Azima

I began the day being inspired by many things.  Among them a poem by Naomi Shahib Nye that showed up in my Facebook memories, some poetry lines from an ecourse I'm taking, and an African word for healing: Azima.  The "zi" in the means "star."  The rest of the word means the energy of the earth that heals.

This was a perfect series of inspirations to take to Six Mile Slough where my writing group was having a writing marathon today.  We spent hours in the slough, communing with earth and wildlife and the community of others who were also there today, checking out the alligators and turtles and birds, this picture perfect December Sunday.

Here is what I wrote today, in several parts, representing various stops along the way.


AZIMA

I.
The earth is sending up energy to me
as I walk a healing path.

Azima -- the star in the middle of me.

The earth feeds me with song and sound
and the blessings of all that came before.

I am only here for a short time.

I'm only here because the people of the past and
the future allow me to be here.

There is a star in the middle of everything.
It shines and lets the forests and the swamps
know where we are.

Energy flows from the dark earth.
I'm fed. I'm nourished. I'm one.

II.

III.
If there is magic on this planet, it is contained in the water. -- Loren Eisley

I live like I know what I'm doing. Every time I'm around water, it is where I want to be. Just yesterday I identified lake and river and ocean bay as an inspiration. It's the water in me that moves to new places, carrying me along. It's the water in me that feels the energy -- electrified --from the earth.  Azima. Stars and earth and trees and water. And in the middle -- a STAR.

A magical star.
An electric bright star that knows the truth, how always I'm being carried, high or low, to the new spaces, the new places.
In the water it is impossible not to be submerged.

IV.
Here is my pond.
My habitat.
It is beyond valuable.
It is a green slice of heaven, yes!
This is what I have today.
My soul being fed up through my feet,
into the spiritual enhancement it needs
every day.
Depletion happens too quickly.
The edges of the pond recede
before I even know it's happening.
This is my pond.
A pen in hand.
A notebook.
The December breeze cool and giving.
I look.
I stop.
I listen.
The forest, the swamp, knows where I am.
It can find me. Azima.
The star that never goes out.
The pond that never truly dries up.
I know the truth.
It is the water. The tree.
The air plants. The ferns.
The movement of the slough.
Imperceptible, but certain.
The cypress knees,
the ironweed vine,
the alligator gliding,
the limpet feeding,
the turtles sunning,
the hawk calling,
My friends, gentle and kind and
the bringers of peace.
Here, it is impossible
not to know this song,
this healing,
this grace.