The End-Beginning

We are in a time of much dissolution, collectively and personally.

I do not resonate with the idea of apocalypse, per se, as that feels violent, religiously-controlled and untrue.

Nevertheless I have always carried a sense of a someday occasion in time when all the flows will still for a pause and there would be a moment of returning and refreshing out of Source.

It’s not too different than the feeling that we are always being breathed in and out of Source, but maybe the feeling that there will be a big, big, big inbreath back to center, such as we may be experiencing now, then a cascade of breath, song-winds flowing outwards, that both breathe life into the new forms and whisk away the detritus.

This song, Levanter, is from many years ago and has the perennial-forever feeling of this sense of anticipation I have always carried, always waited for. For me it is a joyous feeling.

In my mind this song connects to the same feeling shared in the lionsong Seems Like I’m Always Waiting, and could also be considered a variation on the topic of Temporality.

This recording owes thanks to Brad Perkins at Worm Farm recordings, in Ypsilanti, Michigan, and to the original Holly Mae and the Painted Room musicians, Michael Billmire, Mary Fraser, and Merilee Phillips. Love to you each, dear forever friends.

All these stories that we tell, we know them well

Will be dispelled when the wind comes,

to blow my breath away

Figures and configurations,

colors, shapes, and constellations

Will dissolve, like they were never there at all

Calms of Capricorn and Cancer,

westerlies and levanters

laden with dust

Will whisk away these words

When the wind comes through the grass,

well I’m not the one to say good bye to

When the wind comes through the grass,

well I’m not the one to say good bye to

All this lattice mesh and lace,

netting warp and weave

Will unravel like penelope’s shroud

Semiotics codes and signs,

rivers, veins, and criss-crossed lines

Will fade away, into the space behind our minds

Give me love and give me room,

I’ll take a mare’s nest as my groom

There’s only one to whom I answer,

yes you, the levanter

When the wind comes, through the grass

well I’m not the one to say goodbye to

When the wind comes, through the grass,

well I’m not the one to say goodbye to

My Invitation to You:

Do you have a sense of happening, of anticipation, something close by that is about to break through? Or another form of waiting, holding, pausing? Do you also have a sense of shift, of unraveling in some way?

If so, give expression to this sense, in any art form that feels to best hold it.

with love

—

Thumbnail image respectfully borrowed from The Wonderful Things You Will Be, by Emily Winfield Martin.