Category Archives: earth

Air Water Fire Earth

Earth Air Fire Water

I look up into the
Deep blue vault
Of the heavens
And think of the thin skin
Of the atmosphere
The only thing that
Keeps us from the
Dark cold depths of
Space and instant
Annihilation

I stand at the edge
Of the ancient cliff
Looking down at the
Restless ocean
As it crashes and
Breaks against the
Shore
Another attempt
In its timeless battle
To take back the land

And later still I sit
Gazing into the fire
Basking in its warmth
Thinking of long ago
Days when I was
A child and Summer
Was forever
And love was ever
A shimmering promise
On the edge of my
Horizon

I remember the fields
With the sun on them
The ripening grain
The forever rows of corn
Tasseled and shining
Green as the leaves
On the trees
That surrounded
And sheltered our
Home

Thus I recite my litany
Air Water Fire Earth
And I feel the pull of you
As I feel the effects of
The gravity I cannot see

To me you are the most
Elemental of all
Without whom nothing
Matters
You are the love of
All my lives

I see the remembrance
Within your eyes as well
And peace and love
Enfold us
We have found each other
At last


Long Ago

When the sun still shone brightly, before the clouds of toxins, there were birds that would fly through the sky.  Little ones and larger ones of all different shapes and colors flew through it.  The sky appeared, then, long ago, blue on most of the days. Beneath that sky was the land.  Many different species … Continue reading "Long Ago"

Survival Instincts

It is so hot outside that I run into air conditioned room or anywhere with a fan. Then I feel guilty. There are laborers working in the sun, crows and sparrows waiting for water dripping from taps. The are brave plants, holding up their tired stems, waiting  for rains.  

Whatever we are doing is not enough. We are still careless. We are still irresponsible. Only when the summers become unbearable we think of conservation. Only when it floods,  we think of environmental protection. We write essays,  conduct campaigns,  create hash tags…. I am one of the sinners, I know I am doing the same thing… Then the season changes and all these dissappears until the next calamity occurs. 

It’s hard not to see how difficult it is for man and rest of the living things to live in the increasingly changing climatic conditions. Yet, we do so less to change,  to control damage, to preserve. 

Lifeless concrete is taking over the land mass. Whatever is left over is covered with interlocking bricks. Plants and flowers do not know where to grow. There are no trees for birds to build nests. 

When it rains,  I worry how the water will seep into the mud. I worry about the water scarcity and cracked lands unable to support agriculture. During monsoon,  it floods, and I worry if it will wash away whatever is left. 

When I will have a family tomorrow,  I worry over how I will protect my children from the wrath of the summers? How will I explain the garbage heap that stinks? 

Whatever I have written is extremely inadequate with reference to the most hot and trending topic of discussion on environment, a sure thing on many a political and non political discussion tables. 

I know worrying is not the solution. And I do try to be a responsible inhabitant of this planet. Yet,  it is not enough. 

These are the worries of a simple ordinary human being,  who do not know so much about the overwhelming statistics regarding global warming and environmental degradation. But knows enough that, one day I will have to fight tooth and nail to give my children clean water, air and food and protect them against the sins the previous generations have committed. 

In response to the  Daily Prompt- Minimal


Dreaming of Space

I soar in the space Between three globes One below One above One beyond And I wonder At the distance In time In distance In possibility While beginning To descend

Freedom

As the Universe breathes in
So too do I
For we are One
The surety of it
The knowing
Delights and soothes my soul

This is where I have
Always longed to be
Where I belong
And I am soaring high
So high above the clouds
That hide the sun
And into the blue and
The brilliance
My first experience
Of freedom

I will never return to Earth
Nor obey your rules
And even should my freedom
Turn out to be illusion
Still I have tasted it
And real or no
It makes no difference
For I have thrown off
All my shackles
And live or die I will be free

From out of nowhere
A fire begins inside
That threatens
To consume me
Burn me to ashes and beyond
If such a thing could be

