I'm still a bit melancholic, but it's the need of sleep, and at least my dwelling is a refuge from the drama, unlike last year, this a sanctuary, a place with cool breezes, a porch smelling of citronella, a room lowlit and infused with burning candles and incense and the intonations of chanted psalms. A time to meditate and seek refuge... at least there is some somewhere. My sunflowers bloom in the darkness, I know in spite of myself that my soul does too.
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In A Dark Time
In a dark time, the eye begins to see,
I meet my shadow in the deepening shade;
I hear my echo in the echoing wood--
A lord of nature weeping to a tree.
I live between the heron and the wren,
Beasts of the hill and serpents of the den.
What's madness but nobility of soul
At odds with circumstance? The day's on fire!
I know the purity of pure despair,
My shadow pinned against a sweating wall.
That place among the rocks--is it a cave,
Or a winding path? The edge is what I have.
A steady storm of correspondences!
A night flowing with birds, a ragged moon,
And in broad day the midnight come again!
A man goes far to find out what he is--
Death of the self in a long, tearless night,
All natural shapes blazing unnatural light.
Dark, dark my light, and darker my desire.
My soul, like some heat-maddened summer fly,
Keeps buzzing at the sill. Which I is I?
A fallen man, I climb out of my fear.
The mind enters itself, and God the mind,
And one is One, free in the tearing wind.
Theodore Roethke
Golly gee, you were right, sunflower moonbeams (there's a Wyccan Fyre track) are stupendously swanktacular.
Plus, if anyone gives you guff, the stalks are tall enough to bop thine enemies on the head with yellow.
Randal's right, perhaps you need some sunflower staffs to defend yourself while in the place of work.
~
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