Mystical Tarot Realms
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Buckeye Trees in the Wild
WILD
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I began at dawn and reached
the dead incense cedar, its red bark
spiraling upward to a jagged,
barren point surrounded by the high,
thin whistles of chickadees and the rapping
of woodpeckers. I must have begun
in a wet field of blue dick and mustard,
the redwing swaying on a fluorescent raceme
above the purple flower heads and fresh
green grass, or was it a high meadow
blooming with shooting stars and lupine,
where marmots scurried across the path,
the pond hundreds of feet below so clear
I could see fish drifting in sunlight.
I must have seen the crowns
of gigantic trees without knowing
what they are, above the canopy,
and eventually encountered the first
huge trunks of the grove, dwarfing me
completely. I must keep finding
a path that leads me to a leaf
or root or wing or petal connected
to everything else, making me
lose myself over and over.
WILD
Often when exploring the woods, you can feel lost even if you know exactly where you are, mainly, I think, because you lose yourself in the frequencies of nature. You are no longer stuck in the beta brain wave, the only brain frequency, it seems, that is acceptable in modern society. The "heart beat of Mother Earth," at 7.83 HZ, is on the border between Theta and Alpha brain waves. In other words, Mother Nature herself can induce a brain wave frequency where one experiences tranquility, intuition, visions, and wise inner voices. I have found this to be the case over and over in my excursions into nature.
My conscious mind sometimes fears this shift, especially when it is about to occur. Other times, it happens without me even noticing. When the shift occurs, often I feel a profound sense of peace and a connection with everything in my surroundings. I do not want to romanticize nature; living in the forest is not easy, especially if you have not been taught how to survive in the natural world. But I think modern humans have a distinct advantage over our ancestors: we can cross the border between one order of existence and another whenever we please. In some places, like Fresno, CA, you can cross the border into the forest in less than an hour, and continue, if you choose, to head deeper and deeper into the wild.
In our thirty years of marriage, my wife and I had taken advantage of the opportunity to experience many different ecosystems. For many years, we celebrated the natural world by pointing out and admiring and praising its diverse living beings, from its smallest flowers to its largest trees. We didn't mind being dwarfed by a mountain peak or a gigantic tree; we reveled in the sublime.
My wife enjoyed singing "Wild" even though it is not easy to sing. My wife shared with me most of the experiences I describe in the song. One of our most sublime experiences occurred when we were hiking in a high forest and suddenly encountered a grove of giant sequoia trees that we had not expected to find. Each sequoia, as I say in the song, dwarfed us completely. When another creature makes you feel miniscule by comparison, you cannot help but appreciate otherness. Once you've made a connection with any other creature, even the smallest creatures feel mysterious and magical.
I have many vivid memories of the smaller creatures: a marmot running across the path, or a redwing blackbird perched on a mustard plant, or a kingsnake in the grass, or a turtle on a river bank. Sometimes my wife and I encountered a stunning array of wildflowers, and sometimes one bird was enough to knock our socks off. The different ecosystems were never the same from one day to the next, and we were never disappointed.
Somewhere along the line, my wife and I stopped crossing the border into otherness, to the detriment of our marriage. She got so bogged down by work, and I became so fatigued by my chronic illness that we no longer went out into nature. Eventually, I'm afraid, we stopped appreciating each other.
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All stories, illustrations, and music Copyright © 2024 by Jim Robbins.
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Ancient Native American Trail
MAGIC WINDOW
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We've spent thirty years together, gazing
through our windows. Before it's too late, I
want us to peek into a deep pool bordered
by flowers, where a snake glides, eyes
above water, and frogs, face down, cling
to stone, where wings flash around us,
where a deer peers a long time at us,
and a wildcat crouches in the grass.
A golden palace looms on a far-off cliff,
but the treasure we seek abides here:
a golden equal-armed cross; golden cups
and plates on a brilliant white cloth;
a glittering diamond rooted in the depths.
This window is too deep to fathom.
We have witnessed strife and sickness,
tawdriness and horror, reflections
and extinctions, yet in this pool, our souls,
like birds and trees and rocks, sink
into exaltations of the sun. If some day
I am gone, seemingly nowhere to be found,
remember, I will be there, waiting for you.
