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This morning I read the second section of Ray Young Bear’s Winter Of The Salamander, “When We Assume Life Will Go Well For Us”. Ray’s work is dreamlike yet feels viscerally real. It helps me integrate the mental with the physical in my life. Anyways, I wanted to share a poem I read about ten times over this morning that evoked an indescribable feeling in me.
From His Dream
the air hadn’t changed
since she last saw her mother.
the land was cover with frozen
rain. she knew a couple of days
ahead that the spring would disappear.
she kept reminding to her husband,
it’ll have to come back.
i don’t think it’s really over with,
but he always seemed disinterested.
a look of worry in his eyes.
even as it was snowing,
thunder rolled across the roof
of their home and they couldn’t
help glancing at each other
with puzzled faces. bodies
of disemboweled animals flashed
in their minds,
the children ran about in play
but when they ran into their father’s
eyes, they could see the light
of their rooms, the changing contrast
of shadows, clothes that had to be buried, faces of death, a knife burning in
the figure of seals on a tree.
the second time they ran,
the wind made sounds as if
there were people with their mouths
up against the house, talking.
as it grew colder, the snow made
more noise against the plastics
coverings over the windows.
when the children looked outside
they could see the clouds piling up
on top of each other, each group
darker than the other.
across the room where their mother
sat they could distinctly visualize
the changing color of her lips.
teeth biting into her skin.
they followed as she circled
the room, spitting the chewed willow
all around the windows.
their son has been gone most
of the day. it wasn’t unusual for him
to hunt alone. he always seemed to know
what to do. old enough to be gifted
naturally to keep away from flowing women,
he had spoken about sliding down hills
on his knees, picking up the snow
to his ears and hearing the thoughts
of deer, bringing packed bodies
of muskrat and duck, the different
crusts of blood on his shoulder bag.
from a distance, his father
could see his tracks heading
into the thickets. small owls guided
their way through brush by the touch
in their wings. he remembered a dream
he had that morning of giant fish
and coral snakes submerged in the icy waters
of a river he had never seen.
he and his son cornering a small horse
covered with fish scales, bearing
the head of a frightened man.
its thin legs and cracked hooves.
somewhere in this land he knew
there was a place where these creatures
existed. he had also been told of a hole
where the spirits spent their days,
watching the people before they crawled
out, traveling through their arcs
in the sky towards evening like birds.
on the way back home, thinking his son
had circled the forest, he crawled
across a section of river which was still
covered with ice and fish entrails,
previous spots where he had taught
his son to use a blanket to block
out the daylight to lie there
with his barbed spear, waiting
for catfish to lumber out from the roots
of fallen trees under the ice.
although he felt a desire to crawl
straight across without looking
down into the river bottom through
the clear ice, something caught his eye,
as he peered into the bubbling water,
he saw the severed head of his son,
the hoof from his dream,
bouncing along the sandy bottom.
Jan 19, 2025
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I read it in first grade and it accelerated the development of a profound sense of consciousness and independent thinking and fortified my existing love for animals/nature/the environment. I was already an overly existential child and it helped me learn to focus on beauty and joy in the face of death and suffering!
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The leaves were falling from the great oak at the meadow's edge. They were falling from all the trees.
One branch of the oak reached high above the others and stretched far out over the meadow. Two leaves clung to its very tip.
"It isn't the way it used to be," said one leaf to the other.
"No," the other leaf answered. "So many of us have fallen off tonight we're almost the only ones left on our branch."
"You never know who's going to go next," said the first leaf. "Even when it was warm and the sun shone, a storm or a cloudburst would come sometimes, and many leaves were torn off, though they were still young. You never know who's going to go next."
"The sun seldom shines now," sighed the second leaf, "and when it does it gives no warmth. We must have warmth again."
"Can it be true," said the first leaf, "can it really be true, that others come to take our places when we're gone and after them still others, and more and more?"
"It is really true," whispered the second leaf. "We can't even begin to imagine it, it's beyond our powers."
"It makes me very sad," added the first leaf.
They were silent a while. Then the first leaf said quietly to herself, "Why must we fall? ..."
The second leaf asked, "What happens to us when we have fallen?"
"We sink down. ..."
"What is under us?"
The first leaf answered, "I don't know, some say one thing, some another, but nobody knows."
The second leaf asked, "Do we feel anything, do we know anything about ourselves when we're down there?"
The first leaf answered, "Who knows? Not one of all those down there has ever come back to tell us about it."
They were silent again. Then the first leaf said tenderly to the other, "Don't worry so much about it, you're trembling."
"That's nothing," the second leaf answered, "I tremble at the least thing now. I don't feel so sure of my hold as I used to."
"Let's not talk any more about such things," said the first leaf.
