Tag Archives: Afagddu

Waking From The Dream

An old, dream-man sits on a gnarled tree stump,
Crumbling and full of bugs.
Death hovers red and shimmering at the rim,
For him, on the brink of living.

The hands of the dream-man lie folded across his chest,
Chiseled and raw like driftwood.
What meanings do the carved hands have,
Now that others occupy the dwelling they protected?

I stamp my feet and shout at him,
Wildly I gesture, get up, I cry.
The dream-man snores on, oblivious to my hollering,
And to the mosquitoes that land on him, eating him alive.

This affront to age, the young standing awake, the old decaying in sleep,
I wonder how long I must keep screaming
Before I not only hear my words,
But listen to them, recognize the voice that commands them as mine.

What happened to Afagddu,
After receiving neither beauty nor wisdom?
Did he slump against a cobwebbed stump,
Indifferent to the slashing wind, the crawling things?

Did he then marvel at his skin,
Suddenly seeing the darkness for the cocoon it was,
And how it was breaking open, crumbling away,
And how the unraveled and undone, give way to wings unfolding,

For the soul-creature, captured and changing within
To fly free of his aching, twisted, slumbering body?
Lifted by that ancient longing,
A homecoming which yet had only come to him in dreams.

I live, one breathless briefest moment,
Sandwiched between the book ends of becoming and leaving,
Between those vast emptinesses haunting me with the mystery of my origin,
The destination shrouded in mist, my eternal address of nowhere.

The dream-man fades into the past,
And I have no more patience for sleep.
, there is no place in which to house,
Much less contain the kinetics of change.

That which once calmed me,
Only leaves me wary and watchful,
And each day, burning within the fierce fire, carving
The path of the present, I rise.

There is no amount of warning
That could stir whoever refuses to wake up,
I am rooted in the earth,
Leaping into the light streaming morning.

Open your eyes, we are alive.
Open your eyes.
We are


Ceridwen’s children

Ceridwen’s children


I am a great crow.
In the tree’s top I beat and beat and beat my wings.
I leave everything I touch uprooted and searching.
You think this is destruction, that the tree is dying.
But I do this in order to extract the acorn and drop it from my beak into your hand.
Notice how the acorn cannot feel
Neither can It hear or know
It exists in utter darkness below the earth
Where things go when they expire.
It is hard and turned inward on itself,Wracked with defenses.
And yet it breathes—and yet it grows—curled
Changing silently unseen, unfurling.
I am hear to remind you of it’s name, of the thing it is.
Unless you take this creature of compact dirt spaces, of dormancy,
And cultivate it, make it your own:
You will not get this beautiful tree, grounded,
Reaching to the heavens with outstretched arms
You will not hear the birds coming to nest there, or see bark browns and leafy greens,
Or feel the sacred blood flowing through its veins.
Instead, grow from where you have landed
Buried like a seed under the earth.
Do not hate it, meet it in anger,
For then it turns dark and barren, corrosive to life.
Even if it hurts, even if you scream, even if you can't bear the sight of it,
Feed it, love it.
Nurture it, nurture yourself.


I call you, innocence, light, sun at dawn,
Shine in my heart.
Song of words, new and clear, aching life,
Free to breathe, still to be, to be still,
It is I, the joy you seek,
I, the color of your truth.
I answer and question,
My eyes are clear with unknowing
I am untouched by grief,
I am the peace within you, the journey's end,
I am life once suffering is wrung out of it
Dried clean in the sun
I am your shelter, your ideal, your striving
Neither blemished by disease nor ill at ease with character
I am the beautiful song bird that sings and sings and sings to the world.
I am hope I am dream
I am your longing calling yearning love of nature
And the star of the sky
I am a humming bird, I sing, I laugh, I fly.
I'm an experience that's just begun
I am the turn, and the joy upon return
You see this beautiful sunflower? See how its face bends to the light?
So open, so patient, so vulnerable, so expectant,
Smiling at the world, greeting it anew?
No fear could touch that flower, no loss could it endure,
And in that respect it is fragile and demure.
This is who you truly are.
This is you beneath the sea of pain and the shock of fear
Beautiful you, whole you, vast and strong
Unafraid to cry, to dance, to speak, to shout.
Radiant and radiating from inside you open out
Tall and purposive, drinking in the mystery without hesitation
The feeling you do not have yet, waiting upon the horizon
Known there beneath the shadows of confusion
That tiny flame that burns in you alone,
When to yourself you finally come home.!