The psychic structure of the human being is like the earth itself – radiant and dark with age – but younger than the sun. And the sun is always young. Psychology should take heed of poetry. I suspect that at a certain point winter leaves spring like a foundling on the doorstep. This is a poetic statement but it expresses some basic facts. First is the idea that forces outside of you are deeply connected with the moral provision within. Are your cupboards bare, are you ready to receive, ready to give? Second is the fact that forces outside place trust and faith in you – to the point of leaving their firstborn in your care. Third is the miraculous relationship between the found and the finder – a birth in itself.
Tell me I’m not just being incoherent! The psyche of the human being is the earth and its processes – the seasons. Only a poet can get at this. But perhaps also a scientist, a musician, a parent, a priest. In fact, could we not create a liturgical path – scientific, musical – for the earth’s procession? Do neolithic rings not do that – express the structure of the psyche outwardly, in conjunction with the movement of the year? (For example, in the picture above, of Beaghmore Stone Circles, by Aine MacAodha.) Only, I feel personally we should liberate ourselves from sclerotic rituals and rediscover the orphan within as finders – parents who are ready, poets who will feel, scientists who will dedicate themselves.
All this is part of the creaking process of evolution – the swinging cupboard door, the patches of light on the table, the slightly concave doorstep. I’m not fully there yet, not able to express things coherently. But, with a foundling on the doorstep, who is ever ready?
I won’t judge night by its depth of ice
but by the count of lambs it leaves for dawn;
we are all invited by our maker
to wear the darkness like a second soul.
I owe what I owe and must pay in full -
I only ask that a green world remains.
I will be the rocks that my own feet cross
and the hand that reaches out to help me;
the early sun casts rays renewed in tears-
the lambs blink and rise where its light shines down.
And sometimes the earth comes with cup in hand
to share with me the little that I have -
I am honored to open up my home
and eat with such an educated guest.
The proud formalities have no place there,
just substance and sustenance in spirit -
and even when I’m left alone again
I’ll know that I was better than myself,
and the table was not bare, and the house
was plunged in light while I played host to earth.
Therefore be like an earth to other skies,
sharing seasons, pain before love’s growth, love..
There are many minutes without, without,
and others like spring rain, beauty untold.
Radiance comes from within, and within,
older than earth but younger than the sun.
Who can find heart except in its own place -
behind clouds, below sea, over, above?
Be at home to the earth and be earth too -
winter has left spring on your own doorstep.
Best wishes, today,
Picture: Beaghmore Stone Circles, County Tyrone, Ireland,
by Aine MacAodha
©Jay Landar 2013. All rights reserved
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