Clouds on the Mountain

Bioregional Sun

Immersed in the Feminine

Clouds blow through like the ghosts of Pioneers. 

I wend my way forward, knowing what my Masculine Sun lives for; knowing what my feminine Soul nourishes within. 

Foundation, eros, heartsong, and thought-mind. One being, true. My seeds fall for You. Namaste. 

IF I HAD A DAY, Mama

IF I HAD A DAY

If I had a day Mama,

I’d tell you I loved you

I’d tell L___ I sure couldn’t meet him for dinner,

I’d stretch my body out really really well - to feel good

I’d watch the dawn

I’d tell you sometimes I’m clueless, Mama,

sometimes I’m clueless,

But I’ve had a good life,

I’ve had a really good life, Mama,

If I had a day.

IF I HAD A YEAR, MAMA,

If I had a year,

I’d produce the best ever seasonal blessings

the world’s ever seen.

I’d bless this place, Mama,

I’d really give this to people, Mama --

I’d give it my everything,

If I had a year.

IF I HAD FIVE YEARS, MAMA,

If I had five years,

I’d take some birds under my wing, mama,

I’d take some birds under my wing,

and I’d show them how to live really well, Mama,

in a beautiful place,

in an Earth we share, Mama.

I see land and country, dawns, soil rich with frost, heaving rich, Mama

If I had five years.

IF I HAD TEN YEARS, MAMA,

If I had ten years,

I’d have a child, Mama -

Just for the experience, I’d have a child

with a woman, and be there for the birth,

I’d have a child, Mama,

If I had ten years.

IF I HAD TWENTY YEARS, MAMA --

If I had twenty years,

I’d make my whole family about our purpose --

As a family, we would lift something up in the world --

something together, we’d lift it up, something bigger than me.

IF I HAD FIFTY YEARS, MAMA --

-- And I do have fifty years --

If I had fifty years,

i don’t know what I’d do.

I’d give it all back, Mama --

I’d give it all away,

I’d give it all back to You, Mama. I’d give it back to you.

Back to the Southeast!

This is why I love being back in the Southeast. Trees plants forest and biodiversity. It is a lush and rich and beautiful here. Green parks abound, and fall is in the air.

Water is so present here. It is an ocean of clouds and rivers and rain in the form of thick leaves, forests and plants. 

And Asheville, the city where I live? It strikes me now as small and rural and isolated. No visible skyline driving in, no great lights, just a windy mess with some quite foggy clouds drifting in front of stars, forestey trees lit by streetlights every few corners. It's a long way up into these old mountains from the sea to finally get to this little town. 

And so I say, 

"Home! Little Asheville, dark, quiet, starry, windy, with some clouds. Big trees, green forests moving into Autumn, moist chill in the air, way up in these old mountains, far from the sea. My Home!"

 

Rick and the Ocean

Well I made it to the ocean. Got my wish. Never thought it would be here, at the Pacific, at Ocean Beach, in San Francisco! My Brother Rick and I chat about bringing our soul gifts the world – ways to do things that are possible, small enough to happen, satisfying, and that bring something out – out to the people, out to our people, out to the Earth. 

Something about Mama Ocean brings me cellularly home – home to myself, home to the Source. Rick practices Chi Gung while the waves crash white. I find my solace in the reflection of this writing.

Clouds off Mount Madonna

I.

I am so connected to the Earth. 

My body can feel you, even from the sky. 

Up in this sail-fish, we leap through haze...

II.

Moon set salmon pink into the fire Pacific night. 

I give all words and thoughts of words to the stars and the molten core. 

I am terrified to let go of this old bag of skin. 

Wings push from my spine. 

From these old wells, the scorn of lovers, that old sadness, I float above you and hear them. 

It is just another escape from the rising sun. 

With spirit hands I cannot see 

I sense into entirety —

Ocean of clouds. 

Into the Closet!

I've been digging for Soul.

Finding the path I flow through.

Descent into darkness -- I entered my Closet and swept out the poems. Alive, beings, alive they were. I don't know what else there is to find other than a path to the Future.

This is a test blog. This is my path.

Gardening and Production

How is the process of pursuing a community garden the same as producing a project?

Zev demos his life work here, the same as showing your best work in a production for the public – in a public production.

But it still a collaborative piece – and the Advisory Board is still the one with the biggest final decisions.

So choose them well.