And it occurs to me belatedly
That freedom is an undertaking
Fraught with danger


51. Riding Off into “Las Pampas”

BLOG 51: June, 1999—“There are so many times you have been with me, and yet I have not seen you. I feel touched, moved, overwhelmed inside this little heart of mine by the guide you have been so long—an angel so present on this earth, so alive within me, so much a part of me,” I wrote from my parent’s home in New Jersey 18 years ago. “I feel like I have been gone so long, wayward in search of myself—a decade of scraping down every wall to discover this beauty beside and inside of me…this stalwart tree, ever-growing slowly, gracefully upward, as I have stretched out, spreading arms that reach out to embrace the sun, eager to get there.” These words made up a letter addressed to MAGIC itself, and to a dear friend of mine, a past partner. After all, isn’t magic in both—inside ourselves and in relationship?  While today is a different time, and magic may be too general a word to apply to my present moment here with my ailing father—I’ve been reflecting on what it must be like for him to soon embark on what may be a potentially “magical” journey into the afterlife. My father has always been quite the scientist, carefully reflecting on the reasonable, proven aspects of life. I wonder now, when he’s in tremendous pain, and asks us to help him die, whether he has a sense of where he’s going (if anywhere at all). Some years back, after he and I had visited my Argentinean cousin, Carmen, who was extremely frail and dying from a brain tumor, he confessed to me, in his apartment living room, that the idea of death really scared him. It was clear then, as now, that he was reflecting on his own death. Last night, I sat with what it would be like to have no imagined sense (or a very existential one) of what we call the afterlife. I’ve always had a strong feeling of spirit, or what life without a body would be like. If anything, I’ve found it much more natural and real to be with the world of spirit than body. But for my father, who prided himself of being very athletic and intelligent, and having 5d0235715e06de38848b7e112c1f3ec8the independence and strength to control his destiny, death may be a different kind of beast for him to face. If it’s true what a friend of mine once said—that, after death, people see and experience that which they believed to be true in this lifetime…that our beliefs dictate what’s next…or at least for the first part of our journey—then I wondered what current beliefs were dictating my father’s sense of what awaits him. Is the pain I see him going through, both physical and emotional, a part of his battle between his current beliefs and what is to come? Does it have to be this painful leaving this earthly plane as we prepare to shift as the caterpillar does into the butterfly? As I sat at my father’s bedside one evening, I asked his mother’s spirit, our shared ancestors, and angelic beings to visit him in his sleep to give him a glimpse of what’s possibly next. Then, a beautiful imagine came to mind. My father has always been an adventurous soul, I thought, and he had always said he would have been a “gaucho”, an Argentinean cowboy, if he hadn’t taken a more practical route in life. So, then, why can’t he ride off like a gaucho into the vast grasslands, las Pampas de Argentina, when it’s his time, and begin his adventure beyond his body as one of the greatest freedom he has ever known? With that, I smiled, and he fell asleep. *My novel, Child of Duende: A Journey of the Spirit, is a story of spirit and coming home. Check it out on Amazon: Amazon Link or at www.michelleadam.net. Also, I’ve created a short new video on duende, the spirit of the earth, and on my novel. Check it out: YouTube Video    

Druids

Image credit: CaptBlack76/shutterstock.com

Image credit: CaptBlack76/shutterstock.com

Here the druids gathered
Under cover of mystical night
To commune with energies and entities
We have long forgot
And should they walk amongst us now
We see them not
We see them not Carrying this legacy
More hidden in the secular
The rituals are cloaked in starlight
We have long forgot
And when they work among us now
We see them not
We see them not Just stones in strange formation
Remind us of the majesty
Of spirituality we’ve born and yet
We have long forgot
And even in their silence
We see them not
We see them not But power is eternal
It does not ebb and wane
Merely at the whim of vessels
That the world forgot
And when they spin their mysteries
We see them not
We see them not (c) Helen valentina 2017

Celebrating Duende at Barnes and Noble!

