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I want to put down what the mountain has awakened. My mouthful of grass. My curious tale. I want to stand still but find myself moved patch by patch. There's a bleat in my throat. Words fail me here. Can you understand? I sink to my knees tired or not. I now know the ragweed from the goldenrod, and the blinding beauty of green. Don't you see? I am shedding my skins. I am a paper hive, a wolf-spider, the creeping ivy, the ache of a birch, a heifer, a doe. I have fallen from my dream of progress: the clear-cut glass, the potted and balconied tree, the lemon-waxed wood over a marbled pillar, into my own nocturne. The lullabies I had forgotten. How could I know what slept inside? What would rend my fantasies to cud and up from this belly's wet straw-strewn field- these soundings. - Vievee Francis
Millennium Blessing There is a grace approaching that we shun as much as death, it is the completion of our birth. It does not come in time, but in timelessness when the mind sinks into the heart and we remember. It is an insistent grace that draws us to the edge and beckons us surrender safe territory and enter our enormity. We know we must pass beyond knowing and fear the shedding. But we are pulled upward none-the-less through forgotten ghosts and unexpected angels, luminous. And there is nothing left to say but we are That. And that is what we sing about. - Stephen Levine
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