Today has been a very different sort of day. To start with, I have been trying to learn to work with runes a little bit, so the first thing I did was select one to represent the energies of the present time. I got the best pick, Wunjo, Joy. Good news! Within a couple of hours, a small eBay conflict had been happily resolved, I had received a parcel much looked forward to, and I had spoken with my Dad on the phone and been told that he has a girlfriend. This is great! Anything that makes him happy will keep him with us longer. He has excellent judgment, so if he approves of her, she is surely good people.

And then, with enough this-worldliness looked after, it was time to Work. It seems to keep saying that someone is looking for me, but that is all I know. And I am still a bit concerned that I seem to know a little too much about what I am doing, which has never happened before! I am used to being the last one to know what’s going on. My sense, which has been strengthened by visions repeatedly showing me pages and pages of paper, some written on and some blank, is that a change is coming that will amount to a breakthrough of some kind. Not that many people remain as actively involved with lyric verse as I have for this long, so I feel that what I will ultimately bring across will have considerable value. But I have to get there, and I have never been the patient one.

The word ‘patience’ appears in some form in nearly everything I make these days. Wonder why!

The connection the following poem makes is with fainting spells more than actual near-death experiences, but I once had a very strange episode that I think was both. Part of what remains untold has to do with actual erotic emotions and sensations as they occur not only in mystical or spiritual states, but along with so much of female embodied experience–untold, at least, in my culture. States of awareness we are taught to keep to ourselves, sometimes until we cannot recall them at all. The unspoken truths–the nefas, forbidden to speak of truths–are so powerful, and all just waiting to be told.

Will I get there? Yes. Will I get there, while I am still in this body, with these typing fingers? We shall see!

Meanwhile–that all sounds so highfalutin’. The poem says it better:

13 March 2021

13

The Polestar Sign

She woke up alone, after slipping and falling

(the ice wasn’t thin; you were heavy, and sharp).

How do you know where to go when they call you?

There wasn’t an angel who carried a harp,

and there wasn’t a Being of Powerful Brilliance

who loved her as if she should understand why.

There wasn’t that much of an anything, really.

High overhead, though–the Polestar a sky

was created to wind round with velvety midnight,

and all in its most shining rays–one she knew.

She’d seen herself in a dream with it hidden

beneath her long veil of dark linen–it threw

a spark of its splendid, invisible essence

so far through the distance–it pierced the strange heart

that lay in its path, in a gesture of blessing

that soothed, yet concealed a much farther, strange art–

which it waited with uncanny patience to show her

as if from within–as real magic unfolds–

and no one who isn’t inside its enclosure

can understand why the last secret it holds

hasn’t already…. Now she can feel in the thunder

that once was a pulse as the very sky raced–

She knew she had fallen; the love she lay under

was smiling so kindly, she came undisgraced–

and was vivid within her own spirit for love of

the word of return a great Soul had just told

to the ghost of its own most beloved: Another

high Polestar is shining. Love all you can hold.