Robins in the Field

Reflecting the Sun
Becoming the Moon
Loving the Earth

Last night I was beset by a wave of nightmares, waking up feeling afraid for our world and for my family. Events feel heavy and I don't feel comfortable anywhere. I hear this same tale from other friends too. It's clear that we cannot live like we lived before.

Last night I was hounded by the loving severe pursuit of the muse. Heavy hands were upon me, pushing me into the bed. I woke screaming "Let me out. Let out." I lay in a sweat from tidal wave dreams. So I breathed deeply.

One cannot deny the morning.
I listened. The robins were singing, bringing my childhood back to me for moments. But then the ache of reservation began tapping on my shoulder again.

Who am I, now that the prophecies are coming to pass? Who are you?

I'm being called out into the world that I've resisted for so long... the world of people... the world of connections and divisions... the world of suffering and shopping malls of bewildered consumption. It's the world of beauty and love too. Which dream will I choose to be awake in today?

It's time to be our practice full time, with all our heart, even if the will is challenged.

Our society is in a tilt from the weight of worldly power, consumerist need and political lust. What can one person possibly do to counter balance the scale?

And the Spirit answers:

Lift your arms out and fly.
Be the robin in the field.
Sing your spring song...
That is all.
Spread your wings and
let the wind carry you.

It is time to go deeper into the wide horizons of Our Spiritual Practice. It's time to be what we're called to be. It's time to sing the Song of the Heart.

As I write this sentence, fifty robins have descended upon the field outside my cabin window. They step lithely in the green hopes of Spring, hunting for sustenance, being in the moment. Some are cocking their head and listening to the secrets hidden just below the surface of the dreaming earth.

Like many of our generation, I am a "sensitive". My comfort is being with the Compassionate Spirits, and the The Word that wants to fall onto the page. The conflicts of society and family can invade a sensitive so easily. It's becoming harder to feel solid. This is a moment for me to either step out into the field or hold back in fear. With the help of The One, I choose the field.

For all of us with a singing vulnerable heart, it is time to deepen our practice, becoming saturated with prayer, praise and perseverance based on Love.

How do we do the work of healing, now that the world as we understood it is ending?

And the Spirit answers:

We do it together... Together.

Even the gods weep over the once shining earth and innocent beings suffering. Can we do less? Let us band together, the infinite and the flesh, bowing to The One, The Holy, The Beloved.

Let us all (not just the awakened) be free in field,

nurturing the earth with our songs,

washing the earth with our tears,
healing the earth with our love for one another.

We're in this together.

With Love for you dear reader.

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(c) Rick Sievers, March 2011

Coming Into Fifty

"What the heart gives away is never gone ...
It is kept in the hearts of others."
- Robin St. John

Life is changing.

~~~

The Earth moves beneath my feet,
teaching me to walk.
The wind is blowing in my ear,
creating deep listening.
The sun is burning upon my head,
teaching me the stories of the stars.
The ocean takes me in her body of waves,
allowing me to sink deeper
into the source of who I am.

~~~

When I was young I wondered what my elder self would say about my life. Now that fifty years is upon me, I have a small glimpse what is elemental to my life:

This is certainly not how I thought it would be.

Allowing sorrow
deepens the mind in the roots of joy.
Singing to the moon and sun,
opens the wings of the beloved.
Diving into the dirt and the sea,
brings me closer to my friends and family.
And love given
is Never wasted.

Dear reader, you are why I write and sing in the winter sun today. I am glad to be here with you, on the sacred earth, in the sanctity of silent space. Today, I pray that your heart deepens in its essential wisdom and the joy of creation.

May the Long Time Sun Shine Upon You,
All Love Surround You,
And the Pure Light Within You,
Guide Your Way On

From an Old Irish Blessing

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(c) Rick Sievers, 2011. All Rights Reserved

Free Speech

Do unto others as you would have them do unto you.

Jesus

Our family has been discussing the idea of free speech. Asking questions like: "What are the effects of our words? Are they injurious or muddled or untrue to our being? Is there a core of fierce compassion in our conversations?"

