Death of What We Don't Want to See

Not my most uplifting piece, for sure.  I am feeling sadness at the destructive things that are happening all over the world - many of them the results of the lives we've lived for decades and centuries - and I'm noticing that, at best, we put band-aids on the problems, just like we often put on make-up and dye our hair, while our bodies suffer from lack of care.


Death of What We Don't Want to See

i'm sorry.  i can't help but noticing
   the news is not all that good.
your towns are burning, flooding; their
governments corrupting,
and the weather all crazy.

but who am I to say 
   that this is wrong?  the trajectory
        was launched so long ago.
        as sex will at some point hit
              the jackpot - then diapers, 
              rebellion, and empty nesting,...

we've dug and cut and thrown away, and
   it's natural that this trajectory
        launched so long ago 
        will at some point hit
             the jackpot - then hunger, 
              rebellion, refugees, and ???

is it too late?  i wonder why i
sometimes forget grief.  it's like my soles
        and the arch of my back 
        are dying, all that's hidden breaking
              down, while i paint my eyebrows, 
              dye my hair and smile.

Carol Barrow, 2015

Boogeyman

This poem, a series of dekaaz (dekaazes?), brings in experience from my recent solo retreat, along with experience in this world of violence and "other".

Boogeyman

I

Two weeks,
so alone,
list'ning to my heart,

peace, joy,
mosquitoes
my only neighbors.

But still,
nightly fear -
a scraggly old man,

lost teeth,
crooked thoughts,
on dark nights watches

through lit
windows and
freezes me in fright.

I sit
in darkness
dreading to be seen.

Go look
for that man,
my teacher nudges.

Bug bites
too itchy -
I can't fathom more.

A gift -
mosquito net -
erases excuse.

The moon
shines bright, full
I dance beneath it.

I see
no scraggles,
no crooked thoughts. Yet

still I
turn off lights,
stuck in scared beliefs.



II

Each day
we humans
listen to the news,

the world,
universe,
our only neighbors.

Eating
nightly fear -
guns, bombs, terrorists.

Confused,
crooked thoughts.
Why do they hate us?

We keep
our blinds drawn,
our eyes straight ahead.

Don't care
for others
who don't look like us.

Go look
in their eyes,
the wise ones nudge us.

We feel
so much fear.
We can't fathom more.

A gift -
The One Heart -
erases excuse.

The moon
shines bright, full
on all beneath it -

even
the scraggles,
bad, crooked thoughts.  Yet

still, we
dim our lights,
stuck in scared beliefs.


III

So much
compassion
is asked for, always.








Carol Barrow, 2015

Reflections

I have not forgotten you, dear, sweet blog.  But I have neglected you.  You are the last to get attention.  I can't say whether or not this will ever change, but I can tell you that there will be times when I hear your call, and find that I can't resist.  Today is one of those days.

The poem below is done in a pantoum form.  From Wikipedia:

The pantoum is a form of poetry similar to a villanelle in that there are repeating lines throughout the poem. It is composed of a series of quatrains; the second and fourth lines of each stanza are repeated as the first and third lines of the next.

 

Reflections

A Pantoum

Yellow sun watches aspen leaves quake and autumn crunching under boot.

Crisp air is still, except for a whisper of breeze

that loosens the hold on what has been.

This body, too, is changing into autumn age.

Crisp air is still, except for a whisper of breeze .

A golden leaf lets go and tumbles head over heels

onto this body who, too, is changing into autumn age

while still remembering spring's lightness and grace.

A golden leaf lets go and tumbles head over heels,

effortlessly surrendering to the season.

I still remember spring's lightness and grace,

my first date and April's bud unfurling.

Effortlessly surrendering to the season,

we are changed from green to gold, supple to serene.

My first date and April's bud unfurling

are memories fading while days grow short.

Yellow sun watches aspen leaves quake and autumn crunching under boot.

Mountain pond silently catches fallen dreams,

loosening the hold on what has been.

Life reflects itself reflects itself reflects itself reflects

~ Carol Barrow, 2015

Messages Left Behind

Saturday my friend Diana and I went looking for prayer trees.  These trees - in this area, they are mostly ponderosa pine - were modified for specific purposes by Ute people about 450 years ago.

While walking through the forest, it is easy to pass prayer trees without even knowing it, but when one knows what to look for, the unique shapes readily show themselves.  The photos below are just a few of the prayer trees that Diana and I found.  Of course many of these sacred trees have died, burned, or been cut down over the years, and because the ponderosa pine lives to be between 300 and 600 years old, the remnants of the Ute culture we saw Saturday won't be around much longer.

John Wesley Anderson has studied the prayer trees of the Pikes Peak area extensively, and he writes that there are hundreds, if not thousands, of them in this region of Colorado.  Anderson says that, 

"Utes believe every living thing has a spirit. The prayer tree spirit lifts their prayers high to the pine needles at the crown, which are blown by the wind - the breath of the creator - releasing their prayers for the next 800 years."