"My Garden". – A place where the artist personally talks about his life and his work – and influences

Honeybees

So many people interested in honey bees. 

Me – I'm interested in honey bee habitat.

I'm going to build a garden for honeybees.

I'm also going to build a garden for tea – 

For herbs –
For sacred reflection –

But first, the bees...

(More to come…)

Connecting the Threads

Does our bioregion need gardening too? I know that people want celebration, meaning, and acknowledgment. I think of the way that the farmers work the soil hard, the big open spaces, the Tilder's waiting for seeds, one by one, to be planted and grown to feed those of us living densely need to nourishment too.

I want to support ecological consciousness in a way that connects, connects the languages, the languages of the different peoples, who are working this land we call the Southern Appalachians. 

People say they will get behind me if I roll out a performance troupe vision that includes a grounded acknowledgment of our region, the spirit behind life, the archetypes of soul under the work people do for the good of Gaia gardening. 

I think this means promotions, but it also means really getting in the spirit of doing this work. That means keeping organized the threads of the stories, and also knowing who else is doing what… I have some time to dedicate to myself in looking into this and researching my stories and community.

The doorway is the doorway that we are ever walking toward and from. 

The roses are the beauty of life.

There is both :-)

Reflections on soulful work and my life path

Had a vision dream of a tree deity this morning. I'm taking pictures of events, and looking at local groups who are like green works. 

Most mornings I notice I spend well in contemplation and action towards what I want to be doing. Sometimes this makes me late to appointments! 

I know my spirit has the intelligence to wake me up on time and time my life perfectly… Because she always does! My body falls back asleep sometimes though. And then when I go ahead anyway and work on what I need to that morning, I do become late for things. Plus there's the distractions… If you want to call it that.

And thinking about the long-term projections of life, and how I want to support that, and what that might look like, for me having a family, a woman, children, community…

And there's the things that I feel so called to do on any given day… It still has to do with networking my community region, knowing is doing what green and intelligent and soulful work,

If I didn't compromise a thing, right now, I'd be doing counseling… and work in the natural world for my health, and leading groups through soulful missions that also he'll and work actively in Earth health and repair – so that they could also tend their bodies, and feel a connection that meant more to them than just some narrow individualized plan.

What am I doing? I am working enough to pay my bills, I am dating a beautiful woman who matches the descriptions I have for a good partner, I am tending and interacting and feeding from and hopefully nourishing my community of people, I am performing, in cosmological and ecological shows… I honor my parents, although I did receive money from them again recently… and i am moving forward every day almost with the things I feel strongly compelled and called to do in the world!

I pray, give thanks and my altar, receive dream messages, intend to do beautiful things that unite community and people. I listen to the latest news and statistics on earth care and sustainability for us. Breathe deeply most of the time ;-) 

I do not keep to myself much anymore. I choose to move in love, and keep conscious what I have realized… December our teeth, beauty, depth of meaning and soulful action from my own source, and I suppose tending to some of the details is becoming less of a rigor for me since I see the benefits, and know that we almost do this.

About to go work in a vineyard, very very low pay, but a good companionship, memories of my childhood in the fields, fresh delicious wine and food, and a sweet masculine hippie man who is a good work companion.

Garden of Light, Garden of Life -- My Role as "Via Creativa" in the Cosmic Mass

It’s interesting how the universe moves at a speed that is different than my mind. 

I am doing things now that a few months ago I was asking for in my life. It’s true and wonderful — and while it may be true that what I am “asking” for right now is moved on past what I am actively doing in life. it is amazing to see that when I follow my “flow” of heart and fate, windows upon windows unfold for me in the future. 

Just finished a ceremonial performance dancing at a Cosmic Mass that a local center of worship was producing, I was 1/2 of “Via Creativa”, representing the generative creative force that occurs when “Positiva” and “Negativa” come together and push into “Transformativa”. The prayerformance was dance, song, chant, ceremony, grief, ecstacy, and trance. 

I think culture rocks to hear this kind of thing. 

I recall reading prechtel — and thinking of other cultures — which produce elaborate ceremonies for their people as a part of their “highest task in life”. It’s like, if we are fed and cared for — and even if we are not!! — we have to do something so creative, so sacred and beautiful and enriching and fundaentally reconnecting to what is beautiful and worth preserving in life. It gives us purpose, reinforces certain sets of convictions, releases stagnancy, enthralls and bonds. 