Recently, I discovered a blog I'd written in 2009 offended a distant family member. When I heard about this I went back to the words I'd written. At first I tried to find a defense for the post and my feelings at the time. I reasoned: "How could they find fault when I mentioned no name or heaped no blame?" Isn't our country built on the idea that I can say whatever I want as long as it is not slander or libel?

I worked myself up for moments and began to dig in my heels by claiming my words as My Right and My Property! Indignant. For moments.

Then I felt the distress of the young person who relayed this information to me. I saw her concern and caring for the benefits of family peace. I recalled my own history where words of perceived praise or blame became stuck in my hardening heart. I recalled how love and progress are so easily torn down on the back of words. And how difficult and skillful it is to be constructive and nourishing with our speech.

This morning I spent time with my wife in meditation. I listened to my own heart. I tried to imagine the feelings in the heart of the receiver of my words. How important was it that I spoke of another person, even if veiled, in a public manner?

It is sometimes correct to stand up and cause friction to let one's voice be heard. It is important to witness truth! Important to speak for the disenfranchised and unheard. Was this one of those times? Really?

Whose truth do I supposedly know?
Is that "truth" flexible and open to the grace?

Is free speech really free?
Or is there responsibility implicit with freedom?

While meditating, I remembered a Buddhist reflection that goes something like this:

Before you speak ask yourself these things
about your reactions and words:

Is it true?

Is it kind?

Is it necessary?

Does this improve upon silence?

These questions are especially vital in this age of easy, push button mass communication. The universe was created by the word. Now we flood our space with words, many haphazard and even cruel.

How many words are based on truth and justice and love?

When pondering my old blog I wonder which side my words fall on? It's not clear to me. But in this case I will lean into the benefit of the doubt, and the benefit of peace.

The truth is a moving target. It is a target, not a weapon of war.

I deleted the section of the '09 blog in honor of my young friend, not from fear or being pleasing. I am more aware that people's feelings and lives are important, even the people we have called "other" and "shadow". We are all bound together in the heart of this world.

Being fierce for love is different from being aggressive. I apologize if I was the latter. Being human is sometimes heavy with discernment.

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(c) Richard Sievers, 2011

Field of Stars

Letter to a reader in the future:

A hundred starlings, in their fine winter plumage of stars, move as one being out in the field. One bird stands alone on a strand of barbed wire. A sentry perhaps? Two robins hop along the periphery of the cloud of stars. The rye and vetch are bent with a rolling season of ice and thaw. I talk out loud, as if you can hear me: See the wanderers out amongst the grasses, grazing, gazing and galloping with claw and wing?

What's the point of describing this scene to you, my future friend? To remind you of holiness that breathes just outside of your little stories and dramas. To tell you of our world now.

We've experienced paradise without recognizing its divinity. Like flying animals in waves of one mind. And a field's open face of green, spread beneath the cerulean sky. A view enfolded by hushed sigh of a dark woodland.

How many generations neglected to see the singing verdant earth for who She is? Then told stories about "the good old days" of their childhood, when the world was purer, safer and happier. These are the good old days! Will a cloud of winged stars be-held by your gaze in the future? Or will the innocence be lost to you? Will this era on earth be only a wonder portrayed in the lines on your flickering screen... a place you cannot touch, cannot know?

What will we love while looking back into our sacred life?
Are we observing on the fence or from a window?

What is truly known is loved and protected.

Does the sky arc in blue white song for you dear reader?
Are the stars moving as if with one mind?

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(c) Copyright Richard Sievers 2011

Through the Layers

Remembering Janine
December 16, 1950 - December 11, 2005

A torrential storm is forecast today. A river of tropical memories is headed for our coast. A surge of the sun's heavy lifting will be brought down to earth. Today's storm is a reminder to breathe between the long and silky streams of history.

Five years ago, heavy snow was tumbling past my city window. The world has melted since then. Five years now. And two hundred miles north your shining star was flickering, swirling in your final breaths, surrounded by your family... except me.

We shared the same
winter waves though.
A white crystal field awaited
your smoky eyes.
Now the smoke
of Pele's dreams rains
down on my field.

I feel you, Anam Cara,
between the raindrops,
here in the winter wandering.

Do you hear the same streaming
storm above your head too?
Or are you living somewhere else?

