[Movement. Can you feel it? Something is stirring. In the snail-cockles of the heart. Follow it. Tend to it. Give it water. Let it grow. Let us see what becomes of it.
This missive arrived thundering this early AM—leaving me once again sleepless in surrender to it. The vision of the arcing sun-like lioness first came to me back in early 2020 (perhaps late 2019—around the dawn of COVID) and has been returning to me of late. There are many components here. The snow leopard and the tiger are walking side-by-side. Burning bright. For you.] Received 11/6/2023 | ~2:30am
Listen to the Recitation:
A POUNCE OF GOLD
μῆνιν ἄειδε, θεά, Πηληϊάδεω Ἀχιλῆος
Rage opens the Iliad. Before the muse can sing
Rage, in the form of mēnin, mēnis: divine wrath
Which sanctions and empowers the correction
Of wrongful behaviors. Revengeful temper which,
Sowing the seeds of future indignation, grows
Vitriol in the hearts of men, everywhere red
The red of blood, of Lords of War, Begtse
Protector of Dharma, righteous in his defense
Of life, against those who might harm something
Sacred, something precious, vulnerable and
Frail, in the delicate hands of Herakles, unfurling
A gentle blossom, frozen in time cut short, cut
Down, angling the blade for a painless end
Honorable, if inglorious. Some ends must come.
One way or another, they must come.
Yes, we are very familiar with this story. It's been
Told this way as long as we can remember telling
Stories, of petty wars, justified by petty means,
With terrific ends. Somehow these ends
Enchant us, and the stories live for thousands
Of years, in tablets or scrolls, papyrus fragments
Disintegrating, and, yet, their way found to us
In the now of the present, horrible beautiful Now.
What do we do with this holy rage? Do we still
Need it? Or is it time to put it down, lovingly
Angled, for a painless end to a long-held tale
That has defined so many tears, so many years
So many strategies and identities and delays.
Though the old text begins with the mēnin of
Mania, of maniacal, of madness—ire anger passion—
Sanskrit's manyú leads us too to anger, yet also
To sorrow, to spirit. The bed which can calm
This ancient rage, burning unbridled, yet fueled
By us, hungry for the same story, again. Though
This Rage opens the Greek, Emily Wilson chooses
To begin her translation with "GODDESS, SING"
Moving Thea from third to first in order,
A place of prominence, the setting of the tone
For all that comes after. The Goddess is not
The aftermath of the Wrath of heroic men
Cleaning up after their indulgent displays;
She is not an afterthought, but the first thought,
Leading the subversion of this long-held tale,
Taking the reins on her lion-pulled chariot.
The excitements of the predawn hours beckon,
Drums silent, insistent, building background
Enthusiasm for the growing light. Blue twilight
Skies shining with stars—this is not the end of day,
But the beginning of a new day. Do you hear it?
The birds in conference, in chorus, pounding
Down the limply held curtain veils between the
World that is leaving and the one that is coming.
All eyes rise and turn to the east, to the doorway
Of creation, to see with closed eyes the dawning
Of a new day. The dark blue becomes light,
Already some stars fading into the blue backdrop,
Leaving just Venus, glowing hot, emerging from
The sea, surrounded by foam, bubbling, alive.
Just then, the paws of a golden Lioness reach
Over the horizon, followed by long golden limbs
Arcing up, leaping into the world; She roars
Soundlessly into the land, her whole body Gold
Light pouring, radiating from her, as if she were
The sun itself, life giving and incinerating, the
Source of every warm ripe sweet good thing
We love, we love. This golden lioness light touches
Everything. Not a single place is left untouched
By her light, racing, in every direction, to hold
Every thing, living and unliving, loving and
'Unloving' ~ all is being unloved out of existence.
So too is all being loved into existence. The red
Of new growth in spring, the rosy fingers of oak
And maple and ash, reaching out towards Her,
Towards the dawn of all that is coming, already
Here and yet arriving, always, in the heart of
Your now presently becoming awareness, loving
All of your now presently becoming awareness.
Reach out and accept what is coming. Yes,
It is a subversion. What looks like what has always
Been is in fact not what has always been, but is
Something else, something alien and something
Known, familial, domicile and fierce, soft and kind
To those who know and to those who don't,
To those who are ready and to those who aren't.
All shall receive and contribute to this great gift
Golden in hue, radiant in tone, honeysuckle scent—
None of which has any real place in winter,
The time of holly and berry and cold and dim;
And yet, here we are. This undeniability is here
Awaiting you to come here too, in being with it.
The snow leopard and the tiger stalk side-by-side
At 4000 ft* of elevation; the Queen of the Mountains
With the King of the Jungle. So long had they been
Apart from each other, ruling in absentia
Though now together, Panthera to Panthera,
In the tragedy of what seems a cataclysm,
The miracle of what is coming waits, for you
To recognize her, to receive her grace
And warm your face in her golden light
And unclench your jaws, let down your taut
Shoulders, stop picking your fingers to the bone,
Bloodied and bare, froZen in feeling, in unfeeling.
This frost is short-lived; as short as you wish it.
The spring is already here.
It has never left.
And it has been waiting
For just this moment.
Alas, at last:
The Goddess!
A newold image projected
On a newold prima materia
For a newold time at hand
Unwrapping, unbundling
Fresh twigs for the fire
Burning, we burn together
Golden, leaping, out into the world
As one, united
To sacrifice all suffering
The salvation of our kind
Easily, with no regret or resent
Give it up, drop it away
Make room in your hands
For the hands of the others
Now just out of reach
And incoming.
* - ‘m’ would probably be ‘more accurate’ here than ‘ft’ (though I have a practice of not ‘correcting’ the content of these dictations), as I am aware of tigers being sighted in the 3000-4000 m elevation range, which overlaps with snow leopards’ 3000-4500 m elevation inhabitat.