then at night I say it.
Where did I come from,
and what am I supposed to be doing?
My soul is from elsewhere,
I am sure of that,
and I intend to end up there.
This drunkenness began in some other tavern.
When I get back to that place,
I'll be completely sober.
Meanwhile,
I am like a bird from another continent,
sitting in this aviary.
The day is coming when I fly off,
but who is it now in my ear,
who hears my voice?
Who says words with my mouth?
Who looks out with my eyes?
What is the soul?
I cannot stop asking.
If I could taste one sip of an answer,
I could break out of this prison for drunks.
I didn't come here of my own accord,
and I can't leave that way.
Whoever brought me here,
will have to take me home."
R U M I
This is how the divine speaks:
When I journal, I never have a plan.
Usually, I am pent up and frustrated when I approach my journal. I have something to say ~ to myself and to the world ~ but words and ideas are knotted within me.
With these pages I started with some leftover pink, gift tissue. It was sitting there on the table. I was sick of looking at it, but didn't want to find a place to put it away. So I ripped it and pasted it to the page.
Then I squirted some gesso on it and smeared it with my fingers.
After it dried, I felt an urge to write.
I was remembering a dream I had not very long ago, where I went off on a boat into the universe and spoke with a presence I have known from the beginning of time. I didn't want to leave, but the presence made me, telling me that the perfect connection and balance and love I was experiencing in that moment... I had to bring it back into the world with me.
I wept.
The boat left again, without me, and I woke up.
I have wanted that experience back.
On the pages I wrote to that presence.
"Where are you?"
"You told me to be that love in the world, but I don't know how."
"Once you were gone, I felt empty."
I wrote them in soft pink, so they couldn't really be read by anybody, lest they think me mad.
Then I was stuck and frustrated again. I didn't know what next to do with the page.
So I went for a walk.
It was just before sunset. The heat of the day had cooled. There was laughter and splashing water in the park. There was a breeze. There was the faint fragrance of that presence laced softly upon that breeze. I felt embraced. A country songbird fluttered along beside me.
Yes! A bird! A bird goes on that page!
I walked home and finished the page.
I take my photos of the page, upload them to the computer, open up TypePad, and think, "What do I say about this? How do I convey this message?"
Again, I do not even know where to begin.
Something moved me to my book of Rumi. I opened the book right to the page with this poem on it.
And that was exactly what I was trying to say all along!
Namaste,
C H E Z
A beautiful journal page with such great synchronicity, Shannan!
Very nice poem - maybe I need to start reading Rumi!
Hauntingly lovely entry.
Posted by: EVA | June 09, 2010 at 08:01 AM
l love your work..always so deep and meaningful, beautiful, and yet always leaves me thinking about what you have written and what you are feeling.i am not sure l have made sense but ..! Just know l am thinking about youxxlynda
Posted by: lynda howells | June 10, 2010 at 04:27 AM
All I can say is WOW! Your work is so well executed. I love seeing and hearing about the process you took to get to the finished product. Thank you for sharing!
Posted by: Stephanie-Deliberately Creative | June 13, 2010 at 09:06 PM