Diving Deeper

Quote: Watsus are poems

 

The originator of Watsu (water shiatsu), the bodywork practice that inspired my adventure in water is first and foremost a poet.

Watsus are still poems written in water,

but they are poems we write together.

Harold Dull

More: Harold began writing poetry in 1955 as a student of Stanley Kunitz and Theodore Roethke at the University of Washington. On graduation in 1957 he joined the poets then meeting regularly with Jack Spicer and Robert Duncan in San Francsco. In the next few years he had several small books of poetry published by the San Francisco Renaissance presses, White Rabbit and Open Space. He has compiled a 54 page collection that adds recent poems arising out of his experience with Watsu to a collection of earlier poems. It can be downloaded here.

Deep water (poem by Sulis)

Deep water by Sulis (2007)

The world will not end
in flood

When in deep water
become a diver

Not by holding fast
your breath

Forcing yourself through
the surface

But instead by releasing
slow bubbles

Until you descend
naturally

Submerging, sinking
your soul
 
Where soul's like to go
for healing

Down, down, down
into the murky

It is there that roots
take hold

From there you grow
slowly
 
Like a lotus stem
swaying

Until you're floating
flowering

The world always begins
in flood

This work by Sara Firman is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Non-Commercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 Unported License.

Oceans (poem by Sulis)

Oceans by Sulis (2006)

Because all your questions
might not be enough
you know
there was no
new myth

That's why
a single
feeling
breaks a long silence
a drop of water sliding off

oceans

This work by Sara Firman is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Non-Commercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 Unported License.

Season's Greetings 2008-2009

For last year’s words belong to last year’s language and
next year’s words await another voice.
And to make an end is to make a beginning.
T.S. Eliot

In the writing of Missouri-born poet, T. S. Eliot, Water often appears. 

From a warm haven in a silent and water-bound forest in the Missouri Ozarks,  I want to mark the end of 2008 and the beginning of 2009 with two quotes from T.S. Eliot's work. 

I hope they will inspire you too.

I'd like to thank all those who have supported my quest for soul this year and in previous years. 

I am posting this on a new website - one of three rivers of words with which I'm endeavoring to celebrate and support Water.

Please take a moment to view the trailer for a forthcoming film about Water from the Healing Water Institute, New Zealand.

 As I cannot thank all of you adequately and individually this year, I will be making a donation to this project as a gesture of gratitude to you and to Water.

Divine Water is an inspiring film intended to 'show the world what water really is ... how water is really like a human being.....or really how human beings are like water'. 

I support these concepts wholeheartedly! 

Whether  you came to this post via a notice from me, or have found it serendipitously, please consider yourself welcome to the Water. 

I invite you to sign my Guest Book by leaving a short comment below. 

If you'd like to follow my writing on water, please do subscribe (see below).

Here is a familiar final stanza from Little Gidding by T.S. Eliot:

We shall not cease from exploration
And the end of all our exploring
Will be to arrive where we started
And know the place for the first time.
Through the unknown, unremembered gate
When the last of earth left to discover
Is that which was the beginning;
At the source of the longest river
The voice of the hidden waterfall
And the children in the apple-tree
Not known, because not looked for
But heard, half-heard, in the stillness
Between two waves of the sea.
Quick now, here, now, always--
A condition of complete simplicity
(Costing not less than everything)
And all shall be well and
All manner of thing shall be well
When the tongues of flames are in-folded
Into the crowned knot of fire
And the fire and the rose are one.

T. S. Eliot, Little Gidding, ... final stanza

Wishing us all and our blue planet a hopeful and happy future. 

Sulis

My other water-related blogs (find subscription boxes on each of them):

Vision Spa Retreat: Reflections on Spa, Soul, and the Role of Water

Aquapoetics: Creative Aquatic Bodywork

Don't forget to leave your message below - Thank you!

Neptune has a heart (poem by Sulis)

Astronomers said today
that Neptune, long dismissed
as a cobalt-blue gas giant
cloaked in deathly cold,
has a warm south pole.

Didn't they know this
master of disguises, of
clouded issues lurking
beneath the surface,
has a burning heart?

Neptune's nebulous urge
a transcendent impulse
to touch a greater glamor:
Venus' high manifestation,
vehicle of sacrifice reborn.

Cruel planet of deception,
oppressed and abandoned:
society's hopeless misfits
and crazed visionaries, it
spins out enlightenment.

Things aren't as they seem:
derangement, persecution,
confinement, abandonment.
Only if Saturn's test is passed
does Neptune show advantage.

Planet of faith, trust and hope:
a paradox of freedom reached
through bleakest bondage,
shattering the mundane, a
lofty dream made manifest.

