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Excerpt for Transitional Moment by , available in its entirety at Smashwords


Title Page


Writings by Sha’Ra On WindWalker

(in collaboration with Sha'Tara EarthStar)


Copyright (©) 2019 Cocoons to Butterflies Publishing


Published by: Cocoons to Butterflies Publishing

Chilliwack, B.C. Canada


Cover picture by: PublicDomainPictures.net


All pictures found on FreeImages.com


Space Picture: ESA/Hubble


I hope you enjoy these writings. Feedback is welcome.

Contents

Title Page

Foreword

Dance On The Horizon (The Storm)

Experience

The Human Body

The Immune System

Suddenly

The Measure Of A Man

The Nature Of Things

The Oyster's Womb

The Man From Bole

The River, The Stones, The Birds

The Shadow

The Snow

The Prophet's Lament

The Unchartered Path

Thoughts On The Rodeo

The Quest

Tranquility

Voice Of The Soul

Voices In The Woods

Transitional Moment





Foreword


These books contain a form of free verse poetry, opinions based on observation, and some humour and imagination, engaging the heart as well as the mind. A critical look at many current issues intriguing and plaguing man. Spirituality, interaction with nature and environment, social changes, dwindling resources. Well worn issues now, indeed. But the poetry and other works in these books gives this subject a different perspective. I daresay that here we can find a "higher" vantage point from which to look at ourselves within the cosmos.


Who knows but some of the ideas in the books may get you inspired to do that thing you always wanted to do, even if this comes in a very small way, to make your corner of this world a better place to be in. Who knows but you may realize your little corner is a really nice place to be in after all.


It's all about life, if at times expressing life "outside the box" as the saying goes.




Dance On The Horizon (The Storm)


Eagles soar through darkened skies

defying jagged mountain cliffs:

gracefully, flawlessly ascending

on nature's endless symphony.


Of summer winds breathing gently

through leaves' rustling harmony;

of the thrush's flute echoing

its rolling notes through hushed woodlands


Of the sun's sizzling evening dance

upon scarlet ocean waves

softy rolling upon timeless shores;

of unseen fingers, gently moving

upon a fairy mandolin;


Of mighty flowing rivers

descending from raging mountain storms,

covering meadows and heaths:

of such is the great overture composed

releasing the beat of nature's mighty drum

shaking the mountains' quiet haven.


Now comes the moment of release

inspired by nature's symphony:

gracefully riding on rising winds

I touch the crimson evening sky

and beneath my wings

my tears of joy become

a gently falling summer rain...

Experience


Simple experience

conveys this thought:

"Length and breadth

of mountain roads climbed

do not frame life's final image.

How high above confusion

did you say you reached?"


Experience: the best of all teachers..."

The Human Body


The human body is a universe,

each organ a living system,

each cell a living, breathing organism.

Some may go berserk,

cause unbalance in the system:

we call that illness

because it makes us feel uncomfortable.


But is that such a bad thing?

Should we rush off to a doctor

for pills and potions?

Maybe not so fast:

bodily discomforts often

are but a message to the owner:

look to the house,

there's a leak in the roof;

a crack in the basement –

look within!


But if the body is drugged

the immune system test is cancelled

no message is displayed;

no action taken to remedy the problem;

yes, the drugs may work well this time;

the problem may go away

but along with this goes the immune system

and next time illness comes

the drug may be too little, too late,

and totally ineffective.

The Immune System


We speak of our “immune system”

and speculate on our fate:

why do we incur diseases?

why do we age - why do we die -

or should I say, why do our bodies die?

Maybe there is no such thing

as “immunity” against death

because life is energy patterns

and somehow we put too much store

in some, ignore others,

or don't even know what an energy field is.


If we entertain the thought that life is energy

we can reason thus:

beneficial energies give and maintain life,

predatory energies destroy life

for selfish reasons, always selfish reasons.


That man is a predator - the most dangerous -

is not in question anymore.

That he destroys life without thought or qualm

thinking that “might makes right,”

is not in question.


By his passage, life is destroyed.

But not just the life of his victims,

his own need must be included in the pattern.

The field of life generated in the womb

dissipates with the passage of time,

or the intensity of his destruction

and he dies, brutalized by his own brutality,

never realizing how it all comes about -

never knowing that it is he, only he

who causes his own demise.


Suddenly


Suddenly suspended,

frozen in time and space,

in the wink of an eye

I am blown far back

into yesterday's shadows.


