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Dragon My Kindred
by David Sparenberg
2009-07-24 09:10:26 |
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“The Universe is a Green Dragon.”
-Brian Swimme
Something of beauty moved above me.
Yet when I looked, it was my shadow soaring in the sky. Who can tell me what this mystery is?
Remember, I live among the living who have chosen the dark way of the living dead. Thanks to the intricate mysteries of creation there is that memory of origin that reveals itself like a diamond in the mine of time.
Indeed, that which is subterranean might well be a comet in the consciousness of a distant galaxy! The Sufis call this exploration of recovery the secret self. And from Heraclitus to Heidegger there are heroic maps of the psychedelic planetoids of poetry.
When I sit in the deep silence of meditation I know that I am dreaming my role in the stage play of the dream maker.
This is serious making. For much that rebels against logic smiles, and yet overpowers with the passion plays of beauty. Then am I not a mirror shimmering with awe and laughter, reflecting the perfect stillness of the desert sun? Or is that point of departure rather one with the speed of almighty light?
Whenever a bird flies over my Janis-faced head I have to cry out to the metaphor of motion, “Dragon, my kindred, here I am, in the azure of a green prayer. Be careful then how you borrow my wings. Rilke’s angel left them in my safe keeping and I, who am humble with dust, am heading home.”
It is not only dense bodies that cast shadows from out the determination of their motion cleaving directions. Light also patterns into path finding. The white shadow of the soul—when the dragon assumes the other shape of the shaman’s Orphic head—makes itself felt all along the curving edges of interfacing twilight.
Because of these meanders a troubadour like myself remains unknown, except in glimmering, as Glimmer Man. Now that is burning. Oh!
Seeing myself up there, where clouds change into infinite curiosity, is like deep breathing. Walking the Earth to rhythms of a winged heart, I am gifted with identity. Whatever direction I am turned into, what I see is offering seeing me. Here now is “next-and”. Everywhere a pilgrim finds God, the holy lover, in the shape of prayer. Gustavo Gutierrez reminds us that the revolution in awareness is in process when he says, “Creation is the first act of liberation.”*
*from A Theology Of Liberation.
From THE GREEN TROUBADOUR SOUCRE BOOK, Original Shamanic Writing for Actor Training & Performance by David Sparenberg
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