The Center of Being
As with flung fire, we spread our wind before the
dust
of ancient argument. We spill the foolish thoughts welling
behind the dam of our eyes and speak with tongues
gone lame and halting into dark and glooming forests
of ash and pine that shake with unfelt whispers.
Wandering as we do, we move the tribe of thoughtless folk
to new rivers, cold streams over hot sand that curl wisps of cloud
into the sky. And then we pitch the ballad, sing the slow tune
that lulls our dreads to a quiet night of owls and slow rushing bats.
This is the time of seven directions. We find, finally, the last one.
The one we lost when we moved through east to north, to west,
to south. When we led our vision to heights and depths.
Now though, as grandfather moon lifts the dark veil of summer night,
moves the eyes to see what has always been heard, we swim
the wind east, finding before us the center of our endless hoop.
Note: It is my understanding that the Cherokee have a
sense of
seven directions;
east, north, west, south, up, down, and center - the center of being.
Further that they have a story of how grandfather moon, when he is
full, causes pregnancy.
All Cherokee journeys are to the “east” - the direction of success.
The rest of the poem is quite imaginary.
RD Savage
10/22/94
Published in Green's Magazine
© 1994 by RD Savage