The “Sweet Hours” (Diary of a Mad Hatter) by P. R. Lowe copyright Nov 30, 2020 The “sweet hours” … between 6 -9…when day time is only a thought between worlds … unformed and beautiful in its infancy. I stretch, I roll over, I feel the warmth and soft texture of lovely covers …I am taken aback to a cozy te-pee. The noise of the outer world has yet to reach me … I am still afloat in a delicious place of peace and calm and cozy comfort… no mad dash to anywhere… physically, mentally, emotionally or spiritually. Here in the bosom of twilight I rest easy and free… I am the me of all my beginnings and endings…. here, and in other worlds, places, and times. I sink deeper into my bedding, allowing my head and my heart to be in complete accord before I rise to meet the birthing of a new day …where the last leaves of autumn, still wet with midnight rain, drift down into their rightful place upon this earth. The Christmas crazies and the pandemic panic are a trillion miles away dragging with them all the ugly voices, and contorted faces, and meaningless opinions.
By P. R. Lowe October’s wood is wet with leaves and the forest floor grieves for the warm noons of June and the fickle flies of July There is a glint in the squirrel’s eye bordering on a bit of madness that he may not find a nut and a hint of sadness as the stag disappears into rut and I wonder if I’ll ever see him again and a little pang in the gut as the voice repeats itself let go let go let go and as summer retreats into darkness to begin creating the cold and the snow I snuggle into a different rhythm and begin to sew a new cloak of being of seeing and hearing. Breaking the bonds of time and space and stepping into a new place releasing the cottles and shackles of what the old me was wearing
A reckoning of fall
when all comes under the spell
of winter’s waxing
and summer splinters,
relaxing into crystal shards –
humming chords of coolness coming –
drifting and landing on small spaces,
where dragonfly faces
linger in the light
in spite of it.
We gather up the harvest –
be it real or imagined
in great skirts and aprons
of grape and saffron and green
and glean from our missteps
those things that serve
and swerve away from
those things that harm –
the alarm softly sounding in our heart,
time to part the chaff from the wheat.
We retreat again into the night
to birth the new, the good and the light.
There in peace may we be
bringing in the sun
the moon and the stars
to nourish the limbs of our tree.
Woke up around 4:00 AM the other night and wrote all this down…..
Sometimes I feel as though I am a comet, hurtling through space with its tail on fire… and the best I can do is bring my knees in closer like a ball, fold both arms over my head and shield myself as best I can from the burn and flying debris.
Other times I feel like I am walking on the bottom of the ocean in slow-mo, like a ghost- sailor in Pirates of the Caribbean, with barely no life or breath left in me. Sometimes I feel as though I care far too much… other times I don’t seem to care at all. Sometimes I feel like the last one of my kind left on the planet and all I want to do is run and hide in a hole in a tree.
Sometimes I feel like just another bubble in someone else’s dirty, soapy dishwater. Other times I feel as though I need a degree in rocket science just to fart without blowing my head off. As George Harrison once said, “It’s all too much.” but then again perhaps it’s just enough…
Sometimes when I have finally cozied up, peacefully rubbing my cat… I feel like Nero fiddling while Rome burns.
But….then… I go into the woods with the dancing trees and I feel perfectly sane.
Lost in My Own Bones
by P R Lowe
June 27, 2020
Show me something beautiful
tell me something good
for I am feeling lost in my own bones
and cannot seem to get home
to somewhere I should be
melancholy waves of song
of somewhere I belong
pour out from the tree of my heart
and ride the tide from the vast ocean inside
where I am part of something grand
I feel it, hear it, and know it
yet cannot seem to speak it or show it
so others might understand
Diary of a Mad Hatter
The Eye of The Storm
By P R Lowe
June 23, 2020
Enough is enough is enough…..
some times, in these times, I feel as though I am standing still in the middle of a hellacious f***ing storm that is whirring wildly around me….I find myself telling myself, “Don’t listen to it, don’t watch it, and definitely stay out of it.” A tornado comes to mind….and the stillness in the eye of the storm. Am I in the eye of the storm???? Perhaps that is not such a bad place to be? The storm will surely wear itself out, the whirring will stop, the dust will settle and I will find myself in a different place than where it all began. Maybe there will even be a yellow brick road to follow and “ding dong” the wicked will be dead………
There was a wee gnat…on my knee as I settled into drink my tea. I picked it up to send it away ….and of course…I squashed her/him…I killed it…”What a thug! I suddenly thought of myself!” Without a thought or care I snuffed out this Life…not even really thinking about it being a life, really, until the deed was done. I was then suddenly aware…(again) …because I have been here before…moving fire logs or stones and inadvertently destroying lives and homes…ants, bugs, worms lizards…entire communities. I am reminded of a time when I used to weed eat and mow for pay and eventually stopped…too many severed arms, legs. and wings flying about, and sticking to my trousers…as I became transported into the pain and fear and chaos I was creating… I just couldn’t do it any more. This may seem extreme to some…but at the heart of it, isn’t there some profound underlying “something” that is truly relevant and worth a ponder? Do humans do this to other humans? We know they tend to do so to animals and creatures and beings of other realms…perhaps not out of malice or viciousness, but simply because they do not see or hear them… they are not even there or “real”to them. An insignificant gnat on the knee? Perhaps these humans only feel present, or a part of a very, very tiny world where they are king (or Queen)… basically the chosen one… the divine sovereign and ruler??? Their wake up call is on the way…..
If you must talk to someone, speak with the trees…better yet just sit with them quietly and listen. “Can you let go of the crap? Can you be more beautiful in your home? your body? your mind? your spirit? Can you let all the meaningless dialogues, opinions and warring defenses slough off your back, down the hill and into the creek and down to the river, and on to the ocean where they sink into the cool nothingness… where they mutate into whale song?
from Diary of a Mad Hatter, P. R. LOWE , May 24, 2020
The ravens speak to me from the trees…the world is still and quiet…a heaviness hangs in the air. Sunlight and moisture dance together around the forest floor to encourage and sustain life… I thrive on their rhythm. The peaceful bird song brings me once again to a healing space. I ask to carry this out of the woods…and into my home…and into my day…and into my life…and to share these wondrous gifts…if only with the moon…