And as I walked, a copse of trees rose before me
And from beneath them spread a darkness
But not as darkness I have understood
Not a darkness of horrors
But the darkness of the house of sleep
And as the boughs unfurled
I saw there beneath them, great Badger asleep in that shade
And I was afraid
I feared because I did not understand
Oh, Badger was not awake to instruct me
I was not awake to hear
No matter my will and effort I could not grasp it
It poured up and away like a mist
And from that darkness came a still silence
And that silence instructed that in me which makes no choices
To unhand my will and thought
But oh, how can I? How can I?
I watched then as Rat walked into that deep shade
He laid his head on great badgers belly and fell fast asleep there.
To surrender my will to this house of sleep
To allow the silence of animals and rest with them
I ask them: "Brothers will we wake again?"
There is no answer from the sleeping, there is no knowing
And there in lies the pull of every will of evil and greed
An attempt of control of that wakeful time
Demanding more of its honey
When my Spirit knows that the bees of those visions make honey in their own time
And no other
So I stand before the shaded spot of naptime animals
and watch them sleep and that is all.
A small aside:
A friend of mine across many waters
Knows the secret of animal flowers
In tincture they brine
Till chamomile and hyssop have breath like bears
And rock rose, dogwood, heavy magnolia and iris smell of Badger semen, silver and bright
Onto the embodied, made bodies of inspirited animals the tincture is passed
Until standing, they dance round the room laughing
And sniffing and grunting and growling
The scent of flowers sending animals scurrying into beds and fields and dreams and dreams
And when my friend leaves his house, Oh when he leaves his house
It is as a floral beast, wrapped in the odor of foxes sighs and wolf laughter
One day I suppose, on all fours he will go down and start off down the path with a new nose
and claws and claws
One day this will all be over
One day I will be gone
Perhaps on a grave will lay bestial flowers
My ashes might dust the rodent daffodils
But what could truly be less my business than that?