Jan. 25, 2017: Listen to that song, that voice, a call out that comes from the deepest, most moving place of our mysterious soul. Can you really hear it…this llanto, this cry out that has never left us…not during wars, dictatorships, and horrific terror inside our brief, but intense human history?  Can you hear the depth of this LLANTO, this “song of the earth,” this most life-affirming voice of the soul that never quits, that is here today, in this moment, during this unique time of friction and immense change in our human history? This Saturday, at Barnes and Noble, I will offer a taste of this Llanto, this cry out, this deep soul’s song and melody that is tied to the story and birthplace of my novel, Child of Duende: A Journey of the Spirit. With my novel, I bring to you Gypsies, nature spirits, Flamenco, and a return home to the earth and her wisdom, her Llanto, and cry out. I offer you a taste of that which inspired me to write this novel, which came from a journey of my heart, back to Spain, to the memories of my childhood in high-desert fields that raised me and an ancient culture that has forever left its imprint on my soul. In traveling along the threads of this ancient culture that wrote the story of my novel, I begin with Spain’s Gypsies who have long carried an enduring spirit of music and dance, of Flamenco, of Deep Song, Cante Hondo. These nomadic, song-wielding, magic-making people, who arrived in Spain from India, brought with them the sounds of the orient, of the Ragas, of indigenous chanting, a kind of prayer that keeps that sweet dialogue between the unseen and seen world alive, honoring the holy and sacred part of being human. This song of Gypsy wove its fabric into Spain’s Arabic, Jewish, and Catholic roots—even as Fernando and Isabel of Spain set out to explore the Americas and enacted the Inquisition, which kicked out, killed, and tortured Jews, Arab, Gypsies, and non-Christians in Spain. Many Gbarnes-and-noble-event-jan-2017ypsies fled to the mountains, and it was here that they kept their traditions alive. Maybe—as with the negro spirituals, the Blues, and Native American chants, and so many deeply soulful songs—it is this very persecution, these dark times, that help create this ancient sound of longing that rises more fiercely and fully from the depths of our being than ever before, and reminds of our most profound connections. My novel, Child of Duende: A Journey of the Spirit, is about this deep longing that cries out for another way…or more clearly…a way home inside this earth place. It is about discovering that, even when we’ve lost our way, and feel despair, there’s a way home, inside, inside of us, and inside the land that calls us on a sacred journey of aliveness. If you are in New Mexico this Saturday, from 1-3p.m., please join Ronaldo Baca and I for a live weaving of storytelling and Flamenco song and guitar at Barnes and Noble, Coronado Mall, Albuquerque, that promises to stir this ancient Gypsy spirit that knows the way home. And, if you are too far away, check out my recent video, which tells the story of “duende”, the spirit of the earth, tied to my novel, Child of Duende: A Journey of the Spirit! https://youtu.be/yEJoQpKYK3I Also, check out a limited-time promotion of my paperback novel and a VERY SPECIAL Kindle price of 99 cents on January 28th (the price goes up a dollar every day after) on Amazon: http://a.co/9scIar2  

Yearning

Image credit: sergey nivens/Shutterstock.com

Image credit: sergey nivens/Shutterstock.com

Yearning for the alpha and omega
The starting point
The peaceful end
All life flows
From sturdy oak and dappled leaves
At the centre
At the centre
Is all Praying for the message of the heart
The beating truth
The wordless sound
Hear me now
Spread your roots so deeply
At the centre
At the centre
Is all Comforted beneath your dappled boughs
Perfect rest
Rebirthed life
All begins
Nourish every aching soul
At the centre
At the centre
Is all (c) Helen Valentina 2017

This Day, This Time, Is Ours!

ascend

Ascend!

From afar I watch a mansion crumble,
I watch the inconceivable take shape,
And somehow, I am strengthened in my self.
Somehow, I feel the essential taut granite in me,
The one that holds up the truth.
Today I know that if there is to be any hope,
We each have to ascend.
Find our power, flex it,
And go heal this earth of ours.
Filed under: Lyrical (Poetry), The Eye (Photography) Tagged: Earth, Hope, nature, nature photography, Photography, photos, Poem, poems, poetry, writing, Writing Poetry