Here,
between these words,
the white and bleached opening
of a thousand memories,
of woodland and glade and
island songs, made into the vellum
in layers like snow.

I miss you.
I breathe deeper than before.
Life moves on through the layers.
I know deep love.
I still remember.

Thank you for teaching me how to find the poems that live everywhere.
Thank you for teaching me the joy, healing and finally the grief of love.

I will make my life a "YES!" today because of you.

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(c) Rick Sievers 2010

Together in the Tunnel

The Tunnel to the Sea at Oceanside, Oregon

"Always from a child's hand the sword
should be removed."
Francis of Assisi

I just sat there.

I heard the hateful talk, the jokes about "the others", the generalizations about sexual orientation and even race. I heard how America is founded on free speech and that people should do and say as they please... as long as the topic is not outside the norm of the shopping mall and the flickering trance of the television. I sat stunned with a grimace in the fainting form of a grin on my face. A knot in my stomach. I just let the dark words pass into me. I had little external reaction that was fierce, contrary or even reflective.

I was a pacifist in the in worst manner of the term. Me, the man who claims to be for inclusion, peace and respect. I was mute to the strains of hate that are in the spirit of our society. The worst part is that this talk was in my own home, at my dinner table. I sat there with a plastic face.

This isn't just a confessional. It is an object lesson on just how easy it is to confuse resignation and being nice with a true fierce kindness. It's also a lesson about how unloving ideas live and breed behind the most passive of facades.

Besides disappointment with myself I am left with questions.

Where does kindness and respect come into
the privilege of free speech?

What is my role in the coarseness of our society?

How do I behave as a free person
when I feel afraid much of the time?

Afraid to be visible.
Afraid to rock the boat.
Afraid to be myself.

Can silence also be a form of violence?

I have a soul sister and friend, who listened to my confession and pondering today. She talked about how we are all moving as a river, together, ineffable, and whole to the sea of the Great Spirit. We talked about the challenges and the gifts and teachings of simply being alive in such a dynamic time.

There were no conclusions made. But talking with her allowed me to not be dispirited. I felt a companion's hand in my hand as we moved through the dark tunnel of grief together.

I have many friends, of many colors and stripes. And I will stand up again and try to remind my little world how beautiful and important they are to me.

A closing quote from St. Francis:

"Can true humility and compassion exist in our words and eyes
unless we know we too are capable of
any act?"

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(c) Rick Sievers, 2010

Both quotes from Daniel Ladinsky's book:
Love Poems From God
Penguin Putnam, NY. 2002

Burning Leaves in a Wild Sky

Writing to you at my desk
while watching the field, and being loved by all that I see.

It's the leaves that hug the trunk closely that remain green for the longest time. The outer halo of the tree is exposed to burning frost and blazing sky. Our family tree smolders and quakes in the field.

I returned from my mother's home with more gray frosting my temples. Inside, right above my heart, I feel a fire, burning away illusions. My eyes watch all the mothers and fathers slowly change and fall. Life clings to the last sunny day of the season. A flicker of green remains for moments before becoming something more.

Above the woodland, Vs of geese are wheeling in an invisible roundabout. Then they veer toward an inner glimmering and disappear into the fog. Their wild cries echo on the way toward the wild blazing sun that they know waits for them.

An orange star falls. Yellow suns spin from the branches. Behind the bark, the sap oozes toward the dark center of the earth, chasing spring in slow motion. Liquid light is migrating inward as the rain begins to sweep across the field.

On this, the Day of the Dead, I feel the ones who have gone on before. I recall the fallen and the ones shimmering on the edges. They encircle me, watch me, nourish me. I am them. I am also leaning toward winter, blooming bright for the happy mists of Autumn before I become an ancestor too.

How do I want to live in this mist while blazing?
This one precious day is eternity.
How do I follow the winds that are
blowing in my eyes fluttering and bright?

I am circling the field of my being,
wild, happy and free, spiraling
toward home, circling all that ever was.

May the fire of the forest and
the bounty of the misty field be yours today.

May you rise, for moments,
within the sky that sings for you.

May you be wild and free today.

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Copyright Richard Sievers, 11-2020, All Rights Reserved.