With time various topics, most connected to the 'ancient ways,' will be covered. Some of these might be controversial in nature - you're most welcome to contribute.

Sunday, August 4, 2013

The Call of the Moorhen ...

I wrote this a while ago ...

This evening I sat on the edge of the dam and watched the redness of the sun between the tallness of the trees.  At an exact and precise moment, when the redness was at it's brightest, the Kookaburras screamed out the death of the day.  Right in the middle of it, the Moorhen cried a single cry ... a combination of the sounds of  life and death.  I'm fascinated by the timing of it all ... as if the Kookaburras awaits the blood of the day and the Moorhen announces the end of it all ...

That something in the Moorhen's cry ... awakened something deep inside me.

... to understand this, you must listen to the cry of the Moorhen in the redness of a dying day.  It is a cry for 'love,' a cry for the end of something and the beginning of a new evening ... there's a promise to it all.

I listened to all this and I realised that this song in the redness of the evening has been playing every single night for thousands of years ... it's there and it's solid.

... so unlike the promise of 'love,' those empty words, "I love you."  The cry of the Moorhen hits me hard, in contrast to the false promise of love ...

How cheap has it become, the whisper in darkness ... the moistness of the sheets ... "I love you ...???"  Only to walk out of it ... into the redness of a quick new love ... out of it ... into another ... "I love you ..."  The end of something and the beginning of another ... a cheap currency ... a cheap game of control and promise ...

Do you place your heart in your hand when you touch someone??  Do you place your Soul in, "I love you??"

The Shout of 'Love' ... another four letter word ... for some.  There's something like respect ... oh no dear ... not respect for me, but respect for yourself ... your Soul and your own body.  The day you understand this, you'll place your heart in your hand when you touch someone and your Soul will be burned into .... "I love you ...."

The Moorhen can't cry this cry in the middle of the day ... it'll be false.  The Kookaburras can't scream the death of the day at the wrong time ... and you my dear, can't say "I love you ..." when your Soul is absent ...???

... and you the master of falseness of Word and Touch ... there's also something like trust and communication ... the reason the Moorhens and Kookaburras hang out together and sing the death and the beginning of things together.  You my dear ... you jump from the one pot of 'love' to another and you wonder why you're empty ... empty of all the beautiful things life paints in the redness of the evening ...?

My words, "I love you ..." is painted in the redness of the evening, in the cry of the Moorhen, in the scream of the Kookaburra ... my heart in my hand when I touched you ... my Soul engraved in "I love you ..."

When you look at the redness of the evening ... you remember that ...

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