I cannot listen to Lif without feeling him.
the hopes I have with every collision with all creatures great and small,
whether winged or buzzing or slithering or scurrying…
His poetry flows into me as the tides and wind personified into human word.
An instrument of nature,
if the ocean could speak to me beyond the marvel it conjures…
I’m like a child in the waves, naked and jumping and throwing myself into and under the white crests, tangling with the churning under current thrown hither and thither then spat out close to breathless but so excited and desperate to dive straight back into the next invigorating onslaught of the moon goddesses gorgeous and powerful rhythm…I completely forget I’m a man, become nothing more than innocent glee.
silencing my everything but the essence of my somehow retained unblemished by adulthood or the world of our accursed species at large,
it would come as no surprise to sound like Lif.
Gruff the Druid is a symphony of the wilderness,
speaking of not only the four legged beasts and moths, but also the rivers and mountains and blizzards…
And this intensity of a Pan Weasel wide eyed and in mega devotion and marvel of the Forest and Ocean I become, is more mixed with playfulness than I sometimes project,
for I may be simply undone more than I realise by my natural focus of ever seeking pieces of nature in human form,
but I’m also seeking mischief….As the mangled progeny of Pan, Johan Nagel and Edmund Dantes gone prancing….>>>
all this meaning, depth, forest, ocean, waves, tides…MOOOOOON.
I must accept my circumstances and current guise as human,
and respond more with this acceptance when like a child my senses squeal and roar…
I want thunder booming.
To be prancing and dancing in the eye of the storm, wild naked and free,,,
or find others who feel the same.
My heroes of Lady and Man blazed trails of poetry, written pure reflections of the good and ill of humanity… and the cosmos.
I can be absorbed as moon beams…bow down to the magical power of her impact on the tides and their blizzard tides…
when the Sun smiles at me,
go berserk and project Lif onto gorgeous kinship found when blind not looking with my human,
I shuffle and shudder,
regain some of my lucidity and my heart smiles whenever the same smile appears on the Woman form I have revealed everything towards of my Pan weasel essence towards in anything but human ways,
then try recover after scaring myself,
steadied and more aware I am ever carving a path towards oblivion of my species,
in the wild, forlorn hope,
I can become one with the fluttering of butterfly wings,
playful howl of wolf cubs,
evening choir practice for the sparrows in the nearby trees…
Does the SUn know the moon must seek sometimes a break from its orbit of the earth it gives life and light into?
Commanding the tides is tiring. As is directing all light and life.
we have to cut loose from our magnetism to the stellar furnace of all we know as power and revealing anything and everything to our human eyes,
seek a muddling of the galactic duties with neptunian goddesses drinking the mega Saturn RIngs juice on a bar on Pluto,
as far away from the babel chorus of our WORDS as we can travel…knowing we can never walk away from the children of our storms and waves…for they are wild and innocent and the best of anything we can ever become…
I live off of Hope and Providence.