The Journey

‘Tell me, what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?’

Mary Oliver asks of us in her poem ‘The Summer Day’. In a little over a month I’ll be heading back to Embercombe to volunteer on their ‘Journey’ programme and this question will once again be forefront in my mind.

“One day you finally knew what you had to do, and began”, again Mary Oliver guides us in her poem ‘The Journey’

A new circle will be drawn and thirty or so inquisitive, nervous, bemused and perhaps bewildered individuals will begin their Journey into themselves, and as in the ancient story of Iron John, they will serve their time in the forest, the ashes and the kitchens before finally coming triumphantly home to their own truths.

“You do not have to walk on your knees for a hundred miles through the desert, repenting”, Mary Oliver’s Wild Geese advises us. Of course, you can if you want to, we all seek redemption in our own ways but it doesn’t have to be that way.

The work has already started for me and for them, it started before I signed up, it continued as I made the space and time to participate in March and as I made the plans to leave my life here for a week, and it’s still happening now. A place and a time that had faded from my everyday thoughts was now back in them, the names, the places, the experiences. The breakdowns and breakthroughs I had taken part in, those I had witnessed and those that will take place in March.

The lake will be beckoning me, to sample its icy waters as it warms itself from its winter dreaming, the forest will call to me as it thrusts new green shoots into the coming spring, the stones will remember me, as they remember everybody. One day they may remember you as an old friend too.

And once again I will share a last goodbye before gathering up my experiences and memories of my week in the real world and taking them out there, out here, and finding my place in the world again.

“And when the sun rose

That, this morning

In your blue eyed sky

I knew my, our ending had come.

All that was left

Was to say goodbye.”

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Aye

Aye

Aye

Aye

Aye, aye, aye

Bee

Bee, aye, aye

Sea, sea, bee, be

Dee, sea, sea

Dea, see, bee

Aye

Aye, bee, sea

Dee, E

Dee, E, eff

Eff, gee

Aitch, Haitch, aitch

Eye, Jay, Kay

Elle

Em

En

Oh pea queue

Pea queue

Argh estuary

Double you

You you

Ex

Why?

Zed.

Patience

I touched on an idea there for a moment
Of possession and repossession
Of dispossession and time
I reached out into the world
To lay the claim
And smooth my way through the pain
And yet still they lie
Coiled across the path
Taking away my life
And turning it into a tale
Of two halves.
Patience, my friend
Patience.

Leaves

That every leaf that falls carries a story

Collect the leaves

When autumn comes

Collect the leaves

When autumn comes

Let them fall from my hands like leaves falling from trees

Let them grow,

Piles of leaves.

Leaves of a book

The leaves that talk in the night,

In the forest,

In the woods.

These leaves have seen it all

These leaves can talk

What story do these leaves tell?

Tell me their story

Way up high

On top

The tree top

Reaching for the sun

I climb

I reach out for you

I watch you play

I watch you grow

Leaves, leaves, leaves

What colour are you?

Can I hold you?

Save you?

Reach out to you

Reaching out to me?

Leaves, leaves, leaves, leaves

What purpose a leaf?

I leaf through my leaves

Looking for the perfect example of oak or maple or ash

Leaves

I’m still talking about the leaves

Not being the leaves.

I’ll just leave this here.