Four Mosswood Poems

Griffin Rider

Track the griffin you once rode
to the airport where it lies caged and bound
under the control tower that plays
the jingle from the music box
you were given when you were six.
Free the winged lion. Feed it the manna
your controllers stole from its core.
See your bright dreamer awaken in its eyes.
Ride it again to find the girl whose mother let her
fall out of the sky but has been kept safe
in a garden on the dark side of the Moon,
When she is back in your heart,
ride to the House of Stone and Guilt
where the hag turns in circles of self-loathing
and offer forgiveness, the heart of healing.

 

Masks

“Put off your mask,” she says.
I tell her, “I’m not wearing one.”
“That is the best disguise.”
In this city, when people are unmasked
you see the false face behind the false face.
I do not speak of magicians.
They put  on masks to step into
the energy of an old god or a wild shaman,
a force of chaos, of disease or whirlwind,
and must then master that power
to bend it to their purpose.  If they fail
or wear the mask too long, it becomes poison.
Don’t wear any mask for too long
or you may find you have no face left
except the one molded by the role you played
or that you can’t find yours self in the mirror
because you have become a ghost of the living.

 

Heron Staff

The space is full of flapping and feathers
and discordant bird cries. I sit still
with my heron blue staff. I will remind them
there are right and wrong ways to call on gods.
I am enthroned between Hestia and Ogygia.
I must keep the balance. Any judgment I make
will be on myself as well as the bird people.

 

Surprises in Flight

I’m going up like a rocket to see my Teacher
in a higher world, a seventh heaven.
I have juice for the flight. Lift-off from my world tree
is flawless, and the drum frees me from the little mind.
I see over cities and continents. Then I am hooked,
rocking in midair, because a long arm has reached out
and plucked at my sleeve. I come down gracelessly
to join him on his balcony above the world.
He is impossibly beautiful, as always, in his white suit.
“We need to talk,” he says. “The Family are waiting for you,
up among the gods. But they want you to write more books
and deliver a lot more entertainment before you check out.
Don’t be in a hurry to leave. Enjoy what you can in a body.
We will be swapping places soon enough.”

- Mosswood Hollow, July 13, 2018

Griffin Rider

Track the griffin you once rode
to the airport where it lies caged and bound
under the control tower that plays
the jingle from the music box
you were given when you were six.
Free the winged lion. Feed it the manna
your controllers stole from its core.
See your bright dreamer awaken in its eyes.
Ride it again to find the girl whose mother let her
fall out of the sky but has been kept safe
in a garden on the dark side of the Moon.
When she is back in your heart,
ride to the House of Stone and Guilt
where the hag turns in circles of self-loathing
and offer forgiveness, the heart of healing.

- Mosswood Hollow, July 13, 2018

Image: Apollo Riding a Griffin

Beatrice complains that Dante would not listen to his dreams

Dante has gone through all the cycles of hell. He has mounted the three dread steps to the Gate of Purgatory - the mirror step, which compels him to look at himself in all facets as he truly is; the black step cracked from side to side, that requires him to examine the darkness in his soul; the blood-red step that requites him to explore the meaning of sacrifice and choose the offering he will make.
    He has found that he can only pass the stern Gatekeeper of Purgatory, throned on a great rock hard and bright as diamond, by knocking on his heart.
    He has begun his slow ascent of the mountain of Purgatory.
    And at last he has come to the presence of the one he yearns for, the radiant Guide of his soul. She appears to him in the form of the lovely young woman he loved but could never have. But he sees in her eyes that this being is more than any mortal woman. In her eyes is reflected the terror and beauty of the griffin, the lion-eagle that pulls her chariot, which is accompanied by a host of angels.
    Beatrice addresses Dante by name, the only time the author of the Commedia identifies himself in the text. Then she turns to the angels to make this complaint: 

Ne l’impetrare inspirazion mi valse,

con le quali e in sogno e altrimenti

lo rivocai: si poco a lui ne calse

-      -  Purgatorio canto xxx, lines 133-136

Nor was it any use for me to inspire him,

calling him in dreams and other ways;
he would not heed them! [my free version]

This is a stunning moment. From the heart of Western literature, and of medieval Christendom, we are receiving the message that the Guide of the soul seeks us in dreams. For years before he fell into hell, Dante was dreaming of the Guide, but failed to remember or to heed what he was dreaming. Beatrice's complaint to the angels must resonate in our minds. If we are missing our dreams, we are missing a direct connection to the sacred Guide, the Beloved of the Soul that wishes to be with us everywhere.

Art: William Blake's vision of Beatrice addressing Dante from her griffin-drawn chariot.

Why travel

“Ma tu perché vai?”

“Per tornar altra volta la dov’io son.”

“Why are you traveling?”

“So I may return to where I am.”

-          Dante, Purgatorio II 90-92

In my travels around the world, I often find myself thinking of this exchange in Dante’s Purgatorio. Wherever I go, I try to be fully present, to the people, the culture, to the physical landscape and the mythic fundament. I get lost at times, in more than one sense, and that is a special moment of opportunity since in order to find ourselves, we may first need to fall off our maps and our certainties.
     Dante's adventures begin when, at the mid-point of the road of life, he finds he is lost in a dark wood. He must journey through all the cycles of Hell until he at last ascends to the gate of Purgatory and - after knocking on his heart - is at last able to meet the beloved of his soul face to face. The guide takes the form of Beatrice, a beautiful young woman he loved and lost, but in her eyes he sees reflected the beauty and terror of the griffin. The guide is more than human: she is animal, and she is divine.
    What are her first words for the soul traveler? She reproaches him for losing years of time and his soul's direction because he failed to hear her when she called him in dreams, again and again.

Dante and Beatrice (14th century illumination in the Libreria Marciana, Venice)