I am Nature

28 May
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Rose. She likes the feel of your nose.
She knows that everyone knows her, chose her, sigh.
Brown. You like the feel of the ground.
To feel it blow all around you, down you, sigh.

Don’t let me slip through.
Don’t let me walk invisible by.
I am Nature; I get you high.

Green. Too many places unseen.
Too many footsteps behind you, bind you, why?
Stray. Seek everything far away.
Don’t let nobody scold you, mold you, try.

Don’t let me slip through.
Don’t let me walk invisible by.
I am Nature; I get you high.

Burn. Too many pages to learn.
Too many pages to follow, swallow, sigh.
Strive. You always fought to survive.
You always fought them to conquest, multiply.

Don’t let me slip through.
Don’t let me walk invisible by.
I am Nature; I get you high.

 

MP3 (Free): I Am Nature

 

He thought there must be some lines in the earth he could follow,
Hidden by snow, but he’d possibly find them in spring.
A grid made of brown that would lead to the crown of tomorrow…

Hail to the rose!
Hail to the sky!
Teach me to live;
Teach me to die.

In the snow it was cold but some hope filled his body;
Golden liquid that quickened the fire in his brain.
He had a theory the earth was surrounded by knowledge;
A shimmering library accessed by unbearable pain.

When I close my eyes- Ah!
Like a flame through my fingers it burns, like a fire through my heart.
When I close my eyes- No!
It eludes me a pain in my shoulders, a dimming echo.

Hail to the rose!
Hail to the sky!
Teach me to live,
Teach me to die.

His blue eyes scanned the skies though he knew they were empty;
Only fools look for schools where the airy birds fly.
Something told him the brown of the ground held the answers;
His desire for the fire left him willing to die.

Won’t you take me inside of your library
Prepared to hurt, lay my screams in your dirt?
Won’t you take me inside of your library
Prepared to bleed for the answers I need?

Hail to the rose!
Hail to the sky!
Teach me to live,
Teach me to die.

 

Download MP3: The Brown Library

 

Hunched in a field, you sing in deep voicesPotato in a Field
The seeds and the soil of a world without choices
Take off your clothes at the end of the day
Lie down in a bed made of burlap and hay

The sun sinks, the sky pinks through your window so crude
Your feet hard, your back scarred, your stomach needs food
But you see your ancestors line up in brown
You hear their solemn songs sung in a round

Voice so low, Voices so deep
They crossed the ocean for you
They crossed the ocean so you could arrive
They never died.

Wiping your brow with the back of your brown hand
Your eyes are like horses, they run across this land
You see more than most, around corners and curves
Your heavy mind stays when the lighter mind swerves

Steady and patient, heavy and kind
Wearing brown pants made of burlap and twine
Nose to the grindstone, monks of the dirt
Callouses, sunsets, and visions that hurt

Voice so low, Voices so deep
They crossed the ocean for you
They crossed the ocean so you could arrive
They never died.

Your eyes follow time when it curves round the bend
You watch all the lighter ones run to destruction
They were mistaken, they thought life had an end
They ate all their seeds and then came to the bend

Shocked to discover the road just continued
Forced to keep marching without any food
You hear their cries and it makes your heart burn
But how can you give to them the things they must earn?

Voice so low, Voices so deep
They crossed the ocean for you
They crossed the ocean so you could arrive
They never died.

You know forever, you know eternity
As plain as the table where you sit for your cup of tea
You counsel your children to never waste seeds
Life is long, you must be strong, persist in good deeds.

You tell them to remember when they labor in the fields
To listen to the voices that sing in their ears
To those who are patient all will be revealed
Remember who you are, my sons- potatoes in a field.

Voice so low, Voices so deep
They crossed the ocean for you
They crossed the ocean so you could arrive
They never died.

 

Download MP3: Potatoes in a Field

So far, my time in West Virginia has been lit by two spirit guides- the colors mustard and brown.  I used to hate these muddy earth tones, but since moving here I have craved them like a drug. Every morning must begin with a brown or mustard coffee mug, and every evening must end with brown checkered curtains drawn over windows filled with amber glass.Brown and Mustard

If it wasn’t for brown and mustard, I’m not sure how I would have survived the extreme isolation. After all, the only person I know here is James, and he spends most of his time at work. A more practical person might make an effort to actually meet people, but, as for me, I can’t be bothered.

Because, for starters, despite feeling depressed by the isolation, I could never be sure if it was the ACTUAL isolation that was dragging me down, or just the IDEA of isolation. My whole life I’ve been surrounded by the idea that being alone is not only dangerous to your health but an indication that you are an unloveable creep. James, on the other hand, frequently reminds that there is no one I admire who didn’t spend a good deal of time in isolation.

Still, all this alone time left me feeling depressed and despondent. It felt as though my self was dissolving, and there was no one there at all, just an emptiness. And only the colors of mustard and brown could touch this hollow feeling, throwing handful after handful of dirt into the sad gully. After 9 months of their earthy influences, I no longer feel isolated or alone at all, despite the fact that my situation has in no way changed.

From mustard, I learned the reality of hope- that no problem lasts forever- and also the virtue of endurance. Sometimes, victory consists of simply hanging on and persevering until circumstances change of their own accord.

From brown, I learned the brain’s magic power to brighten to gloomy corners of our life. If our external life is temporarily dark and depressing, we can generate a light from within simply by engaging our intellect. I found that as long as I kept my brain engaged and stimulated, by studying math or chemistry for example, that it was actually impossible to feel depressed or lonely.

At times, I did feel superstitious about the potential hazards of overusing my brain, having tended to see the brain and heart as opponents, with one gaining ground only at the other’s expense. But eventually, I discarded this notion. After all, the heart craves things and people to relate to, and it is the brain who supplies us with these friends by illuminating the people around us, and sometimes by illuminating the friend-filled world inside our mind.

So far, my favorite intellectual pastime has been chemistry, a subject which seemed so cold and chalky in school. But now I find it heartwarming to get to know the elements and to witnesses their relationships dramas, which seem so much to mirror our own.

Still, as nice as it has been, spring fever is now reminding me that I can’t remain in this mustardy, brown cocoon forever.

 

 

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