Just think, if the people who left their prayers in these trees were correct about this, we are still living within the prayers that were left in these trees long ago!

Here are a few photos of the trees we located:

Trail Marker Tree (bent at an angle pointing to Pikes Peak, a source of water, etc.).  This is also a Medicine Tree - you see the cut where bark was removed and medicine taken from the layer below the bark. 

Burial Tree 

The horizontal part may point to something of significance regarding the deceased person.

 Burial Tree up close

 Ligature markings - Here you can see the horizontal lines where a tie was made in the tree to make it bend as it grew.  I read on one website that the "rope" they used for this was made out of yucca.

Ceremonial or Storytelling Tree 

 A closer look at the Ceremonial or Storytelling Tree
 

Probably a Trail Marker Tree - with my friend, Diana, and her copy of the book that guided us on this Sacred Tree search.

 

 Ceremony or Storytelling Tree

Closer look at the top of the Ceremony or Storytelling Tree

This one is called Grandmother Tree.  It is a Story Tree, and is considered one of the most sacred of the trees in this particular park.  It is old, and large for a ponderosa, as you can tell by the contrast with the bench in the background.

Another view of Grandmother Tree

Two trees that were made to grow together to form a Prophesy Tree.  The tree on the left was made to grow into the one on the right, forming a portal.  Walking through it, a person is headed toward Pike's Peak - a sacred place for the Utes.  It may also have been a territorial boundary.  Here, Diana is walking through the portal.  

Where the two trees of the portal grew into each other. 

These are also two trees grown together as a Prophecy Tree - and this one is known as the Hugging Tree.  It's one of the more sacred trees in this area.  What might the prophecy be?  Has it come to fruition? Or will we be long gone before the prophecy is fulfilled? 

Hugging Tree - where the two trees join

 

 Hugging Tree - I love this angle.  They did such a beautiful job with this.  I feel honored to have seen it.

 

 Hugging Tree - this angle is also beautiful.

 

Hugging Tree close-up

 Trail Marker Tree pointing to the Hugging Tree in background- can you see the Hugging Tree back there?

If Diana hadn't shared the information from her book with me, I could have easily taken a nice, peaceful stroll through this forest without feeling the connection I now feel to the people who have been here before us.  What other messages wait for us to notice?

Thank you to Diana and to John Wesley Anderson's book, Ute Indian Prayer Trees, for help in identifying these beautiful trees!

Sunset

fiery evening sky,

our hearts open to let you in,

our knees weaken as we behold your

magnificence,

your light breaks us into a million pieces

of awe and wonder, love and

possibility.

fiery evening sky,

heal us in your warmth, and

hold us in your

mystery.

refract our ideas of self

through the prism of

truth

that we may join you

in a brilliant display

of Infinite Aliveness.

Carol Barrow

June, 2015

What I Would Write

Using the image of some things I found while an adolescent living in Kansas, I wanted to write about big, clear hearts and minds that are still.  But for the past few months, Creativity has forgotten where I live.  Everything I have tried to write, in the end, has looked like this:

Only not as pretty...

Finally, I decided to just not care, and I wrote about what I would like to write if I were able to figure out how to do it.  I am sure that many rich and famous writers have suggested this exercise for years, but I seem to need to get to the point of desperation before I give up and do whatever it takes to move pen, keyboard, camera shutter, or anything else.

I actually kinda sorta like what came from my non-essay.  And I love that I found the voice that comes before "the editor" starts its destruction!

I have now titled this piece:

 What I Would Like to Write If I Were Able to Figure out How to Do It

I want to write about the clear, Plexiglas heart I found when I was an adolescent.  I want to write about the headless, insides-less teddy bear I found later while walking around the lake with my cousin.  The teddy bear was small, maybe eight inches tall (but his head would have made him taller), and the heart could easily fit in the palm of my hand.

I kept both of those findings for a very long time.  I kept the heart inside the headless bear's body.  I don't know what ended up happening to the heart or the bear.  Was it like Puff the Magic Dragon?  I grew up and forgot about my bear like Jackie Paper did with Puff?

I want to write about not having a head, but having a clear heart so large that it fills the torso.  Maybe Douglas E. Harding can help me with the "having no head" part. 

No head - no opinions, no judgments, no anger, no inaccurate memory, no plans.  Only a big, clear heart with arms to hug, and legs to carry me from one place to another, from one hug to another.  One could swim like this, love, be loved, hike, stroke the head of a newborn baby.

Of course a bear or a person couldn't live without a head to house a brain to run the organs that keep one alive.  At least that's the way it seems from what I've read. I don't want to remove mine in order to find out if this is really true for me.  But I could pretend. 

Imagine a big, clear heart from collar bone to pelvis.  Imagine no worries, no judgments - just huge, big heart that loves all that comes. 

I want to figure out a colorful way to write about this.