Magpie Harvest

"Magpie in Flight" by Marion Rose http://marionrose.com/workszoom/734819

What something sounds like, or how I hear it

With a little more trust in what my heart is of

It makes for beautiful poetry

What something sounds like, or how I hear it

In my heart, in all and in one

It is a song that God sings

Remember the hummingbird to not forget what you heard

I heard it with my heart, and in this moment I'm deciding

To sing toward it with these words, and this sound

I took another little moment to write it down, and keep it around

Should I still sing songs from before?

Remember the falcon who can teach you to move it on

What has happened, however I remember

I might sing of it in a story

It makes for beautiful poetry

Something's happened

In the way that I'm seeing what I love, and in Love I believe

It is God who determines these things

Remember the flying hawk to honor what you saw

I saw it with my heart, and in that moment I decided

The proof is in the power

And You show us what to do with it

Like the magpie approaching a hidden shine, reflecting the light

I've been gathering every beautiful thing I can find

Remember the will of Love to know what to offer up

It makes for beautiful poetry.

-Now Forever

MAGPIE STORY

from http://www.freedomgallery.com/pr04.htm

Owl spoke to Magpie,

"Magpie you talk so much

You do not hear the wind and the water.

You do not hear the Wolf who speaks to you.

Your truth is all part of others' truths

And you have lost your thread that connects you to the tree of life."

Magpie was as quiet as he had ever been

He listened

And he felt pain

And knew that he must change his ways

And start to learn his own truth.

Was it so bad to be a Magpie? No!

He decided it was good to be Magpie,

And he would not have to explain himself to others as to who he was and why.

Upon that realization he started to listen...

He heard the water

and the wind

and all the other beautiful things he had not taken the time to hear.

He heard the Wolf and was happy. 

Magpie spread his wings and flew and became the Eagle.

He did not have to speak again as his flight said it all.

From the Womb

God picks up the reed flute world and blows.

Each note is a need coming through one of us, a passion, a longing pain.

Remember the lips where the wind-breath originated and let your note be clear.

Don't try to end it. Be your note.

--Rumi

Walking In The Air

Krishna Speaks

"I am the fluidity of water.
I am the silver light of the moon and the golden light of the sun.
I am the AUM chanted in all the Vedas:
the Cosmic Sound moving, as if soundlessly, through the ether.
I am the manliness of men.
I am the good sweet smell of the moist earth.
I am the luminescence of fire;
the sustaining life of all living creatures.
I am self-offering in those who would expand their little lives into cosmic life.
O Arjuna, know Me as the eternal seed of all creatures.
In the perceptive, I am their perception.
In the great, I am their greatness.
In the glorious, it is I who am their glory."

Bhagavad Gita, Chapter 7

Songs of Devotion//Echoes of Zion

Awesome vinyl rip via GhostCapital:


http://ghostcapital.blogspot.com/2011/03/juthika-roy-songs-of-devotion-hmv-eclp.html
http://ghostcapital.blogspot.com/2010/12/echoes-of-zion-sound-of-spirituals.html


^---This owner of this blog is incredibly generous and dedicated to sharing the beautiful, special, otherworldly music he or she finds. Music for all!

Don't Be Afraid

Buck

ANTHEM/// Buck Ramsey

And in the morning I was riding

Out in the breaks of that long plain,

And leather creaking in the quieting

Would sound with trot and trot again.

I lived in time with horse hoof falling;

I listened well and heard the calling

The earth, my mother, bade to me,

Though I would still ride wild and free.

And as I flew out on the morning

Before the bird, before the dawn,

I was the poem, I was the song.

My heart would beat the world a warning–

Those horsemen now rode all with me,

And we were good and we were free.

We were not told, but ours the knowing

We were the native strangers there

Among the things the land was growing–

To know this gave us more the care

To let the grass keep at its growing

And let the streams keep at their flowing.

We knew the land would not be ours,

That no one has the awful powers

To claim the vast and common nesting,

To own the life that gave him birth,

Much less to rape his Mother Earth

And ask her for a mother's blessing,

And ever live in peace with her.

And, dying, come to rest with her.

Oh, we would ride and we would listen

And hear the message on the wind.

The grass in morning dew would glisten

Until the sun would dry and blend

The grass to ground and air to sky.

We'd know by bird or insect flying,

Or by their mood or by their song,

If time and moon were right or wrong

For fitting works and rounds to weather.

The critter coats and leaves of trees

Might flash some signal with a breeze–

Or wind and sun on flower or feather.

We knew our way from dawn to dawn,

And far beyond, and far beyond.

It was the old ones with me riding

Out through the fog fall of the dawn,

And they would press me to deciding

If we were right or we were wrong.

For time came we were punching cattle

For men who knew not spur nor saddle,

Who came with locusts in their purse

To scatter loose upon the earth.

The savage had not found this prairie

Till some who hired us came this way

To make the grasses pay and pay

For some raw greed no wise and wary

Regard for grass could satisfy.

The old ones wept, and so did I.

Do you remember? We'd come jogging

To town with jingle in our jeans,

And in the wild night we'd be bogging

Up to our hats in last month's dreams.

It seemed the night could barely hold us

With all those spirits to embold us

While, horses waiting on three legs.

We'd drain the night down to the dregs.

And just before beyond redemption

We'd gather back to what we were.

We'd leave the money left us there

And head our horses for the wagon.

But in the ruckus, in the whirl

We were the wolves of all the world.

The grass was growing scarce for grazing, 

Would soon turn sod or soon turn bare.

The money men set to replacing 

The good and true in spirit there.

We could not say, there was no knowing,

How ill the future winds were blowing. 

Some cowboys even shunned the ways

Of cowboys in the trail-herd days,

(But where's the gift not turned for plunder?)

Forgot that we are what we do

And not the stuff we lay claim to.

I dream the spell that we were under–

I throw in with a cowboy band

And go out horseback through the land.

So mornings now I'll go out riding

Through pastures of my solemn plain,

And leather creaking in the quieting

Will sound with trot and trot again.

I'll live in time with horse hoof falling,

I'll listen well and hear the calling

The earth, my mother, bids to me,

Though I will still ride wild and free.

And as I ride out on the morning

Before the bird, before the dawn,

I'll be this poem, I'll be this song.

My heart will beat the world a warning–

Those horsemen will ride all with me,

And we'll be good, and we'll be free.