The Song of A New Dreaming

I sat tonight with the inspiration to write a poem. I just sat until I got the feeling of what I was to write. I might add it is the feeling I sit with the writing comes as I start.

This poem came to me as I feel myself blending with the natural world I am travelling through, I see pictures of the landscapes I have moved through and the people I have seen and the impressions like footsteps left on my inner vision. I am hearing the whispers of the dreaming, and for me, that is harmony playing out through stories. This is just another story, yet in truth it is a song, for all poetry has rhyme and rhythm as I learn to hear the song of life. Such is the beautiful life of a poet.

THE SONG OF A NEW DREAMING

The indigenous speak of song lines,
Lay lines of enquiry,
Where insights are found from silence,
As poets write the new lines,
As they are dreaming the possible future,
We could share,
If we choose to give to live.

Land, sea, air and fire,
Sweep through my vision,
For some identify as country,
Others the nation state,
High ways,
And low bores,
Are aquifers to recharge,
Not with the currency of credit,
But to give credit to the currency,
Of boundless nature.

The eucalypts transform into spinifex,
From grey to green,
From green to black,
From scrub to forest,
From forest to seed,
As life transforms micro climates,
Like a kaleidoscope of creativity,
Unveiling to me the true adaptability,
Of natures song.

All is interconnected,
Wild life sniff the wind of wild fires,
And those taking the free-way,
Set alight grasses, trees and shrubs,
The cinders hanging like plagues post war,
As black, red and yellow,
Regenerates new growth,
As resilience declines,
Below the ashes.

From the ashes of our ignorance,
The dream time comes alive,
That the bees and the hive,
Are living systems,
Circular and cycling,
Into a systems theory without fact,
For genetics are fine tuned,
The song of creation is learned,
As an oral tradition hard wired,
For nature knows equilibrium,
It searches for optimum,
As balance finds the middle path,
Of the spirit, human being and nature weaving,
Webs of a new dreaming that criss-cross over the divide,
Yet coincide as co-dependency,
For no species is unrelated,
Nature is relationship to all things,
And non things,
As each sings with sounds unintelligible,
Yet intelligent to the one who knows surround sounds,
With awareness that attracts or detracts,
That reproduces or dies out,
That defines boundaries to balance not defend,
As cooperation is not competition,
And survival is the most efficient,
A goodness of fit test,
That selects the greater good,
Naturally.

The sacred sights,
Are all before you,
When your sight is sacred,
For we are stewards not owners,
We are custodians and learners,
For nature is the greatest teacher,
To which we turn,
For as the earth turns in uni-son,
We yield to all seasons as unity’s song,
For we do not control the sun, the moon or the cosmos,
We can only watch the heavens changing,
For we are either adapting or declining,
Which is our natural selection?
As the new song creating the future of a sustainable peace?
Or the old song of the past maintaining peace de la resistance?
The former rhymes in the absence of reasons,
The latter reasons without rhyme,
For this new season is the prose,
That knows the harmony of the one song,
For the truth will set us free when we see,
To be
one with our true nature.

 
Mohandas Gandhi

“Gentleness, self-sacrifice and generosity are the exclusive possession of no one race or religion.”

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