What else am I?

Last weekend a group of our frequent flyers gathered at lovely Mosswood Hollow, in the foothills of the Cascades, east of Seattle, for a weekend of deep adventure in the multiverse. Together, we grew a Healing Center in the true realm of the imagination that we can revisit, and to which we can guide others in need of fresh resources and imagery for wellness and healing. For the final homeplay assignment, I asked everyone in our circle to produce something by way of self-definition. This might be a poem or a song, an artwork or an exercise in movement or performance. It might be a simple statement defining the speaker as a person, with a life project.

Among all the creative responses that were shared in our last session, with the rain thrumming on the roof of the yurt, was this lovely poem by Savannah:

What else am I?

I am empty space and points of light
thirteen leaves left
thirteen leaves left
on the sycamore tree.

I am the child who is yet a child
growing clay fingers five yellow
clown's hands like sticky
kisses to the moon.

Sometimes I drink the sun
with the speed of darkness
of apples aged amber
in slow oak vessels.

I am eyes of garnet
in a fork tongued tangle
and a red fleece blanket
when the hailstorm hits.

I am the voice of tightropes
between churches and shipyards
I am the path of mountains
that witness but never meet.

I am an Eagle called freedom
circling fir trees plunging
and rain smiling ripples into
the depths of obsidian lake.

What else am I?
I am are thirteen leaves left
on the sycamore tree,
thirteen pages in the book of me.

-

- Savannah Caitlin, Mosswood Hollow, November 15, 2009