We Live in a Mysterious Trace of Dreamtime (2 poems) [aug. 9]

I write about and think about dreamtime a lot. I'm not sure quite yet what exactly it means to me. I am learning about it. Since this concept comes from an Aboriginal tradition, one might find it annoying that I'm into this: seems perhaps gentrification or the thinking equivalent. But I did come by this idea honestly; really, it was one of those things where I came across the word somewhere and liked it so much. Maybe I even made it up. And then it kept coming back to me, through various readings I was doing--I was reading a lot about pyschology then (2 years agoish). One of those coincidences, where you discover something for the first time and then it keeps popping up everywhere you turn. I think it's such an awesome concept and so rich--perhaps like the idea of consciousness outside of time. It's a relief to me, just as hearing Team Dresch and Bikini Kill was relief to me when I was 17. At any rate, here are some cut-n-pastes from a website:
http://www.crystalinks.com/dreamtime.html:

The Australian Aborigines speak of jiva or guruwari, a seed power deposited in the earth. In the Aboriginal world view, every meaningful activity, event, or life process that occurs at a particular place leaves behind a vibrational residue in the earth, as plants leave an image of themselves as seeds. The shape of the land - its mountains, rocks, riverbeds, and water holes - and its unseen vibrations echo the events that brought that place into creation. Everything in the natural world is a symbolic footprint of the metaphysical beings whose actions created our world. As with a seed, the potency of an earthly location is wedded to the memory of its origin.

The Aborigines called this potency the "Dreaming" of a place, and this Dreaming constitutes the sacredness of the earth. Only in extraordinary states of consciousness can one be aware of, or attuned to, the inner dreaming of the Earth.
"Dreaming" is also often used to refer to an individual's or group's set of beliefs or spirituality. For instance, an Indigenous Australian might say that they have Kangaroo Dreaming, or Shark Dreaming, or Honey Ant Dreaming, or any combination of Dreamings pertinent to their "country". However, many Indigenous Australians also refer to the creation time as "The Dreaming". The Dreamtime laid down the patterns of life for the Aboriginal people.













Whales & Guitars


The grass has whales inside it, tiny whales with experiences. the whales swim up and between rungs of the water or space ladders. dimensions perhaps overlap. a small green whale seeps in from one dimension. that one whale is human. oh shush you haven’t found any whales at all! way back in time before written or spoken words it meant something to stand up and sing. if you have a voice, be like a whale, or be like a finger. the really good whale is laughing; the good trees have big gaps between leaves. that’s where the whale laughter floats down.




Roots of What Leaps/ A New Person



Together what I am is love for food and minutes
In blue chair yonder sits one river and one (blue) heron

(just kidding)

They have a companion:

She, what leaps, has just climbed on the boat I can feel her senses. It’s me with senses!
Weird, huh? I can feel her sensory organs.

Pure poop of a sentence, edges and angles.
Like eyes spreading out.

We are in mystery dreamtime trace of what is equal to the air.

My brother is on the boat, and has the face of the blue ocean
And I know I will be grass one day, scattered, various, going up.
This is equal to how my soul is right now, on some level, shattered, but going up.

Pulsating, winking. My soul! My body outside here doesn’t show this. See; look.

The boat itself has the face of a butterfly, pure poop.

But here is where I am shattered through it again!

It appears I am one thing but really I am all of this swimming fantastically around.

The only way is to be grateful for any abundance—
My face which equals my brain and the air, says lie in light and be summer be light.
I will try to be summer be light though my eyes are spreading out and dissolving—

See how the grass turns into loops as it hugs my barefeet? See how I'm crushing small green whales?

On the boat there is grass growing! A field, growing in the wooden boat—
And she, what leaps,
stands up, sings songs, looking ahead,
untroubled and riding