The Drowning of Atlantis…

“The Drowning of Atlantis” Digital Collage
© J. Porter, 22 April 2017

Corruption isn’t new. Sometimes it’s just lost in Myth. Time devours it, masking in obscurity the actions of those who have done the unspeakable. But it doesn’t disappear, not if you know where to look. Abuses of Power can only be hidden for so long, until like the Drowning of Atlantis, the destruction is inescapable.

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Moments…

Part of a Series, “Shadow Life” by Vangelis Paterakis, 2010

It is interesting to contemplate how easy it is to equate the elegance and romance of a moment to the person who was there with you during it. How many relationships have been started or pondered or desired because the beauty of that experience was so grand, so epic, that the only way you could conceive of another like it was if that person was also present, only to find out they had absolutely nothing to do with the pure Magic of that moment itself.

It is quite possible, I think, to fall in love with a moment, and because that moment is so fleeting, so ephemeral, you try to recreate it over and over with those present at the time, and maybe you succeed once or twice but it never really matches that initial beauty.

The only solution that I can see is to allow more beautiful moments to be Seen, and to fall in love with every single one of them. Your world, your very Life, would be full – Full! of Beauty, and Elegance, and Romance, and sometimes, if anyone else was with you, and they, and you, were paying enough Attention and Devotion to their own Experience you would each have another with whom to look back on those singular, amazing moments and sigh at the exquisite Beauty of them.

And that would be a bonus, but not a requirement.

Old Crow Woman

“The Listeners”
Artwork by Christine MacDonald
©2015 All rights reserved.

I can’t do Justice

To your Memory, Old Friend

There is Loss here too.

The Ladies of the Waters

“Haven” © J. Porter, 2017

I have Felt Them
in every Place I’ve been
where pristine pools meet
reeds and groves of supple green
where the red-winged blackbirds
make their homes
muskrats and frog croaks and slithery fish

They are
fog rising at dusk and morn
and Life oozing from the mud
between their toes
…when they have toes…
They are the glimmer of motes
in a sudden ray of sun reflecting
bouncing off the trees
birthing rainbows in the mist
They can’t be grasped
They can’t be held
but They can surround you
and hold you in Their embrace

They are the Ladies of the Marsh
and the River
and the Deep Pools at the bottom of
the Rushing Torrents
from the mountain Streams

She of the bracken
and the last lights of the dwindling Fae
She of the dragonfly
and of the reed grasses
dancing in moonlight
They will show you the Hidden Things
of yourself
if you are still and humble
and treat Their Beloveds with respect
and if you are lucky
and if you are bold
and if your heart and your mind and your spirit
can be still long enough
to See to Listen
you will find yourself in the branching leaves
in water rivulets trickling
in mossy tender glades
in fern
in damp
in roots where secrets hide

She is a Lady of the Waters

the Wild Ones nestle in her hands
they hide in her shallows
in the mist at morning and night
in the undulating plants of the deep courses
in the gentle pools
they drink and love and nourish and live and perish

She is A Lady of the Waters
with Heron Legs
and Egret Eyes
Serpents entwining Her arms
Her Voice the Song
of Frog
of Loon
of Owl
of Night Cats
and Bats
the hum of Mosquitoes
and the rat-a-tat-tat of Woodpecker
The stamp of Deer
and sibilant whisper of Willow leaves
against the mossy banks

Sister to the Moon
Daughter of the Earth
She dances
Just out of reach
Her laughter echoing in tidal pools
She is the Mother of silvery fish
the Cousin of the Meadow Maiden
the Guardian of the Sacred Peat

Without Her
we are nothing
Without Her
we live bereft

They are the Ladies of the Waters
Life-giving
Ephemeral
Constant
Sacred

© j. porter 2017 et al

One

We are All each other

Some Parts

Too hard to handle
Too wounded
Too ecstatic

So we walk away

Some we Bless as we Turn
Some we curse as we Turn
Some we mourn as we Turn

We Bless
We curse
We mourn

Our Selves

What if we did a Soul Retrieval
For the World?

Sacred Self

Dive into the undercut

That shadow-place
where you can’t see the bottom

don’t be afraid

come out on the other side
the cave full of treasure you left behind
the myriad lights
of star-song
and bountiful harvests

you hid it there
long ago
and covered it in
pain and shame and fear

clear off the mud
wash it clean in pure water
wipe away the sludge
that which Shines is hidden there

treasure
your treasure

re-claim it
resurrect that which can only be found
if there is courage to wade through the mud
through the dark
through the uncertain

bless the mud and the sludge for keeping it safe
and release that which no longer serves
and keep that which has been forgotten

Sacred Self
Hidden in the Shadows

© J Porter 6 July 2011

Butterfly

Something got shattered
so that something could blossom

A reliance on the Known
Blown out of the water
On waves of remorse

Freeing something
Hidden

Stunned, I mourn
And wonder
if I am just aging more rapidly
than I knew

In the silence of breath
I hear no answers

This stillness is new

© J Porter 28 March 2012