Meadow Mystic

Inside the meadow there was a stand of trees and inside there was the cool shade and whimsical winds sometimes made a sound through the branches. I stood there and rested, halfway through my sojourn exploring nature. There were times outside of there that blue butterflies were thriving and many grasshoppers bloomed, plus some spiders. 

Up above in the summers a blue sky often, but, if it turned and became overcast and that atmospheric energy entered the air, that sort of ‘before the storms’ feeling, well that was just as good as I wasn’t that far from the paths that led out and it was also an interesting change to feel that charge in the air. 

And in the four seasons, that area was a dutiful and true friend, for it at its base never wavered. I think I realize now that the truth of the truth of the truth of the real and actual truth is that that area became along the way a special and loved and loving destination, a marriage of sorts between a poet and the lands where the walking would help the poet go a symbolic and literal step more towards becoming a mystic. 

Spirit message. Intuition. Renewal of the mind, body, and spirit. self-healing. Kindness. Clarity. A structure out of regular psychological sets and more centred in the universal or cosmic. Society was literally and figuratively so far away in those moments, times with feet grounded on the earth, and say, the summer fields colourful or the spring universe beginning to bloom, but also the autumnal grounds with leaves or after, the wild winter, its snow resting upon the world’s reeds, branches, and pathways. Yes, it was a fine place to be and learn, to get ideas for poems, stories, and pictures. And to naturally expand consciousness.