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6. Anima                

Teaching about the logarithmic spiral, asking a class about the flight pattern of a moth around a lightbulb...

In the medieval monastery town of Cluny, central France, southern part of the province of Burgandy. In a valley, surrounded by green-forested hills with patterns of fields delineated by ancient walls and hedges. Country of chateaux, peaceful farmlands, singing birds.

What remains of the Abby gives only an inkling of its former grandeur: one bell-tower and another tower over one wing of the transept.

The logarithmic spiral, the flight pattern of a moth...

How these come to me, from the stone and from the water, from the plants, the leaves and petals, the flowering jacaranda, or was that simply the plain daisy in disguise?

Phrases I've been thinking about: The membrane of consciousness. Dreams, dreams, dreams... Transmutation of dreams. In the balance of dreams.

Chipmunk, do you know you are in this dream about the heart of the earth about rivers heart of heart of earth and living waters? Yes? Chipmunk?

I pray for the dancing light
I pray for flowers
and the quicksand
I pray for angels
and yes for the chipmunk
and above all for the
waters of the world
for the "ripples winding
around the
waters of the world." (from The Far Field by Theodore Roethke)
I pray for the dream
within this dream
waking into
"the country of our waking."
"Then came I entire to this moment,
process and light,
To discover the country
of our waking
breaking open." (from Breaking Open by Muriel Rukeyser)
 

Music is like that. And dreams. I remember meeting an ant in the meadow while I was kneeling in half prayer. The ant, startled to see such as myself, started to run away. But I called to it in the gentlest of my voices and it calmed down and returned to me. "Where were you going?" I asked. "Oh, the usual, the usual," it said. "And what may I call you?" "Please, if you will, my name is Avinope." And now we are best of friends, for he too enjoys this music and is likely to break into dance at the least sound of it.

I pray for Avinope
and all his kin.
And that cat Geoffrey
of one Christopher Smart.
I pray for all the music.
And, yes, for the cactus.
And the butterfly.

 "Sail, Monarchs, rising and falling
orange merchants in spring’s flowery markets!
Messengers of March in warm currents of news floating,
 flitting into areas of aroma,
tracing out of air unseen roots and branches of sense
 I share in thought,
filaments woven and broken where the world might light
 casual certainties of me. There are

 echoes of what I am in what you perform
this morning. How you perfect my spirit!
 almost restore
an imaginary tree of the living in all its doctrines
 by fluttering about,
intent and easy as you are, the profusion of you!
Awakening transports of an inner view of things."
 (Robert Duncan, "Roots and Branches")

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