“Notice the colors that call souls,”
the poet says to me in the space of a dream.
I see the green of fresh shoots and
the purple of royalty and young grapes.
Because we are in a Celtic mood
I am thinking there must be three.
I see a triad of colors of a ripened field,
of corn and wheat and orange poppies.
The colors have substance but I cannot say
whether they are garments or vessels.
I know they clothe spirits and lead them
though memory and desire into soul-houses.
I see the green of fresh shoots and
the purple of royalty and young grapes.
Because we are in a Celtic mood
I am thinking there must be three.
I see a triad of colors of a ripened field,
of corn and wheat and orange poppies.
The colors have substance but I cannot say
whether they are garments or vessels.
I know they clothe spirits and lead them
though memory and desire into soul-houses.
- January 9, 2017, from a morning dream
Art: "Yeats in the Magic Cottage" by Robert Moss
Note: I cannot say that the file, the poet seer of my new dream, is Yeats, my companion in dreaming and mutual visioning over many years, but I recall now that Yeats made many experiments with flashing colors according to the Golden Dawn system. I rose with his glorious poem of soul and its transfigurations - "The Song of Wandering Aengus" - streaming in my mind like a salmon run. The body, in the Carmina Gadelica, is the coich anama, or "soul-shrine".
