My friend flies in from Boise to assist at the ceremony, Re-Storying our Modern Lives – a Ceremony to Renew a Living Myth for Eairth.
She’s suffered a lot recently, so we walk a nearby beach to ground ourselves in sand and sea. My boisterous elder dogs gambol at the murky water’s edge, sluggish from heaps of seaweeds gathered at the froth line.
Dog gamboling produces the momentary squatting stance of obligatory pooping for which I’m always prepared with plastic bags. . . a conundrum if ever there was one. In this day of recycling and contributing to the well-being of the planet, I’m confused by whether it’s really correct to put poop in plastic into the landfill. Reallllly?
I see Taka far off behind a log with that classic silhouette of curved spine and tucked butt. I amble toward where he’s been. I can’t find “his business” at first, so squat myself to investigate more carefully behind the log and my eyes stumble on filigree.
What the H E doubletoothpicks is this???
Having spent time beach seining last winter ( see this post ) this delicate perfection of skeleton bursts open my memory banks of the tiny stature of many living sea creatures – Snout nose, needle nose, tube fish, sea horse…
But it is none of these and two fish biologists have declared they are not sure what it is.
Yet this tiny being once lived in this vast ocean.
The winged aspect blows my imagination open. The flared nostrils suggest a mini-dragon. It looks like it might have had a fan tail. The large holes in the wee skull suggest huge eyes. The arched bridge between brow and mouth, not as thick as a standard hand-sewing needle, suggests a Roman nose. And looking through my ten power jewelers’ lens, I can see one tiny triangular tooth in the center of the top jaw.
EEEEEE gad what do we have here?
What we have here is awe. Grated over pebbles, refined by sand, tangled in sea grasses and tumbled through water, this tiny fleshy body morphed to this gossamer skeleton, snuggled momentarily against this log waiting for my wonder . . . reminding me of the tensile strength of living in this vast universe where my bones are but filaments, too.
A-mused by your own mystery,
your chuckle, like a flute,
calls the attention of Cernunnos
who grants our passage through his torque.
And so all your magic
burrows deep into a new myth,
a swimmer of the limitless
you push me deeper still;
Down and down
passed root and stone,
way beyond the familiar.
Anointed now by the blood of the earth,
your gossamer fins,
through blind instinct,
press me tight against the grid of all things
and I apologize for a dull mind.
Only my heart grasps the song
of the great and the glorious,
and through that vast song
the grid vibrates
till the songs of the tribe
are shaken out of a pure white quilt
and lay scattered without chorus.
Eyes wide with fear at my baptism of rubble,
I beg you little fish;
…what story is this?
by Shannon Goose
Shannon, your poem a-mazes me, twists and turns my own labyrinthian brain to appreciate the need for apologizing for my own dull mind, our culture’s own dulled mind. Knowing the truth of your words: Only my heart grasps the song.
May more and more of us, quickly and quicker, open our hearts to the vibration which holds this big shebang together. and listen for the little fishes’ grand stories so we can tell them.
Lovely, ladies. Thank you.
Thanks for commenting, Connie. I look forward to some of your stories SOOOOOON! Miss you.