When I finally pause

to gaze at my life

I find that yesterday

is still behind me;

today is where I lie;

tomorrow hides somewhere

in the midnight air.


The question is:

should I care?


"Have you ever asked:

Where do I belong?"

The Measure Of A Man


A man walks above the forest,

over lush alpine meadows

when his instinct tells him

he's being watched.

He looks up to see a cougar

crouching on an outcropping

eyeing him.

Frightened, he freezes,

studying the movements

of this powerful predator:

would the animal pounce?


As he readies himself

to fight for his life

he hears the cougar's thoughts

float gently through

his subconscious mind,

reassuring him:


“Do not fear:

walk with understanding

and everything for you

will blend in perfect harmony;

I am only your companion!”


How many times

have we not heard that same voice

of reason and understanding

call to us

from nature's heart?

How often have we heard

and heeded the voice of spirit

calling to the soul

or in ignorant fear,

run from the voice or

destroy its source?

The Nature Of Things


Why is man driven to measure everything,

to calculate, try to solve every riddle:

the nature of things of which he is?

Why can't he simply experience natural joy,

the wonder of being, enjoying conundrums, not

solving every one of nature' mysteries?


Why is man driven to labour at destruction

cutting down stands of old growth forest

to turn into pile$ of green pulp?


What is the worth of wildlife's happiness

dependent upon that ancient forest

for food, shelter, a place to call its own,

and the odds of man's survival without it--

can man solve that equation...honestly?


Whether from high or from low,

dare ask yourself the question

before your next board meeting,

before you start up your chainsaw:

will the forest's resilience balance

your destructive and pointless drive?

Or will you rely on time to tell a tragic story

your children will not be here to hear?


The Oyster's Womb


The earth:

just an oyster

in a whirling

sea of stars;

in the maelstrom

of space: infinite.


I entered

cosmic reality

as a grain of sand

one of the countless

on its seashore.


As its pounding sea

its tides

its waves

rolled over me

grinding and wearing

relentlessly:


I entered the

waiting oyster

looking for

something else:


How long now

have I been there?

not long, really

by our reckoning

but that

in itself

is another irrelevance.


Time is not

what marks the difference

but application

and I tell you

neither the

oyster

nor myself have

been confortable

in the least.

"You're a pain"

says the oyster.

"You're choking me"

I answered back.


"Why don't you

just get out?"

he says angrily

one day.


"I would, I would

but how?

Look what you've done:

I can no longer

move!"


Indeed

looking at myself

I saw this ugly

thing

where once had been

a sparkling

dainty little grain

of sand in water:


I regretted my move

why me? and not the

countless others,

my cousins?


I looked again

and wondered at

this painful

metamorphosis:


I don't know what

I have become but

I'm certainly no longer

a grain of sand!

Nothing left for it now

-but patience.

The Man From Bole


There was a little man from avenue Bole

who thought he could live on the dole

but all he accomplished as a whole

was dig himself deeper in the hole!



The River, The Stones, The Birds


On the silent shores of a river

she walks in quiet solitude,

trying to forget the night

embedding her heart and mind.

Icy waters swirl around her ankles,

inviting her to plunge in,

relinquishing life, setting her free.


Something new touches her heart

and she looks at her feet:

small stones gleam in the sunlight;

she looks to the sky:

eagles soar on majestic wings

far above the mountain tops;

she listens to the world around her:

solitary sandpipers running on gravel

give their high-pitched thrill.


With this beauty to accompany her,

she realizes the path she must take,

and relinquishes her pain and sorrow

to float away as flotsam

into an ever-cleansing sea

far away where she can never follow.

Drawing strength from the river,

wisdom from the stones,

freedom from the birds

and life from nature's bounty...

she courageously begins a new life.


The Shadow


When light shines

upon a solid object,

a shadow results;

a lone tree

on a country road

provides shade

from the noon-day sun.


What were the creators

- was that you and me -

thinking of then

when they invented

the shadow?


Ahhh, but perhaps

they were thinking

that some day

they could be walking

a dry and dusty road

in bright sunshine

and the shade

of a weeping willow

or perhaps an oak

would be welcome.


Could it be that in life

things happen

for simple reasons?


We lean

to the complex;

believing the complicated,

seeking explanations

for that which is

self explanatory.

This does not result

in knowledge

but in self-delusion.


The Snow


The snow gives birth

to a gurgling stream;

her child ventures forth

to find it's own path

through stones and earth,

laughing!


