Bobcat in Larkspur


I hike where even the humus breathes slightly,
huge trees exhaling a breath that cleanses
the darkened shrubs of my lungs
and awakens flowers of energy

all over my body. I feel
the drumming deep in roots and rocks
as snowmelt cascades down the slopes,
the blood of other creatures pounding

in my ears, coursing through countless
veins, the heartbeat of mother earth pulsing
in bushes and trees, in the bobcat staring
at me from across the creek, in the strider

sliding away from the bank
on a skin of light. There I find
my power, releasing black spiders
from my subtle body through a hole

in my back, healing myself through grief
and forgiveness, cleansing
the astral flowers of my aura
until they open for the powers

of the Gods. Together, my power
and I strut through a meadow
to the ruins of a stone house
as coyotes cut loose a howl,

and we dash over hills on ancient trails
from pounding stone to pounding stone,
feeling our way through a cave where I see
brilliant archetypes: a pure, white,

four-petaled flower burgeoning
into a flower with countless petals,
the four elements blossoming into
the thousand-petaled lotus; a gray

figure eight, floating above my head;
and a golden-equal armed cross, the archangels
at each end slowly growing clearer.
I emerge from the cave to find

rituals that invoke the archangels,
the four elements flowing into me
so that I feel the power of those forces
embodied as human forms

with mighty wings, all a flowing,
a balancing, as I lounge
on a pounding stone at the edge
of the cliff and pray for release

from attachment and desire. I am
a hawk floating high
above the oaks, my body towering
into the heavens, assuming the form

of Amoun-Ra, my own head the fiery head
of a hawk, my aura flung beyond the edges
of the solar system, the sun beating down,
speaking with heat of manifold creatures

in its light. Seven pestles wait, placed
neatly on a rock near the pounding stone.
Once I was certain the Earth
would soon be free of us,

everything that I and so many others
fighting for in ruins--but now
I stand on the pounding stone
under the living sun, awakening

the Tree of Life within myself,
making a brilliant cross of light,
a wren foraging a few feet away,
huge astral antlers branching

from my head, an inverted rainbow
in my heart, a flock of bushtits
descending on an oak, so close:
I am no more threatening than the sun.



I taste fresh air again where
an acorn woodpecker clings
to a fence post, my power guiding me
up a pothole-filled road

to the confluence of two creeks
where an old mining road heads
back along one creek and narrows
into an ancient trail

where I find the first tribes
of chinese houses and grass nuts,
the trail vanishing in the grass,
then reappearing where

the serpintine earth is on fire
with poppies and goldfields,
turtles and countless newts
in the creek--a land of abundance

where the sun blazes again,
after many ages, in my heart.
I go into a cave and see a sun
at my crown, and I envision

people I have known, each
with a golden crown on their head,
and a golden, equal-armed cross
in their heart, and a table set

with chalices that each contain
a pearl in water, next to golden plates
on a brilliant white tablecloth,
and I forgive each person,

no matter how much they have harmed me,
forty years like wind in which
we sit together at a table,
glimpsing the trail beyond.

Take a path less travelled.
Learn the basics of the Ritual Pentagram Spread.
The Middle Pillar Exercise.
Go to a room with bugs.