Flow and Form

I speak of flow and form. By flow I mean, the ever-unfolding pathway the Universe reveals -- a kaleidescope bridge between all moments, revealing always the unexpected which we flow into

And I mean by form, the order with which we imagine our world unfolding.

What sexual play! What an intriguing thing, the Mind wanting certain things, being open, aware, of certain opportunities -- and based on what! hat of these Wants are from stories, myths, talkes told and ingested, from boyhood, from culture, from expectations of and from others and of Self --

And then the Callings, from Source? Dare I name it that...

And then the Flow : that no things are truly controllable. Truly knowable. Plans made are shifted by the Better Mind -- the Universal Knower -- not always in accord with what I (the little I) who makes a guess...

and yet also, trying to Dance with the universal creator whose sliver of sliver of authentic Soul resides in this form in this body -- ungrockable eternally by the Mind that speculates and makes Best Plans each morning...

And yet we are flowed forward, re-plan, flowed forward -- until the Planning itself becomes just Flow...

and one day we perhaps let it go
Or perhaps joyful let it flow... such plans... such men...
such times as we thrive, love and laugh, dance in!

The Sacred Woods and the Network

I come to the sacred woods again. Surely, a network of life lives through these parkways. How many people worship here? Call it exercise, walking, time in nature, relaxation… some make altars at the trees. Often, I sit and breathe.

 

I know these woods are cared for officially by the UNCA experimental Forest manager. But the richness of life they give is so profound, and so many people who live here benefit. 

Life is sustained, perpetuated, and remembered in part by a connection with our deeper roots as human beings. Some say human history is 6000 years old – but I know it is much, much older than that. Perhaps we have not been "human" long, but we have existed forever. Our form traces back through manifestations upon manifestations, back   through unknowable stars, to the very first rustling thrum of our universal Bell, when the world was so dense that it existed as liquid reverberation. 

And so, to be in a place that remembers our evolution, our essence, and the fact of the myriad pathways that gave rise to the 10,000 things with which we find ourselves perpetually surrounded, and to know that They are so in ineffably and truly alive, is to remind us of our roots and connection. And to be present in the chaordic patterns of a Nature wilder then the squared angles of our human fabrications is to vibrate with all of the unhuman potentials that reside still in the genetic memories of our being.

To keep us wild is to remember the genetic ancestries of our mind. To breathe as air the immediate dense exhalations of a million myriad plant creatures is like inhaling the breath from a lover's lips at one centimeter in the flush of heat energy of sensuality. Only, this is not a lover to fuck lightly. It is an experience to take totally. 

"The trees are in love with the wind.

See them turning and sighing in her arms. 

See them whispering in every ear.

They are forever entwined.
And are they ever as one?"

The subtle spit from her mouth enters his pores.

They inhale her fragrance and extract energy for growth. 

They grow strong with her eternal caress.
And she?

She changes into the moment-away-from-flame,

Into the almost-combustible earth,

From the collective sigh of every Sun-transforming cell

Across the entire face
Of our planet-Mother.

<BEAT> 

I step into this bliss.

I step again into this. 

Again, I move through this.

Into life as one kiss

Again I move in this

Move with breath and bliss

Stand and breathe this gift

Know that we are this

Own this life as gift.

And so I move in a land that we eat as locusts and worship as kin. Should not eating then be only done as worship? Do we not realize and remember the source of such rituals?

Is each step not a tiny death? Is each breath not a living transformation?

Is each life not an arc of the sacred / like one long exhalation?
With the long-inhale coming in the darkness between, / in the passage of which we can only dream...

 



Keeping My Soul Alive

What brings me joy? This is something you have to know and observe for yourself, in yourself!

But I can share what works for me.

When I was sick recently, my energy so low and depleted, I only did things that brought my vibration higher. This was like an experiment the universe was playing with me. I couldn't do otherwise, or else I would feel so bad, and low, and depleted.

So I read fairytales in bed.

And I formed a small garden by hand, placing stones and terrace ways like a child in the sandbox. I want all creatures to come and love my garden.

I parked cars like a mime in silence the evening before. Chi Gung and a flourish without speaking made me feel so much better.

And I blogged my time, walking in reflection and contemplation, and then sharing my inner self.

http://michaelsunshinegarden.blogspot.com/2014/04/im-so-sick-right-now.html

The truth was, I was crawling on my knees part of the time that evening, I was so delirious with infection.

But most of all, I turned inward, and did only those things that brought me Life.  Speaking little, tending my inner flame...

