dVerse Poets – Poetics – Order, Order!
Laura at dVerse has invited us to consider the noun form of order.
“The order that our mind imagines is like a net, or like a ladder, built to attain something. But afterward you must throw the ladder away, because you discover that, even if it was useful, it was meaningless.” Umberto Eco
A Different Order
It doesn’t begin until the magpie sings in the night
perhaps in September or late in October,
and summer is wrapped in six months
while winter dips into spring
and sometimes brings rain in both,
as it is for me that I might or
might not of anything or everything,
should it matter and,
even if it did,
would it really if I just didn’t?
And, even if it proved to be so,
I have a different drum
that beats strange.
©Paul Vincent Cannon
Fervour – Word of the Day
When the bush comes alive it is with fervour! The colour is rich and varied, the smell is glorious, the hum of insects and the sound of birds is divine. We are currently in winter here, this was taken a few years ago in spring in the eastern wheatbelt after the rains had been the best for a number of years. Hoping the rains are good this year so that we get a repeat of these wildflowers.
Seasons come and go, in order, and generally predictable. But our personal inner seasons are nothing like that. I’ve had long internal winters which have given rise to colourful, intense springs of growth. I’ve had long summers of basking in joy and contentment. I’ve had autumns where transition and change have prepared me body, mind and soul for new experiences. They never come in order, they are never fixed in duration, they are unpredictable. If they were, then life would be dull.
Our inner seasons are indicative of our lived reality, the stuff of relationships, love, joy, pain. It is the complexity of body, mind and soul as a receptor of a multiplicity of experiences. It is gift and loss. It is the giddyness of aspiration, and the sober nature of graft and heft. It is our senses open and engaged. None are negative. Winter is essential, a season of withdrawing, waiting, refreshing, washing, grieving gives way to spring. Winter waters spring. As we befriend our inner winters, we become wiser, integrated, stronger for the journey. Without rain there is no blossom, no juice. As we rejoice in our summers we store up memories that give back to us over a lifetime. Each season is lived and embodied, a respository of awareness. Nothing is lost. Each one gives me fervour, fervour for life, love and purpose.
Currently I’m in an autumnal time of reflection and revision and I’m seeking that next step into spring. I wonder where you are at?
dark clouds surround
the rain falls inside of me
cherry blossom glows