M a r y l y n M o t h e r b e a r Scott & L i s a O r s e l l i
While We Slept
Once upon a time, there was a river, clear and lilting. A song we loved to sing.
Flow gently sweet afton among thy green braes. Flow gently I'll sing thee a song in thy praise. My Mary's asleep by the murmuring stream. Flow gently sweet afton, disturb not her dream.
Song by Robert Burn
Circling Black
So many slept and did not awaken. Their dreams were sweet. Boating on a lazy river. Parasols. Picnics. Lovers.
Bird wings flutter, bits of berry, insects fall into stream, food for fish, a stream bed, rush to the edge, make river banks, sink into earth. Roots. Stem. Leaves. Flower. Fruit. A wild garden.
Life goes on. It's hard to stop it. We grab ahold of ourselves, grab hold of Beloved Ones, create the sacred knot-work.
While we sleep
The current keeps on moving. Living dreams, unable to sink into living earth, into water, ride atop what is impenetrable, a Mystery. Wings flutter, a tempting morsel falls to earth. Not sure it's ours to take, we wonder.
That's the hook. Wake up. Take a piece. It's yours.
So many slept, did not awaken. Their dreams were ambitious. Motorized swift boats. Gasoline. Oil. Armies.
And then, a shiny, black slick. Waters changed, turned murky. Fish changed. We changed. The body of the earth. Changed. Petals, Seeds, Fungus, Weeds. Unable to submerge.
Once upon a time, we were poets and artists and statesmen. Wake up, we cried. Still, our sleep deepened. We denied.
While we sleep
Denial so loud it deafens. Testimonial fervor. Deepens to illness. Deepens to dying. Deepens to death. Debris rides on the black surface, feeds on air, on sludge, on other, gives birth to what is new.
Curious, you face your fear, find what is true inside of you.