Here's a song this morning my friend is singing:

http://soundcloud.com/digitalbard/spirit-wind-at-possum-splendor?utm_source=soundcloud&utm_campaign=mshare&utm_medium=email&utm_content=http://soundcloud.com/digitalbard/spirit-wind-at-possum-splendor

Remember the inner flame, restfulness, and the yin. There is a sweetness there… In the honey pot of the Dantien. Sometimes things must be tended gently, sweetly, and with care.

What leaves you feeling full with sweetness and life?

Remember your gentle, inner flame...

"What have we to guide us,

Under these dark leaves?
A flame we keep,
Here in our hands...

Waking to Chickens

I wake up in the morning and feed the chickens. 

It's so unexpected, how much I love this task. To be caretaker for a whole bevy of little conscious animals… I thrum  to this responsibility, just like years before when I watched horses for a neighbor friend, unexpectedly loving the stewardship in a way tapped a power in me deeply content and wonderful.

Yesterday, I spent time in the vineyard...

My vintner friend is 58. We toke, and then go down to dig holes. In the course of the day, I am wounded, bleed, see You, Blacksnake, look out across the mountains many times, speculate on life, and to dig many, many holes, each satisfying fall of the axe blade or mattick reminding me of the strength and power of my being. And we plant seven plants in the steep, well worked hill where he has chosen to make his Way.

"This is for you," he says of his seven trellised rows of Appalachian wine grape plantings. "It's the best I can do." 

What he means is that he expects the grapes to live longer than he will, and the Vineyard to continue beyond his own lifetime. We sip grappa during the times we break to sup. It is illegal to manufacture, apparently, in the network of legality and enforcement we currently find ourselves in. In Italy with my parents years ago, I remember sharing grappa with farmers who ran restaurants out of their kitchens. 

But none had a bouquet like this.

He and I speculate on what would be truly valuable should the economy shift suddenly, or fall apart into disintegration. I look at his water systems, off grid power, independence, and resolve, and wonder if the powers that be truly tremble at this sort of autonomy. All things, I believe, have the instinct for survival; and threats perceived, or fears imagined or real, cause responses at times violent, wild, and unexpected. So it is with nations, corporations, people, families, – and perhaps even planet herself. We shall see.

If I were to raise a flag, I would raise the earth flag. Below that, perhaps, would be our nation's banner.

And above Earth flag, perhaps, would be the banner of my personal religion…Kosmos, the Zen "O", the yin yang of swirling duality, the spiral, smile, the heart. The consciousness that I choose to perceive as infusing all things. 

And truly, I am glad we humans are connected now through the inter-web – the mind and voice with which we can all speak so quickly with one another.

May we be called not lost, but home, here on this planet, amongst ourselves and our kin, moving toward mystery, with a power infused from God-universe from the beginnings of time.

An Army of River Keepers

There is apparently an ARMY of river-keepers; Druids of the natural world enabled by the science of the State to monitor and report on stream quality... watchful eyes and concerned minds working to honor the Health of Gaia, network volunteers, and care for our waterways.

I am learning this in the Aquatic Ecology course I'm in...
/2014/04/aquatic-ecology-first-day.html

Solitude versus Silence

The Garden of My Silence I carry with me always, as a vessel of water, undisturbed, and resonating with all darkness. 

Sick as I am, I spend my day in recovery turning inward. What I find the energy to do is what I bodily discern nourishes me. Lying in bed, clearing the clutter of books off my shelves so that I can see just an open space - beautiful. Walking gently into the light, and then back to my room again. I practice flow arts: spin stick, and the night before do performance parking as a mime while I still had to work. at the festival; then find myself blogging– the observation and reflection on my surroundings and on being so soothing. All next day I read fairytales; practice Chi Gung – silence, flow, and ancient fantasy stories are my friends. I cry reading The Little Prince. When I wake I am utterly devoid of the need for the girlfriend I said goodbye to weeks ago. I am happy to be underneath this layer of drama. 

Reflecting now on these changes, I wonder how I could have forgotten to be silent – not only be able to be in solitude, but to be silent. 

For solitude and silence are distinct things. 

I believed I had mastered them both by simply being able to be alone, and content. 

But always active, always working on some golden project in my solitude, is not the same as taking the nourishment that comes from the gentle, silent things. 

