Wednesday, May 26, 2010

On The Earth, Riding The Earth Past The Stars

Last night I danced, the rich dance of my chosen line from the "random" cut out pieces of paper lines, aligned in a lovely configuration on the floor, with the words hidden from view. My line was, "On The Earth, Riding The Earth Past The Stars" from another wonderful Mary Oliver poem shared by Winky.  A few minutes into the dance, I realized that the lines of poems that I have been dancing and saving, will find their places on the small, white clay chair installation I am working on. I have made two more chairs in the last two days, (two and three of the numbered P.O. or post-opp chairs) and plan to make another today. The dance was once again wonderful, as the music rose in waves, peaked and then settled down to a calming meditative place. I lay, legs up the rough exposed brick wall, sweating, with my eyes closed, listening to the calming last song. I opened my eyes midway to see that I was directly under a large skylight that glowed with amazing brightness, considering it was dark and rainy outside, as it has been for many days. With my legs up the wall, my perspective was skewed in a wonderfully magical way. I felt as though I could walk my feet up the wall, as though I was walking on the ground, a brick road, and walk through the door of the skylight. It was such an amazing feeling, to sense that I could actually walk through that portal of light after dancing, riding on the earth and reach the sky, past the stars. It never ceases to amaze me, the gifts that dance continually brings into my life.

After Arguing against the Contention That Art Must Come from Discontent

"Whispering to each handhold, "I'll be back,"
I go up the cliff in the dark. One place
I loosen a rock and listen a long time
till it hits, faint in the gulf, but the rush
of the torrent almost drowns it out, and the wind --
I almost forgot the wind: it tears at your side
or it waits and then buffets; you sag outward...

I remember they said it would be hard. I scramble
by luck into a little pocket out of
the wind and begin to beat on the stones
with my scratched numb hands, rocking back and forth
in silent laughter there in the dark--
"Made it again!" Oh how I love this climb!
-- the whispering to the stones, the drag, the weight
as your muscles crack and ease on, working
right. They are back there, discontent,
waiting to be driven forth. I pound
on the earth, riding the earth past the stars:
"Made it again! Made it again!""

~~Mary Oliver~~ 

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