the beauty, grace, and freedom of the butterfly feasting on sweet nectar beneath which lurks such a powerful potion of darkness."

I danced with that potion when I was 15 years old; it was a 4-day sleepless nightmare of hellish hallucinations (an understatement). Sometime I may come back to this post and fill in some detail...and maybe not. Suffice it to say, verses 6 through 9 in the poem are a peek. Each was as real as life itself.

One of my hallucinations while intoxicated was of 100s of black cockroaches crawling over my body, a fanciful flesh feast. Not surprisingly, it took me over 20 years to rid myself of a dreaded, horrific fear of roaches.

I got a job at a science center as a presenter in the rain forest area. One of my presentations? Madagascar hissing cockroaches. Upon our first introduction, I took a deep breath and allowed them to discover my hand. Over time I became friends with the little fellows. After multiple encounters, the terror ceased. I'm still not fond of roaches, but neither am I terrified. ;-)

Hint: Don't dance with this devil; the price is too high. To learn more, just google jimson weed.

*****************

Links to two memoir pieces I wrote about my dance with jimson weed:
Part 1: A Green Hornet and Blackbirds
Part II: Witch Doctors and Roller Coasters

****************

despair

resigned to fate
I sit on my rock
at the bottom
in this dry well

pit's mouth always in sight
light shines in
yet I am wearied
from climbing
and falling

fingernails caked with dirt
snide laughter
mocks my attempts
to escape this hole

if torrential rains pour
I'll drown down here
perhaps I could tread
hoping the waters
carry me up

december 17, 2oo8
judithpiper


I am challenged with depression and anxiety. Poetry and journaling help me to process through these emotions. Some may deem prose like the above as me "dwelling on the negative." I deem it as expressing pain, acknowledging it, and endeavoring to work through it in order to rise out of the thrall of despair. The final verse above, kind of makes me laugh. Is that weird? :-o :-)

At times, I have images that pop into my head. An ongoing image has been myself in a hole, similar to a well. At the top is a boot that will push me down again and again. Other times I climb out of that hole...into the sunlight of hope.

I have utilized something called "thought records" which is used in cognitive behavioral therapy (CBT). After I wrote the prose above, I wrote a thought record. My final thoughts were:

I do fall down and I've always gotten back up. Change can happen at any moment.

Though I seem to be running in circles at the moment, the reality is that I am taking action to deviate that course. Change can happen at any moment.

To life, circles, lines, shapes, and magic strokes upon the page....