Neptune has a heart.

This poem was inspired by my studies at the Astropoetic School of Soul Discovery with Joe Landwehr.

Restoring the sacred (poem by Sulis)

 

Cowbird (2006) by Sulis

Just as we've lost
the sacred in water
we scorn this bird
that sings like water
like babbling brooks.

The same bird rode
on the backs of bison
across rolling plains
gone with the wind
with the water gone.

We blame the bird
for usurping nests
not caring whose
children were stolen
taken not caring.

What if we honor
sacred the cowbird
garland with flowers
giving her freedom
to roam unabused.

Perhaps she'd sing
healing the water
no longer lonely
fly with the wind
restoring the sacred.

When I first moved to the Missouri Ozarks, I lived right beside a creek which brought in many birds.  This one, makes the most beautiful (to my ear) warbling sound, like a babbling brook.  But for my bird-watching friends it was a black sheep, as it has the reputation of a cuckoo for stealing the nests of others.  I am always one for the underdog (or bird) and so I wrote a poem for this maligned bird whose voice I associated with water.  And to bring in yet another animal, I am making a connection in the poem with India's sacred cow who is allowed to wander where she pleases and treated always like royalty!

February mornings (poems by Sulis)

February mornings (6.30 am)

I

Clear light moon
suspended
in the fork of the trees
silent
deep tones of chimes
cheeoo, cheeoo, cheeoo
...chip, chip, chip
- medium bird song
silver tones of chimes
stip, stip, stip   
- little bird song
kwau, kwau
- big bird song
trees listening
lights in the room
reflected on glass
red brilliance
against morning grey
my breath mouthing
silence
coffee the color
of creek water
after the rains
after the winds
after the dreams
of night
this silvered morning
Blessed

II

Birdfeeder hanging
like Japanese temple
on white mountain
Snow after midnight
the most silent
Middle chimes
making harmony
Everything settled white
blankets you can sink into
A bird drifts
red-cloaked monk
moving in the air
like a prayer
around the temple
Trees have turned
lacquer dark
so many brush strokes
on perfect parchment
Light seeps down
soaking the dawn
Saturated
Peace

For me, these brilliant blood-red birds (cardinals) are like little Valentines.  The above poems (which are best read aloud and ones I have shared at poetry readings) were written on two consecutive February mornings at dawn.  February can brings rains and snow falls and sunny days all in the same week in the Missouri Ozarks.

At that time (2006), I lived right beside a creek in the bottom of a steep-sided Ozark valley.  Very often the cardinals would be clustered in the bushes on the opposite (westerly) bank waiting for the sun to come over the eastern hill and warm them.  The males are bright red, the females a softer pinky brown.

Here is a haiku which also celebrates them:

a thicket of sticks
dotted with red cardinals
sparks a fire of hope

With love and hope, Sulis

To the River (poem for Earth day by Sulis)

To the River (by Sulis, Earth Day 22 April 2009)

Up there in the light
on chimney rock
a vulture as old as the Ozarks
spreads his wings like prayers

He's drawn back an ancient bow
shot us each a new dream
given a stolen morning
meaning

The black boat slides
through the river's gullet
like guiness down the throats
of my companions

It's enough to boast that
both my grandmothers swore
by its nutrition
while I am drunk on this

Drunk on river bliss
already feeling the joy well
up from somewhere cut
deep into karst rock

Shadows cast by trees
or clouds dance in my eyes
no longer peering down
I'm scanning the bluffs

For flowers that the men
don't see but I don't mind
and keep gasping at
floods of blue, blue bells

Splashes of spring seeps
sounding like bells of light
all light and layers
slipping between

Uncountable greens
and I lean into the rise and fall
forgetting that anything
was ever lost

Bouncing off rocks
my heart is a fire pink in bloom
and I'm charmed
by these brothers-in-arms

Basking winking turtles
who plop off  logs
and paddle away
while I wave

To the river of dreams.

This poem was written after a wonderful day out on the Jacks Fork River which runs beside the Ozark forest where I live.  I was accompanied by Neil Rosenberg (videographer extraordinaire) and Stuart Smith whose family owns a beautiful river property called Chimney Rock.

A note on Turtle Medicine:

Turtle symbolizes both new beginnings and endings. It is through the ending of something that allows space for something new to arise. ... There may be a sense of loss or even grief over what has passed and yet it is through the energy of Turtle who is very long lived and thus very wise, that we can come to understand why something did need to leave our lives. Turtle can help lead us to that space where we can finally move on, to let go of what has been, celebrate it for the gifts it gave us and finally to turn and head for a new shore. Turtle people themselves often feel that their life is an endless series of endings and new beginnings, that like the tides, their lives are constantly in flux and they must learn to shift and tack as the current carries them along... Turtle people themselves need time to be quiet, to be still, to allow themselves to think things through and watch for signs through what floats near them in the flotsam and jetsam of life. They get their bearings through looking to see what is around them and through sensing what the waters that carry them are doing. Are the waters calm and clear or is turbulence on the horizon? Either way, the Turtle person will know what to do if they get quiet and still for these folks are often strongly intuitive.  Read more here.

