October 8, 2014

Back Porch Poetry. {Poem}

0 Boost Score Bob Sh'mal Ellenberg (1,510,185)

362

Back Porch Poetry.

Why does one’s consciousness get out of control?
Thoughts streaming through sometimes as fast as a blazing fire.
It’s as if a part of our mind is on a mission to destroy who we are?
As if the mind thing inside of our bodies
Belongs to someone else.
There is a broad chasm, as wide as the Grand Canyon, between what our thinking mind is saying to us and
How we are being in the world,
Doing our best to make
Our world, a better place for all beings.
Yes, that part of us, the divine within, meta-physically, becomes
The highest we can be.

It was totally unexpected.
In a corner of the 30 x 60 foot vegetable garden
Tiny bees and small butterfly-like creatures, hovering over
A clump of weeds frequently pulled up and out
From their rooted spot added to the compost.
But today, seeing various small flying insects, hovering,
Diving in with their proboscis,
These weeds will be spared.

Dozens of these small flying beings,
Savoring the slight amounts of nectar
From small flowers.
Delicate, slightly puffy, fuzzy looking,
With a yellow eye in the center.
Five delicate, half-inch long white leaves
Emerging from the base of the yellow, center eye.

Watching with amazement. A magic spot
In the corner of the garden.
New found fluttering beings amongst
The leaves and stems of expanding vines:
Seminole Squash, Sweet Potato vines,
Southern Peas (cow peas)
A 20 x 25 foot “ground cover.”
Almost rainforest, jungle-like, producing eatables.
Keeping down weeds and making
Compostable material.

The cow peas, a pleasant surprise.
First time planted,
Producing a handful of peas through-out the summer,
two to three times a week.

This is a wonderment of nature.
Joining with part of this man’s nature.
Yes, different in form
Than the flying insects, the lush green, the earth.
And a sometimes out of control consciousness.
It is love poring out of body and mind.
Encapsulated into and out of the earth.
Returning to this new sacred corner
Where only a few weeks ago
The tall broad leaves of ginger had my attention.
Planted many months ago, then forgotten,
Now renewed to memory,
By sight and touch.
Reaching a finger into the earth
Gently touching the ginger root.
Allowing them to continue growing until
The leaves will begin to brown from eventual cool weather.
Then a ginger root harvest.

Returning now with a chair to the garden corner.
Sit and watch. A kind simple soul
Wanting to know more
And more about life as it births anew
In front of my eyes.

Old memories coming pouring;
Consciousness of a high degree.
Birthing. Home-birthed children.
Nothing can be more
Glorious than being in the presence
To watch in wonderment new babes entering
Our present moment and space.

Three Decades later, children of my Seed;
Their mother’s Egg,
My love is still as potent as their
Never forgotten moments of birth.
Sitting in the chair,
In close proximity to the spreading vines,
Continuing to observe the fun
The small flying creatures are having.
Observing, trying to
Fathom their experience.
Wondering: what it would be like as a human
To fly about here and there,
Feeding on nectar from flowers?
Hmm, Is this what is happening
To me?
In these moments
In another form?
We are all part of the Oneness.

What is this? Why is this?
The desire to know.
To understand the
Natural world.
Why question what is so well known to
The inner most sense of who this Sh’mal is.
It is The Tao. The Way. My Way.
Studying the ancient mystic teachings
Has set itself firmly in a
Ever Expanding Consciousness
As a segment of all life.

This natural world is Love.
From watching the butterflies flutter
To knowing human births,
To the frenzied feeding of the yellow jacket bees going from one
Purple flower to the next.
To the sensuosity of touching
The breasts of a woman.

The who this is,
In a wonderland of the
Visual and tactile.

So much appreciation for this grand
Opportunity to be.
It is a gift to know when to
Just be.
And when to do.
Do this writing.
Do the crazed man gardening.
Do the new love making.

Then to know to be:
Sit quietly and breathe.
Ah, so much love coming in
Breathe love out,
To all that is.

Ah, maybe time now, to break from this.
Just being.
But do in the garden.
Yes, the temperature is low 80s, mild,
Mid 90s a few weeks ago.
This old man almost passed from heat prostration.
Now get crackin.

But wait, Sh’mal still remains,
Just a moment longer.
Sitting with patience,
Looking through the porch window
At the scores and scores of tangled squash vines.
What to do?

Time to begin cutting the vines,
To put them between raised beds,
With gratitude.
Walk on them, gently. As they crush into the earth.
Keeps down the weeds, and, yes,
Soon they decompose becoming soil,
And maybe squash vines again.

While the three to ten pound squash
Sitting on the porch sill
Overlooking their birthplace
Will glorify a table
Of The Tao at home
And many pot lucks,
With Thankfulness and Gratitude.