The other replied, "No, we'll let be. But—what else shall we talk about?" She was silent, but went on after a little while. "Which of us will go first?"
"There's still plenty of time to worry about that," the other leaf assured her. "Let's remember how beautiful it was, how wonderful, when the sun came out and shone so warmly that we thought we'd burst with life. Do you remember? And the morning dew, and the mild and splendid things..."
"Now the nights are dreadful," the second leaf complained, "and there is no end to them."
"We shouldn't complain," said the first leaf gently. "We've outlived many, many others."
"Have I changed much?" asked the second leaf shyly but determinedly.
"Not in the least," the first leaf assured her. "You only think so because I've got to be so yellow and ugly. But it's different in your case."
"You're fooling me," the second leaf said.
"No, really," the first leaf exclaimed eagerly, "believe me, you're as lovely as the day you were born. Here and there may be a little yellow spot but it's hardly noticeable and only makes you handsomer, believe me."
"Thanks," whispered the second leaf, quite touched. "I don't believe you, not altogether, but I thank you because you're so kind, you've always been so kind to me. I'm just beginning to understand how kind you are."
"Hush," said the other leaf, and kept silent herself for she was too troubled to talk any more.
Then they were both silent. Hours passed.
A moist wind blew, cold and hostile, through the treetops.
"Ah, now," said the second leaf, "I..." Then her voice broke off. She was torn from her place and spun down.
Winter had come.
Sep 8, 2024
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Ocean, don’t be afraid.
The end of the road is so far ahead
it is already behind us.
Don’t worry. Your father is only your father
until one of you forgets. Like how the spine
won’t remember its wings
no matter how many times our knees
kiss the pavement. Ocean,
are you listening? The most beautiful part
of your body is wherever
your mother’s shadow falls.
Here’s the house with childhood
whittled down to a single red tripwire.
Don’t worry. Just call it horizon
& you’ll never reach it.
Here’s today. Jump. I promise it’s not
a lifeboat. Here’s the man
whose arms are wide enough to gather
your leaving. & here the moment,
just after the lights go out, when you can still see
the faint torch between his legs.
How you use it again & again
to find your own hands.
You asked for a second chance
& are given a mouth to empty into.
Don’t be afraid, the gunfire
is only the sound of people
trying to live a little longer. Ocean. Ocean,
get up. The most beautiful part of your body
is where it’s headed. & remember,
loneliness is still time spent
with the world. Here’s
the room with everyone in it.
Your dead friends passing
through you like wind
through a wind chime. Here’s a desk
with the gimp leg & a brick
to make it last. Yes, here’s a room
so warm & blood-close,
I swear, you will wake—
& mistake these walls
for skin.
Jul 1, 2024
🎣
I love this poem so much and I hope you all find something very beautiful in your bodies today.
__________
All right. Try this,
Then. Every body
I know and care for,
And every body
Else is going
To die in a loneliness
I can't imagine and a pain
I don't know. We had
To go on living. We
Untangled the net, we slit
The body of this fish
Open from the hinge of the tail
To a place beneath the chin
I wish I could sing of.
I would just as soon we let
The living go on living.
An old poet whom we believe in
Said the same thing, and so
We paused among the dark cattails and prayed
For the muskrats,
For the ripples below their tails,
For the little movements that we knew the crawdads were making
under water,
For the right-hand wrist of my cousin who is a policeman.
We prayed for the game warden's blindness.
We prayed for the road home.
We ate the fish.
There must be something very beautiful in my body,
I am so happy.
Mar 27, 2024
Top Recs from @archibald
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I have a very strong desire for control over every aspect of my life and I’ve never been able to roll with things. Lately I’m trying to let go of this so I can participate in my ‘friendships’, which I have really been neglecting in recent years. Today a friend texted and asked me to go to the farmers market with her. At first I felt scared (lol) and inclined to ignore the message but I decided instead I would agree to go, and within 5 minutes I was in her car with her. It was a total blur and I was anxious out of my mind but I felt very grateful to spend time with someone I love. I’m terrible at conversing but even just to stand beside her was nice. We hugged before parting ways. I am glad that I did this.
Feb 8, 2025
Absolutely the best book I’ve ever read but it took me, if I’m remembering correctly, over a month to get through. It’s so dense with material I had to reread things over and over to get everything being put together. It has an academic vibe, so if that’s not your thing, you probably wouldn’t enjoy. But god, I loved it.
Feb 7, 2025
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I know people typically sit while they do it, but I’ve found laying down on my acupressure mat to be extremely helpful with meditation. I have not been practicing long and its still very difficult for me, but the acupressure makes me physically relax to the point that I am able to be listening and breathing calmly and feeling ‘okay’ enough to want to put my heart into the practice.
Feb 11, 2025