To Earth. . .

on your beginnings

bird s eye photography of ocean and mountains

This week’s vibe is one of disequilibrium. The return to school is, to put it mildly, a bit chaotic this year. I have spent the last few days feeling severed from the best parts of my mind. To be clear, there is nothing unusual or traumatic occurring in my life at this moment other than confrontation with the noise of the hour at hand in its current institutional form (as sites absorbing what feels increasingly like the engineered chaos it is, designed to destroy the concept of a public good).

So, for now I will share something that I just noticed was published in Stone Poetry Quarterly, as I try to recover. Titled “To Earth, on Your Beginnings,” this piece, like many from recent years, emerged from ideas that I first explored here. Thank you for being with me in this space. I look forward to returning, soon. I am glad to find this one today. Reading it helps me to remember what I mean to return to. With love.

Author: Stacey C. Johnson

I keep watch and listen, mostly in dark places.

4 thoughts on “To Earth. . .”

  1. Wow! What a wonderful mash-up between the chaos of reentering workmind and seeing this gem brought to the surface! Lovely piece (funny how you singled-out the word pulse; I was playing around with that myself re: an owl’s early morning call today). Sorry to hear the week has been chaotic (way too early to be returning to school innit, wtf?!). But thanks for sharing, so beautifully composed. Color me impressed! Gobsmacked even!

    1. Bill, your generous note gives me such a smile. I have been listening to an owl all morning. And I appreciate the wtf recognition that it seems a bit early, lol. As it definitely does : ) Wishing you an excellent weekend, friend!

      1. It’s the time of the owls! My dear friend (whose also a teacher, and a musician) reminds me that fall is the season to pull out Led Zeppelin IV and they had a nice line in one of those songs I always love to hear Plant sing, “when the owls cry in the night…” the combo of his voice crying those words with the synth and drums is kind of voodoo-like, otherworldly. Crowley-inspired, old world magick. Your poetry hits on the same! Be well friend.

      2. Oh friend, what a gem this is. Thank you for this smile, Bill! : )

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