I hold my hands up
cast the last small fettering stack of intangible things into the fire
of a setting sun
and so
feed the Phoenix waiting to rise.
There is a twist to the season now
a collection of last gasp energy
before the spin and crimson exhalation of autumn
like a collected horse
moving into an arena turn
at a slow jog:
the tuck and mechanical pull of shorter days.
I can feel it flex, furl and bend.
The sun is slipping South.
Every night I think the sky rears up to offer me ornate shards of rebirth
a star I never knew
the craters of a greater vessel swimming with loons.
I slip into slumber with my hands open
my arms outstretched
I’m adrift on the rippling surface of a mountain lake
all the grey promises I make myself are carefully fulfilled.
Each evening becomes unreaching
moon tossing
breeze glimmering stone throw distances
hungry red mouths of trout
river lick
granitic mountain tongues flinging praises at an ancient throne.
(Wistful is a place for people who do not belong anywhere
and so
everywhere is theirs for the claiming.)
———————————————————————-
I haven’t known how to evolve, I simply do or I don’t. When the time comes, I morphose into something similar, but new, or independently new altogether. It isn’t a conscious thing. I can’t tell myself to do it or make myself do it. It’s quite strange — adaptation, I mean.
I can’t begin to pinpoint how the changes take place, the impetus behind the motion of unzipping the suit I’m wearing, stepping out, and then stepping into a new suit. Zip. Like a change of skin. Like switching out a truck tire that has flattened in the sun and wind, muddled and mingled with gravel and weeds. Out with the old. In with the new. The seasons are independent, I suppose. Rhythmic unto their very selves. The invention of new drums and horizons.
One winter, I walked into Walrus & Carpenter, the used bookstore in Old Town Pocatello, and Will, the owner, exclaimed, “Why Jillian! It’s you! You’ve changed!” Speaking in bursts of exclamation is common for Will, it’s one of the reasons I like him so well, we seem to speak in similar dimensions. I’m sure I looked concerned by his outburst because he put his hands in the air, palms open towards me, as if he was stopping my objections in my throat, and he chased that first exclamation with this, “It’s not a bad thing! It’s how artists are! Always changing in timbre and hue.” Except I can’t recall exactly what words he used and that last bit of phrasing about “timbre and hue” is actually my interpretation of what he was saying.
I was maybe a bit embarrassed by what he said, perhaps a bit thrilled as well, to be noticed, to be changed, to be suddenly introduced to myself, wearing the newness I never noticed. I wonder how often it happens to me? Change? Hue and timbre modification. Day to day? Once a year? Does it reveal itself in the colors of clothing I choose to wear, the ring that doesn’t leave my right hand for a month? The way I write, make, cook food?
——————————————————————
I had a dream. I was in a forest. The trees were moaning, rubbing trunks in the wind, stretching cork cambium to breaking points beneath rungs of sunshine. I thought I smelled a pie baking, somewhere in the woods, berry stain and butter fry. There was a catastrophe of jigsaw bark on the forest floor and the unmistakable scent of solaris and pine sap. I walked through the mess, tried to fit thousands of small similar things together. My wrists wouldn’t bend. My joints were fused. I was the tree. Soundless and small. In the midst of everything.
this is a subject on which i have recently pensed and pondered, quite a bit.
people say to me “you’ve changed. you’re this. you’re that.”
sometimes i am offended because i feel i am viewed differently than how i feel.
i see myself changing but not how others SAY.
all i can toward you, is: you are beautiful. inside and out. you are love. you are light.
and for all that, i am grateful.
xx
duh. oops the error.
“all i can SAY toward you….”
Beautiful. Simply beautiful post and inspiring words.
I supposed I have stepped into a new skin these days, though there have only been four days so far in a whole new set of life I’m living, but already I have heard people call me something I have never, ever before been called in my entire life — and it’s not a bad thing, like you said! — I’ve been called professional. That I look professional. At the stage of my learning, I don’t FEEL professional, but if I look like what I am training to be, then I suppose at least a quarter of the journey is done, right? Now I have to make the contents of this suit I have stepped into fill out all of what is expected of me now that I am “professional”. It’s quite exciting, really!
Your words are so inspiring. And I have only realized that this is also not the only suit I have stepped into, and really, before I read this, I wouldn’t have given it another thought until I could feel myself in the suit someday down the road and go, “Oh. When did this become a part of my wardrobe?” as if it hardly mattered.
It may only be Thursday, but I don’t have Friday classes (it’s like the weekend for me!), so have a happy, wonderful weekend! ♥
..from glory to glory baby! Your changes, that is… one glorious unfurling to a new glorious twirling.
Mel ;o)
needle and nest design
Your poem stayed in my mind throughout the day as I read this earlier in the day- it sparkled like a gem. You are shining in your evolution and it shows…how lovely. 🙂
this is such a wonderful tumbling about of thoughts and ideas. i deeply appreciate your willingness to be open to the opportunities that life offers you, that your open hands do not grasp at the past nor for the future. years ago when working on a minor in human development (which has really turned out to be a major theme in my life) we studied foreclosed identities– individuals who set (or had set for them) a goal early on and never questioned it or wavered from it. i shudder to think of what i could have missed out on had i stuck tenaciously to earlier versions of myself. life is such a joyous adventure and you embody that beautifully.
thank you always for sharing it with us.
Your words are too good not to say so. Seriously. Reading this felt like you tapped a direct line to your heart & soul, and used your wordsmithing master skills to bring it to light…
Absolutely lovely. All of us changing…..it’s been one of my biggest, deepest lessons in life; letting go of old skins, shedding layers, and unfurling naturally. I am still figuring it out!
Love your post today, thank you!
what a glorious poem, prayer, hymn jillian!
your writing brings to mind that of annie dillard…
http://www.earthlight.org/earthsaint24.html
This post brings to mind the movie “Orlando” based on the book by Virginia Wolfe. The main character is an imortal soul who is constantly evolving. The film has a very dreamlike sensibility.
God, girl, you can write…..xx
The evolving, the changing,
The timbre, the hue.
I’ve read this four times,
It’s all so…sigh…YOU. xx
Beautiful.
Here’s to change, to expansion of self and soul, and to adding new growth rings to our own trees.
XX
How I love all the forms that your personal expression take – and will openly confess how much I enjoy your company – the company of female artists – even when it’s a virtual companionship – is so bolstering and encouraging. !! xx
Oh my, that Will character! Ain’t it the truth….I’ve experienced several occasions when ‘randome’ people approach me like a wise wizard, or a fortune telling gypsy, telling me everything I’ve been feeling, thinking, or ignoring; which then, I unravel like a loose ribbon. Either I’m an open book, or it’s some cosmic coincidence.
you are magnificent, plume. much love to you, always.
Change? Every day, I believe.
The hues and light of Washington suit you so.
xxx
“berry stain and butter fry”. Beautiful capture!
Ahhhhh… You are so beautiful in all your metamorphoses. XX
Please write a book dear girl. The world needs it. You are beauty inside and out.
hear hear!
Each time I come here and read your words, you’ve said something I’ve wished to say but never found the time or the letters.
I love it. 🙂
Thank you all so much for these comments.
You nourish my courage.
X
Jillian, your words and photographs are so exquisitely beautiful, so purely originally you. I do so hope you know and feel how glorious you are right down into your very marrow, truly. I feel blessed to visit here x