MAGIC WINDOW
Often when I am in the wild, I suddenly feel a shift in consciousness. My brain waves tune to a vibration conducive to contact with the higher self and with the spirits of nature personified throughout the ages as deities. In places where I might encounter a mountain lion or a snake or a frog, I sometimes hear a wise voice or see a vision in my mind's eye.
My wife and I found a creek with more snakes and newts and turtles and frogs than we had ever encountered anywhere else. We named it "Frog Creek." If you hike back far enough, you can find a deep pool beneath a waterfall.
In the song "Magic Window," I describe peering into the deep pool and seeing spiritual symbols that I have envisioned during meditation or while in nature: the treasures of the spirit.
At the time I wrote the lyrics, I believed that I was dying from heart disease. After my wife left me, I managed to eliminate gluten completely from my diet, and now I no longer experience atrial fibrillation. I no longer fear that I am dying, but my wife and I will never again go to Frog Creek together, at least not in this life.
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All stories, illustrations, and music Copyright © 2024 by Jim Robbins.
Goldfields and Baby Blue Eyes in Native American House Pits
AT SUNSET
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At sunset, strolling under the oaks,
we heard the rustling of grass
as though a snake were slithering
toward us. But no, the wings
of dragonflies were rustling
as their bodies looped
above the dwindling stream
in twilight. We rested a moment
on a rock as thirty gleaming bodies
wove through the air a foot or so
above the water, and we strained
our eyes to glimpse sapphire and turquoise
and ruby red. The other world
didn't matter anymore. The creek
and the oaks and the grasses
were alive with song.
An owl winged, mothlike, to a nearby oak,
perched above us, turned its flat,
oval face and peered silently
a long time.
AT SUNSET
There was a long period in our marriage during which trips to Watt's Valley in the evenings brought us closer together, no matter what was happening in our personal lives. My wife at the time ran a daycare, and I taught as an adjunct instructor at community colleges. We were scraping by, and I was miserable due to a severe case of celiac disease, but we both found some peace there.
In Watt's Valley, we identified all the birds and flowers as the seasons came and went. We became so intimately connected with the foothill ecosystems that we knew where each species of flower sprouted from one year to the next. We knew all the birds that migrated through during the different seasons as well, including our favorites, the brilliant spring birds, orioles and tanagers and swallows and buntings. We saw wild pigs and wild turkeys and bobcats and coyotes and newts and frogs and turtles and snakes. One night we saw one pygmy owl after another on the road, their big eyes flashing before they suddenly leapt and flew erratically out of our path. We never saw pygmy owls on that road again after that night.
In the song "At Sunset," I focus on how at first while in nature you often experience fear. You worry about snakes and predators, but usually there is a moment, if you are out among the trees and grasses long enough, that a shift occurs and you can perceive the magic and mystery of the ordinary creatures within the natural world. Dramas disappear, and you recognize how extraordinary are even the most common forms of life.
The owl (at the end of the song) peers at my wife and me for a long time as if seeing the magic and mystery within us.
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All stories, illustrations, and music Copyright © 2024 by Jim Robbins.
Shooting Stars in a Rivulet
SEARCHING FOR THE SOURCE
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In the forest, my soul thaws
as though a layer of ice that holds
all good and bad has hardened around
my core, and suddenly the ice
melts away. We search for the source
of rivulets that join with larger streams
cascading down the slopes
in search of a distant ocean,
our own bloodstreams part
of an eternal cycle filled with light
like the water, the oaks, the moss,
the mushrooms, the rocks, the bushes, the grass....
SEARCHING FOR THE SOURCE
I have discovered that when I am in nature, my personality melts away, and I find the Source in everything that I encounter. In these moments, I lose all sense of what others might label as the good and bad in me. I am just part of an infinite tapestry of cosmic energies. I also stop judging other people because I know that this Source is at the core of all people. What others perceive as good and bad in themselves could also melt away to reveal that they are magnificent expressions of divine wholeness, harmony, and abundance. This truth unfortunately gets lost under the layer of ideas and beliefs that we form about ourselves and other people--even the ones closest to us.
All stories, illustrations, and music Copyright © 2024 by Jim Robbins.