She vanishes,

leaving her essence

flowing gently

in clear mountain streams

and her children become

a mighty river.

The Prophet's Lament

[2000 Years After]


They were to welcome me as the "Friend of God" --

and that is why I came.

I came back to them to remind them

to turn from their endless wars;

from their senseless destruction.

I came to stop them from feeding their children

into the insatiable maws of death

decorated in holiday fashion

as fireworks, candies, roasted turkeys, fat Elves in red suits

leaving piles of useless "gifts" under dead trees;

or as colorful pills and shiny handguns.


But those who sent me were blind old fools;

the Old Guard caught in endless deliberations

of mindless politics, waiting too long to intervene

and when I awakened upon Earth

I found the poison of time had spread as a cancer

filling every thought in every mind

as sand fills every hole in every dune

in the great deserts of the outer worlds.


They remember nothing! Absolutely nothing!


God -- they have turned into myriad lies;

into idols fashioned by minds inflamed with lusts.

Their religions are but tattered rags flapping in the winds

as do the tongues of their preachers for hire;

their teachings as bleached bones

left by beached whales dead long, long ago.


I walked the land in silent shock,

seeing no hope anywhere, sensing no future.

All I encountered were the rapacious claws of greed

tearing the soft blush of youth

into bloody rivers upon a scarred and battered land

as smoke billowed from factories

where they ground and burned the bodies of the poor.

Yes, they still speak of God,

perhaps more than ever before

but their prayers invoke only cold ritual and dead magic -

creating more smoke in the parching winds.


Now the prophet speaks:

No longer will I be called the "Friend of God"

among the people of Earth.

I will not allow this blasphemy to spread;

this travesty to continue.

For the sake of the Great Balance

I turn my back upon my Ancient Friend.

I return my soul into his hands

and refuse to look in his tear-stained face.

Hard of heart I must be now;

as harsh and cold as the people of Earth

are to one-another.

Now we must go on our separate ways

until the people turn from their addictions

or

until Earth is no more.


The Prophet will not return

until the land has been cleansed of pollution;

until every heart is filled with compassion;

until innocent blood is no longer shed;

until every desire of every mind can only be quenched

through the imparting of wisdom.

These Words are true.


The Unchartered Path


Waves roll gently upon the white sand,

soothing my weary, questing soul;

heat and light from the morning sun

inexorably disperses the mists

and a new path unfolds before my eyes

leading away from this roundabout shore:

yes, the time has come to leave

the tattered shelter of old memories

and to resume my life's journey

following it's unchartered path.


Why did I not see this before?

It is impossible to enter the wrong path

in life's travels, for wherever I turn,

whatever highway or wild trail I follow,

that is exactly what I had determined

I should do, before I ventured forth,

and the mystics are proved right once more.


It is foolish and utterly futile

to worry about, or try to predict,

the outcome of this particular journey.

Step forth bravely; step forth freely

and enjoy the whole of life!


"Only by walking the unchartered path

will you find your new horizons."

Thoughts On The Rodeo


Winter's almost over:

time once again for the rodeo

where man rides bucking broncos,

or powerful, angry bulls

to prove to himself he reigns supreme

over dumb show animals.


This may seem strange to you,

but as I walked past the pens

where the horse and the bull were being held

I overheard their conversation:


"Well, Sam, (that was horse talking to bull:)

what do you think of that first rider?"

"I don't know if I should let him stay

or make a real fool of him yet!

What about you?"

"My rider's a hack! I'm going to fix him:

he likes to use spurs, and that hurts."

"What're you going to do, Cliff?"

"Buck him off right away, then give him

the old double back kick, right where it'll

hurt the most and the longest!"

"Where'd you learn those mean tricks, Cliff?"

"Where'd you think? From them, of course!

I'm only doing what they do to each other."

"As animals, don't you think we should be above that?"

"Why? They don't deserve any better. I hate them!"

"Hate is pretty strong stuff, Cliff. I'd leave it

to the humans, if I were you.

Life's too short to indulge in that sickness!"


...and at that point

I slunked away like a whipped dog:

no more rodeo for me...

The Quest


If I truly had faith

as prophets of old

crying at the gates;

if I had davidian courage

to face self-confident men

who rule the world;

if I had solomic wisdom

to read the hearts of men

...and the love of Christ:

if I truly cared

as I say I do

I would meditate this sign;

ponder the fate

of a dying world -

would gather my spirit

and all its guides

to work the wonders of the light

in deep darkness.


