D-Squared

My dad has outlived his terminal prognosis by 3 ½ years. He has spent a fair amount of time with one foot on this side of the veil and one on the other, and has made some pretty interesting observations. My sister (his caretaker) kept me abreast of all the wonderful things he was saying and seeing. These are basically his words, I just rearranged them in a more or less poetic way. For Dad………

HOME

Three great bears come to me
Building shelter from the storm
White as snow and tall as trees
They have come to keep me warm

Then four white horses with manes ablaze
Carry my body along
To seven lovely women
Who’ll take my hands
And lead me
And lead me
Home

Standing on the road at night
I am not afraid
Four watchers beside me
With maps to show the way
And at the end of the road there lay
A track I must step o’er
With stars to reckon along the way
I’ll find my way
Find my way
Home

And I will be kissed upon the forehead
And I’ll have all I could ever possibly need
And I will lay down this tired, old body
And I follow
Yes, I will follow
Love home

(Deb’s note: Dad passed away March 3, 2010)

This week we heard from an old friend who is enjoying a sabbatical down in Costa Rica with her family. She was innocently reading science papers on “forests, glacial histories, climate change models and shifting landscapes” in the dim light when a fragment of this song suddenly popped into her head. The song was written many years ago on the back porch at the ranch and Karen knows that place. More importantly, Karen knows the place in the heart where that song comes from. She emailed asking me for the lyrics and made my day. I thought I’d put `em up here in case that happens to someone else – in case that ever happens to me. Cuz this one always puts me right back on the porch.

if I could move real slow
I could hear the rocks talkin
if I could move real slow
I could see the trees walkin
if I could move really slow
I’d listen to the dead talkin
talkin to the rocks
walkin with the trees
comparin family histories
talkin to the rocks
walkin with the trees
listen to the whistlin of the souls in the leaves

if I could move real slow
I could hear the rocks talkin

Spring took one look at winter
Then crawled back in her hole
It’s wet and it’s cold out there
I just don’t want to go
Let somebody else be in charge
Of making the wildflowers grow
They still lie waiting
But the Rockabye tree is
All covered in snow
And when the bough breaks
The baby’s bound to go
Down to the mud and the blood
And the tears that flow below
They still lie waiting
Spring nestles quiet in her keep
Where the roots run dark and deep
Spring is fast asleep

I confess, having grown up amidst citrus orchards in Phoenix, Arizona, that the scent of orange and grapefruit trees in bloom make me horny. It is the smell of love to me. I don’t recall ever actually having made love in an orchard but I did a lot of early, hopeful exploring there and that’s almost more potent.

I was tutored in love by amazing women. I realize that we were often learning the mysteries together but they taught me to see in the dark. I have no idea what they learned from me, you’d have to ask them.

Man offers the seed of creation, woman nurtures seedlings that produce fruit and this is the magic that turns the world. It’s also what most songs are about.

God spoke to Adam
And God spoke to Eve
God spoke to the Virgin Mary
He said, y’know girl you just gotta believe
God must’ve talked a lot back then
But he don’t say boo to me
I still lie waiting
But love speaks softly
When it calls you by your name
It’s so easy to miss the meaning
Or pretend it’s just a game
But if you refuse to listen
You’ve got only yourself to blame
Love still lies waiting
While Spring turns over in her sleep
Her dreams are fairy green
But it’s only a dream

I am lucky that my wife grew up in the same town, had some of the same experiences, and responds similarly to the olfactory cues of citrus blossoms. I am even luckier that, when the women of my past show up, my wife shows them love and respect for their contributions to the man I became. Of course, she also knows I have great taste in women.

Twice this March, women who have been exceedingly important in my life reappeared. One at the Desert Botanical Garden’s Chihuly exhibit, the most astounding union of art and nature I have ever personally witnessed. I thought the same thing the first time I ever saw her. The other one showed up at the Glendale Folk Festival where I sang this song, Spring, the best song I have ever written. The blossoms were just opening and the smell nearly knocked me down. So did she.

Down by the hard road
Where the wildflowers grow
I look at them in wonder
Even though I know
Someone planted them here
Not so long ago
They still lie waiting
Waiting for a footprint
Waiting for a sign
Waiting for a raindrop
Or a little ray of sweet sunshine
Or maybe a bee will fly by
At just the right time
They still lie waiting
Spring yawns and peaks out of her hole
Looking for her shadow
Did she see it?
I don’t know

I am the groundhog’s shadow who learned to sing and I owe debts I cannot repay. I am a lucky little rodent.

A pagan spiritual born on the Great Plains.

You are lost on your way unto glory
Shorn like a lamb in the cold
Where no angels dare trumpet their story
For the depth of the night is untold

Oh the path lies in beauty before us
Feathered wings whisper softly in flight
We are guiding your way through the forest
We’re the shadow that cries to the night
Who, who, who, who, who
Who, who, who, who, who

Do not question the fate that has brought you
In this darkness there’s nowhere to hide
We are sent by the ones who hath wrought you
Entrusted with your final ride

Oh the path lies in beauty before us
Feathered wings whisper softly in flight
We are guiding your way through the forest
We’re the shadow that cries to the night
Who, who, who, who, who
Who, who, who, who, who

With talons of steel we will hold you
You’ve no need to fear the fall
Let the breadth of the nightwinds enfold you
It’s just your turn to answer the call

Oh the path lies in beauty before us
Feathered wings whisper softly in flight
We are guiding your way through the forest
We’re the shadow that cries to the night
Who, who, who, who, who
Who, who, who, who, who

You can play a sample of  El Dia de los Muertos/Owlsong:
[audio:eldiadelosmuertos_owlsong.mp3]
(And a video of this song is under “music video”.)