Week 3 SWP Reading
Thanks you Bear Mountain
For taking the pain of the fires
The difficultly of the smoke
We are grateful for you, the grown growth, the trees, the
flowers, the weeds and all the nsecys and animals
Thank you for be there for our sense of beauty
Help us to be more respectful of U and all of the earth
Thank you Bear
Mountain, deep bows of peace for U and all beings..
I am
sure we all have a friend that we talk to all the time. For me it was Rick,
retired injured Iron worker, union guy, compassionate friend to the earth and his
friends. We would talk daily, he would
listen, and I would listen sometimes that is all that was necessary.
Rick
died April 7 after one month of known illness…He asked me to lead his memorial
celebration, he asked my wife to do the
native cumching ceremony I can smell the cedar, the tobacco and the sweet grass
as the area we were in and the universe
were cleansed by the spirit of the universe…
Rick was
from a Canadian native tribe, he and his friend gave me my animal name, Spurgeon,
a large cold water creature. Fish….this poem is for my best friend still…
When the Tree falls
It is said, when the tree falls
You face the other way, in honor of its death
and its gift to you
of course before you cut, you are silent for a
moment
in a way asking for permission to use this tree
for your home or fire…
yes, a native, first peoples understanding of
honoring the earth, the universe.
Rick and I and our forest buddies seldom cut a
live tree
Unless it was injured by a storm
But now you know what kind of human being my
brother Rick was…
We mourn his passing to the next world
I miss him dearly
There is hardly a place I turn here in the
woods that he has not touched around m y home.
The earth is not ours
It belongs to all beings and ours to care for
and nurture
Rick was an earth man, a justice and peace
creature
A Bodhisattva, holding back on his journey, to make sure we all make it.
Thanks Rick, I have told the trees of your
passing, the deer, and the creatures who live here with us.
The sand hills were quiet for a while when I
let them know the big truck,
The wonder dog and the forest man would not be
here as they knew him anymore.
But they know you are really still here, caring
for all! Miss ya, but happy landings, a
good journey in the next world, thanks!
Page 46of my book The Inner passage:
No I was not in Nam, but I served those who came back in bags and
their loved ones
Yes, my name is not here, but all our names are…
Our names will be on the stone for Iraq, Afghanistan, Congo, Sudan,
Palestine, slavery, Native people, Japanese internment, and on and on…
What does it mean to build peace, for all people…think about it, chant
for it, pray to whomever you pray…
I remember a “Nam” funeral; the man who came back in a bag was one
of ten siblings… His sisters and brothers sat by ages with the young parents
at each end, the bookcases of time and love,
The Marines came up so slowly, stood at attention and saluted their
comrade, so slowly and then returned to their seats…
I thought this would never end, then the taps at the grave, it stays with
you for hours and days, no recording then, the real thing…
The question is always, it seems, did he die in vain, what bull shit, the
issue is he died; he is not here to care for and play with his nine siblings
For another war that should not have been fought…when will we
learn…? When will we learn?
PLEASE
STAND FOR THE SINGING OF THE LAST HYMN THANKS ALLEN GINSBERG FOR THIS ONE
New Stanzas for Amazing Grace
Composed
at the request of Ed Sanders for his production of The New Amazing Grace,
performed Nov. 20, 1994, at the Poetry Project at St. Mark’s Church in
–the-Bowery. Written by Allen Ginsberg
from DEATH AND FAME, Last Poems, 1993-1997, Harper Perennial, 1999 Allen
Ginsberg Trust
I
dreamed I dwelled in a homeless place
where
I was lost alone.
Folk
looked right through me into space,
and
passed with eyes of stone
O homeless hand on many a street,
Accept this change from me.
A friendly smile or word is sweet,
as fearless charity
Woe workingman who hears the cry
and cannot spare a dime.
Nor look into a homeless eye
afraid to give the time.
So rich or poor no gold to talk
A smile on your face
The homeless ones where you may walk
Receive amazing grace
I
dreamed I dwelled in a homeless place
where
I was lost alone.
Folk
looked right through me into space,
and
passed with eyes of stone