Advent Mysteries

 

All Creation Waits*, I read.  

Let small animals be your guide.

One day each I follow painted turtle,

muskrat, black bear, chickadee,

whitetail deer, honey bee, chipmunk,

cottontail—there’s more—

common loon, wood frog, raccoon,

and wild turkey.  I am little more

than halfway to a day so many await—

the mass of the Christ child. 

Entering doors these animals open,

I half forget about the Child.  

To enter the coldest season, 

little ones eat or empty and lower 

their body temperatures

to suspension levels, and wake ravenous

and lustful, driven to mate, create another

generation and pass on their lore.

 

These are healthy animals, of course,

not those strangled by oil or chemicals,

not those that have lost their habitats. 

The great Northeast of the USA is not yet

attacked by tornadoes, not yet inundated with 

fracking, drilling, and the industry of profit—

though we have some, and we have the arts 

that grew on greed’s generosity as well as 

those grown from protest or daily grace.  

From animals to art, I hold on.  I want 

to dwell here, I want to feel normal display 

or hiding, to sense animals’ fears, joys and 

instincts.  I want to eat with them, led

by life force and food, soft storage around

fragile skeletons—yes, even the bear—like me.

 

Look at how the family frolics

when unafraid.  Look at videos 

of the un-caged and un-maimed, and

then write your own myth of how

you grew up free and barefoot

in earth or carpet, how you

held pets or yearned for them,

how you learned to hold a pen,

to read, to eat and defecate,

to sleep and wake, each night taking

you to the magical border

where the next step is birth. 

How this knowledge was passed

to you, remember.  How you learned

to focus the senses so they worked

for you and your tribe, and then

going further, let other species

guide, learned their languages,

planted seeds of everyday peace.

Author, Book, Video

for earthweal weekly challenge: O COME! ADVENT POEMS FOR EARTH  Posted on December 13, 2021

  My blog poems are rough drafts.

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© 2021 Susan L. Chast