In sadder times when Fire Pinks gave me hope, another poem: Unwanted Sacrifice/Fire Pinks.

Fire Pinks (poem by Sulis)

 

Fire Pinks 

Ma ... ur ... ma ... ur ... ur
my call echoes
sad
desperation
along
the high trail


She's out here
hunting
instinct


A coral tint
behind pines
spills it's last
light
catching
the fire pinks


This strength
blood red
fragile


Small panther
head high
bringing
the unwanted
sacrifice -
even so, I thank her

(previously Unwanted Sacrifice, by Sulis 24 April 2007)

This poem was written two years ago at a very sad point in my life when I knew I may have to flee my marriage (I did just a few days later), leaving behind my beloved cat (we were later reunited), and the land that had meant so much to me.  Fire pinks are special Ozark spring flowers and they will always stand for hope for me.  Here, I was out at dusk searching for my cat and feeling unbearable sadness.  She came running along the path bringing me her offering.

A poem about my recent re-encounter with Fire Pinks: To the River

Five labyrinth poems by Sulis

Flute

"By the air that is your breath"
I would begin, and stand
On the threshhold stone
Yearning

Without fail or so it seemed
Through my closed eyes
I could feel your voice
Blowing

In a myriad of mild or wild
Tempos to match my need
You spoke in the wind
Announcing

That all I had to do was ask
To listen well or to be heard
Your breath in mine
Singing

"By the air that is my breath"
I would continue, and walk
The flute of my body
Playing

My feet feeling like fingertips
Holding down each note
Each long-held pause
Releasing

A Labyrinth of Promises Kept

It's Full moon, Flower moon and
May gets ready to burst into June
Time to plant soaked Okra seeds
Cast a line for a Sunfish supper
Waiting for Thunder to bring rain

Gathering the Blessed four waters
Well, Spring, Pool, Stream so clear
Crystals in a jug of sea salt water
All laid on a tray of Moon Silver
Preparing for a Rain Dance ritual

Say softly: Chalice of the Grail
Guide us through the Mists that separate
Reveal to us the Land within the Land
Free the Waters of the Sacred Springs
That we may Wet our Wisdom

Carrying our Prayers into night air
The moon comes over the dark hill
Fireflies light our way to the Circle
A shaft of Moonlight falls across it
Ah! Coming to rest on the Spirit Cat

A Labyrinth of Rocks spirals light
As Moon rises over the white pines
Whipoorwill calls up the Mysteries
Walking to the Center, the Heart
The Owl and the Pussycat went

To Sea in a pea-green boat, a forest
Listen!  The Creek's riffle whispers
Our Ancestors the rocks are waiting
They are gathering about you here
In a Labyrinth of Promises kept

Rocks that breathe

Rocks that breathe,
Cool as night water.
Bright as a bluet.
Singular yet blended,
Like curdled clouds.
Scattered by design,
Dried flutes of leaves.
Spelling in spirals.
Dreams that are veiled,
In violet reflections.
Silver-skinned trees,
Float silently by.

 

No barrier to my walking

I left the socks
out in the rain.
Threw them down
in rank weeds.
Threw myself down
sweat and blood.

Soaked the soil
with this history.
Muzzy and thick
as a woven winter.
I've walked miles
in the cold now.

So I peeled them
and lay them down
Put my tired feet
against cool grass.
Felt my soul sink
deep into raw earth.

Felt no barrier
to my walking now.
Leaving the socks
to rot in the rain.
Leaving my spirit
unsmothered.

The burial

It came to me while walking
There is sadness in my hair
In my long bound braid

Samson's locks had strength
But mine held silent grief
In their burnished inches

I pulled back my thoughts
Until they weighed me down
I tied them up with that rope

No kind efforts to disentangle
What was entangled in my hair
Had honored the pain so well

As that thought while walking
That it should be cut and laid
To rest in the earth with them

All those dead years like rings
Around a tree's heart broken
Let them fall back to the soil

Delilah, redefined in Terri
Cut that plait away with ease
And did not make me look

Nine good inches she said
Would give a sick child hope
But not this weave of death

This was treasure to be buried
With those for whom I grieve
In winter's earth before spring

For more on the labyrinth that inspired these poems, please see the previous post.