Then

I would embark upon the final quest,

boldly seeking audience

with all the rulers

of all the kingdoms

and when received

(for they too wonder)

I would come before them

empty-handed

but unafraid

and seeing there

but utter confusion

the need of love and compassion

I would kneel and bow

in total humility

in complete truth

carefully expound

the planet's plight

into their ears-


from my open hands would flow

images of doom and hope

for their eyes to see:

as their senses opened to the truth

they would suddenly realize

all the right and all the wrong

of all the doings in the earth.


When finally

all was finished;

all was seen -

all was understood

as it really is

with no chance for

misunderstanding

the last

the most powerful

of all the rulers

thus enlightened

would rise

from

his golden and marbled

throne

signal haughtily to his guards

and point at me:


the dagger would penetrate

deep in the heart.


Thus would the final quest

be consummated

my body lying

at the foot of the last

throne of man


and I could then rest

in peace for eternity.




Tranquility


Full with promise

the mountain breeze awakens

the sounds of nature rejoicing

in the birth of a new day!


There is a tranquility here

that lifts the body to great joy;

to pleasing sensations,

and pearls of restful thoughts.


There are visions of peace

while walking softly

through mosses and bracken

under giant trees.


Thus I experience life's bounty

as beauty shed without measure

letting it move my heart

from innocence to understanding.


Thus I experience life's wonder

as wisdom shed without measure,

bringing awareness to innocence,

gently uncovering my sheltered life.


Voice Of The Soul


A wind, I thought of doom, blew

through spectral trees in a deep wood:

fear gripped me as a vise

and I was wondering if what I’d heard

was true: there really is something evil

haunting these ancient woods.


A flash of lightning, a slim figure dashes

between swaying branches

then a crash: I start to run,

but the next flash of light

throws the figure's shadow in front me;

I trip and tumble down a steep embankment

to land on a bed of rounded stones among ivy:


I’m dead, I thought

whatever is chasing me will surely find me now

as I lie here, paralyzed with pain and fear.

Why did I come here on such a stormy night?

Was I bewitched in a dream?

Did some unknown evil force entice me here

to destroy me?


I heard the snap of twigs breaking above:

I thought surely it has found me

and now will claim my life!

I took a few deep breaths

to calm my pounding heart;

the gentle flowing rhythm allowed me to hear

the voice in my own mind:


I realized, in a moment that whatever it was

only wanted to be loved, and meant no fear:

I found the courage to open my eyes

and saw a goddess standing before me,

offering to share her love to me:

Can you imagine feeling any sillier?

­But we are all children

well conditioned in fear and distrust.

Voices In The Woods


Could we but hear

the yearning for freedom;

the cry of the forest,

the voices in the woods.

Could we still the abuse?

Quiet the roar of exploitation?

End the mindless destruction?


Could we but listen

to the gentle murmurs

of life beneath the fallen leaves;

could we but thrill once more,

- just once more! -

at the call of the wild

under the pale moon?


Could we reach understanding

from life forces at play

beneath the heavens

beneath all those eyes watching

the movement of humanity?


Could we but rub the slumber

from those eyes within,

the slumber of aeons so deep;


Could we but throw cold water

on those care-worn faces

hiding the programmed minds

who live for today

and remember nothing tomorrow?


Could we remember the dance

to the music of the woodland?

Could we but awaken suddenly,

in the midst of our cacophony,

wipe away the veil of greed

and the barriers of fear?


Transitional Moment


A glow remains on the land

now that the sun has set,

but in my heart it is not an afterglow

but a presagement, a deep feeling

that calls for some meditation.


I had grown quite comfortable,

happy even, in the bright light

this long day had poured upon me

in the sun's brightness and warmth

giving beauty and life all around.


I never gave thought to such a time

when the light would abruptly fail;

when the sun would suddenly drop

below the rim of the world

and everything around me, change.


I find I have to readjust everything,

for I know this is a transitional moment;

and I feel this world is entering a dark time;

a time when past glory and successes

will be replaced by a shadowy uncertainty.

This gloom will be followed by darkness

and in the darkness new things will form:

perhaps even strange and twisted things

conceived from the lies and the lusts

which light beings were seduced into

while the light still shone.


I know I must adapt to these changes,

accept some, reject and fight others:

and so must all who reside on this world

as intelligent, sentient and self-aware beings

or all will disappear from the land

to be replaced by demonic phantasms

spawned from the manifold evil done

when we could still see one-another,

when the light still shone on our faces.




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