I know the gentle voice and urgent whispers of my own heart. I have only lately realized some fuller degree of this phenomenon, yet I know that my core self, my heart, has always been seeking to break into my consciousness in a more profound way. As I have mentioned, I remember my mother telling me to follow the dictates of my heart when I was beginning college and feeling lost and hopeless, but then and even earlier I was consumed with living to please others and to neither hurt nor upset what I had come to know as normalcy. Not communing with my heart, though, meant that I did hurt myself and others, emotionally, despite my best intentions. Trying to fulfill what I perceived others wanted was neither a blessing to them nor peace for myself. I never actively spoke to my heart, and formal religion hindered that in a way — although I am definitely not judging or denigrating personal beliefs of others. I take full responsibility for the way I interpreted all to which I was exposed. I remember my heart seeking me when I was very young and bound in the pain of, well, let me just say it this way, the pain of a childhood marred by unavoidable things. What prevented me from really taking any meaning from the remembered and definite whispers of my heart even at young ages was the very unreal impression that I could help to control all that was going on around me. I couldn’t; however, I would not change a thing about my childhood or my subsequent life. I acknowledge that I have created all that I have lived, and I have processed the pains and hurts, the joys and successes, accordingly.
I have described in the first five of “My Writing Life” posts how I have been heading towards what I experienced in the following poem for some years now. I am a writer and by extension of that, a teacher. Incidentally — or not — the full moon to which I refer in the poem was the second full moon, a blue moon, of special significance to Celts and native tribes in centuries and millennia past. In the last few years, I have had to refer to this poem for grounding a number of times to reassure myself until I have readers. To write and to not be read is, perhaps, not writing at all, just as to teach and to have no learners is not teaching at all.
I wrote the following poem not out of creative construct but rather out of conscious experience on the date recorded. This personal conversation with my own heart, followed by many since then, has fueled my novel, The Fellowship of the Heart: the Voice of the Elders. I hope that you will read the poem and know that such experiences can be realized by anyone. I left the questions that occurred to me after recording the poem because they were part of my thought process. I hope that you will actively experience fellowship with your own heart. Here is the poem that came from mine.
The Bird Bath Moon
“What is this moon called?” the Poet asked, to no one in particular.
“But a better question,” his Heart said, “would have been,
‘What power and what magic does this moon possess?’”
“It is a mystery,” the Poet said, “an enigma, unknown and unproven.”
“It is magic!” the heart of the Poet said
And continued, “Magic that you know, that you can prove, that exists.”
The Poet said, “This August full moon is the Sturgeon Moon or the
Corn Moon Or Grain Moon. The Peoples first here called it that.”
His heart asked, “Do you catch sturgeon? Do you grow corn?”
“That’s silly!” said the Poet. “You know
I do not do those things living here in the suburbs!”
“Then why call it that? I told you it is magic!” Heart whispered earnestly.
“Magic that you need,” Heart scarcely breathed.
“What magic do I need?” mulled Poet.
As he gazed upon the full-glowing silver orb, he thought,
“I know the moon
Helps Earth in many ways,
She is crucial to
The ebb and flow of our oceans’ tides,
Maintaining this globe’s axial tilt — all
Life would be different, maybe non-existent for us humans…
These are magic, I suppose,” mused Poet.
Heart breathed, “What do we want?”
Poet and Heart — that core self --
Dreamed, would almost whisper those dreams,
But Poet would reconsider.
“What if I wish wrong?” he wondered, slightly tormented.
“It’s not a birthday cake!” Heart goaded and added,
“I told you: it’s the Magic of the Universe.”
“How do I realize that magic?” Poet asked.
“You are creator! Create your fate!” Heart urged silkily, in hushed tones.
Poet and his Heart wondered.
Then, Heart spoke once again,
“Moon gives more than science knows,
More of those things hearts require,
And although impalpable, are very
Real — things of Magic;
Of loves engendered and rekindled,
Of sacred rites and spiritual directions,
Of sound decisions and lost sanity,
Of hopes with feet and dreams with wings,
Of…You, Poet, Us, Discovery.
We can choose,” ending in a drawn out, sibilant whisper.
Then, Poet’s contemplative gaze
Fell upon that silver orb’s
Reflection held within the puddle of
The simple, shallow birdbath.
“What does it mean to you?” invited Heart.
Poet thought silently, “Power of life-giving
Sun, captured on full-reflecting Moon,
Moon of magic, inspiration
Moon of hope, and
Moon of dreams…
Sun captured on Moon
Moon captured in my birdbath,
Both now seen by my own eyes --
Celts of old said now is the time to wish on
The bright, intense, silver, magic, active Moon.”
Heart urgently and emphatically whispered,
“What are you? What do you want?”
Poet softly declared, “I am a writer!
That is my magic. This is my wish.”
And something, some Magic
On a still, breezeless night
In shallow water of my sheltered birdbath
Sent ripples of approval across the surface
All the power of gaseous, hissing Sun
Now tamed, now harnessed, now offered
In the full, shimmering face of the
(August 31, 2012 — a blue moon)
Questions and Thoughts
1. When thinking of possibilities, hopes, dreams, and destinies, where do we look for answers, for direction, or for fulfillment?2. Who do we allow to tell us these things?
3. What harm or benefit exists in allowing others — people, philosophies, or any external force — in determining in part or in whole who and what we become?
4. What are our deepest, truest desires?