And to be in silence around people, as well – this too I had forgotten. Always active, always giving of my attention, presence, and life – giving too much –

Forgetting that silence, and the space it affords, both in solitude and around other people, is healing.

The Garden of my Silence I carry with me always as a vessel of water, undisturbed, and resonating with all darkness. 

Easter Island – The Slow Injury of Cultural Pride

The whole Earth is my garden, as well. Green and blue, product of life and provider of all life. 

At Easter Island, according to A Green History of the World, a population of 7000 at peace with the environs evolved great rituals of statuary art that stripped their island bare and reduced their people to squalor. 

You see, they needed trees to roll the stones along, and vying between themselves to be the clan with the greatest stone monuments at the greatest centers of established power, they cut trees upon trees in tribute to this most crowning achievement of their highest cultural song.

Death of the environment which made their culture possible meant the death of their culture. 1200 years of well balanced chickens and sweet potatoes; a culminating roar of micro-empire in stone; and then dissolution from deforestation through folly.

And to wonder when the irreversible limit was reached… Was it when one tree was left standing? A hundred? 

Or was it when their cycle of greatness became so embedded and intractably compulsive within the gestalt of their cultural mind that the pendulum of downfall shifted fatally into the hemisphere of night? 

Perhaps it was failure of the imagination. What more could a culture do, one so gloriously entranced with the erection of the stone Gods? Perhaps it was more shaming to these human beings to cease and desist this most holy form of sport and expression than it was to watch their society dissolve and die. More difficult to shift from within their pride of aggrandizement than to slowly wither: the slow, long injury that over hundreds upon hundreds of years cut more deeply than any One's two eyes could ever see. 

– Michael Rain

The Spirit Garden

I'm so sick right now. Parking cars at an art performance event. I am so happy. Silently flowing energy – alive with light and color! My birthday was wonderful. Dusk falls over the mountains. 

Why is this "My Garden," too?

So many people here, all to see what it means to be One of the Humans. To see what we can do. A creative edge, celebrating and playing with the Inner and Outer truth. 

Earlier, the puppet creature came. Many legs, much turning inside and outside - viscera or poppies or bewildered faces  birthing, yes?

This is the garden of the species, for the spirit, as we stand on Earth. What wondrous blossoms we can make as the Animals we are.

Pearson Gardens

Community gardens, like community houses, are places for learning and growth. Like minded people coming together out of love and a shared intention creates a magical space where many things can happen. Friendships made and forged, possibilities expanded from the dream of the single sleeper to the wide-eyed dreams of the gathered crowd. 

Signs are common in community spaces that have evolved with love and care. We want our systems to work, and so we create channels of communication to convey their highest evolved functioning. Art always has a place in their creation, for art is the song of the heart in love. 

Ecology, dreams, and the sun and moon all have their place here.

The garden is a microcosm of the cosmos.

But what is it stake here is not only the creation of a community in a small city on earth, but the skilling of human life at its core essence - the creation of food, and its interplay with the greater-than-human world from which we are born, and on which we all constantly feed. 

What are you giving back to the spirit of Earth?

As for myself, I remember my connections as best I can. I give food to the soil, and piss to the trees. I give my thoughts to the whole planet, and my people – the human beings – and to this region on which I live. I talk to the things of this earth, the same way I talk to God. When I invoke Jesus, where is he? When I invoke his consciousness, is he on some dimension that I can see touch taste?

When I speak with that inner voice, I believe His spirit can live in all things. 

Do not all babies touch our heart the way that Christ can?

Call it what you will, I love this Life, and am true to, and truest in, the Divinity.

The White Pine

A part of my garden is Inward. Nature connects me. 

Sacred Places

There is a woods near my house.

People come to commune-

A sacred place, for exercise, for light, for breathing the natural beings. 

Do you know this place? Respite and reminder. Promise of a journey within, without, and in terms of all beings.

Garden Notes!

Found my garden notes for this year -yes!!!

First gardening

I'm starting a garden. It is the entire earth.

How will our civilization know the future?  As a populated place, with resources dwindled to naught?  

As a loving community of life. As a sacred, molten stone, covered in a microbial skin that breeds and gives birth to its own children. 

I make a sacred offering. Who do you pray to? When there is deep, deep suffering, to what do you most commonly turn? And when there is Joy – to what or whom do you most typically give thanks?  

Connell shows up. Lover of mantids! Why do you like bugs?, I ask him. I take video.  

– How do I embed video from my iPhone!? –