In celebration of Winter Solstice 2003
listen to the mp3 audio version -- Winter Blood.mp3 --

Winter Blood -- Thea 12/20/03

There's something biting about the cold
when it's biting like a wolf
it draws blood to the surface
where I remember wearing feather, fur and hoof

The cold reminds me
of a memory in my blood
it wakes me
. . . and I remember what it feels like to live in the cold
bitter. cold.
where only what is wild
can live in this much white
where night is day
and every thing is seen
that doesn't dissapear
here, like a wolf I lift my face
nose to the bitter wind of winter's biting breath
I animate
fur becoming white
night becoming day
maybe it's my age
or maybe I finally got it
the lesson on shifting
into something that stirs
in the remembering blood
gazing
beneath the frozen surface
waiting
for what lies above
perfectly preserved
in red and white

This is where English meets Indiginous
European memories were imported
like scones and tortillas
the blood will always mix
like margaritas
and rivers returning to their source
assimilated
surrending through the pain
or inspite of the pain nothing is ever lost
I hold it here in the memory of cold
where all that we've endured
has brought us nearer
to the collective memories
the expanded DNA
the place
where I stand
not so very far from you
of feather, fur and hoof
the red ones knew this
but I, the European
brought the memory of cold
while you held the memory of fire
and the memories of old
are perfectly preserved
in red and white

 
"Speaking out doesn't make you an outlaw; it makes you a responsible citizen of democracy." -- Syracruse Cultural Workers

Vietnam opened our eyes to some of the horrible lies we had been living with. But what followed in suit was a 20 year brainwashing campaign turning flower children into Yuppies and peacmakers into flag wavers. We have had two major wake up calls in our recent past. Evidence that our institutions are crumbling and opportunities to shift the consensus reality. But we, the greater American public, choose once again to go to sleep, dreaming of mountains of things and riding a runaway train of unsustainable consumerism. The effects of globalization are an insidious battle where corporate power and government policies ravage the rights of people and our planet. This is not new news, but we are still asleep. The first responsibility of love is to listen, but we are not listening.

 
I was digging in some old poetry files and found this one that I wrote for friend of mine just prior to the birth of her last son, Magnus. I got to see her at our show in Tucson which was recorded live and is available by special request -- Thea & the GreenMan -- If you pick up the recording you can hear her yelling at us from the audience! She is from Iceland and has two beautiful Viking boys.

For Dagny 1/2/94

I will witness the blood of my friend’s birth soon,
and I will learn honesty.
I will take a journey into the Earth,
and I will learn Honor.

In time -- there will be no separation
as the cord is cut.
For that from which we have come
is that to which we will go.

In returning to herself
her flesh will be
all that she needs.
A new life now protected,
the returning of a seed.

I will live beside my Sister,
and I will learn humility.
I will take a journey to the Star Father,
and I will learn courage.

This little one,
now born of love and hope, and healing,
Blessings be.
The completion within the circle of community,
will keep us safe.

And the world will not stop,
nor the errant ways of others.
For I can not judge the ways of others,
I can only remember,
that all men are my brothers.

 
In Wartime © 3/2603 Thea


It is hard to watch war all day
and want to make love at night
it makes arousal more aggressive
the holding more possessive
as if to say “no” you can never leave me
or this baby in my belly
to fight a war, any war
that by its very existence
compromises my ability to be at peace
you see
the aggression is seeping in
like a slow oily leak
it makes me want to fight for things
that I don’t want to lose
to become like one of them
the army men
on either side
they hide
behind flags
and armored trucks
not like this love
that wants to give itself up

 
Dear Friends, Fans and Family,

Well Spring is here, and so is war. Being the eternal optimist that I am, I believe in Diplomacy. I believed that we had evolved beyond the archaic means of battle to the death. Beyond the hunter killer instincts of self preservation. But I was wrong. The programming runs deep in our collective cellular memory and those of us who are fortunate enough to live beyond the struggle for survival do not fully realize the luxuries we have been afforded. Mainly the luxury to reflect and meditate and surround ourselves with beauty. I also believe, not unlike Aldo Leopold, that beauty will save world. And so my wish for you on this first day of Spring, and this first day of war is that you walk in beauty. When we become to willing to settle for nothing less than this, all wars will cease. And the most beautiful thing that we can know lives right inside of each and everyone of us; the gift of life itself.

These past few days the mountains have been shrouded in mist and fog, not only reflecting the grey days of March, but also the atmosphere of the greater world community and the reality of war. Below are the words of Aldo Leopold and his reflections on March from "A Sand County Almanac" followed by a pacifist poem that I wrote.

Blessings,
Thea

It is an irony of history that the great powers should have discovered the unity of nations at Cairo in 1943. The geese of the world have had that notion for a longer time, and each March they stake their lives on its essential truth.

In the beginning there was only the unity of the Ice Sheet. Then followed the unity of the March thaw, and the northward hegira of the international geese. Every March since the Pleistocene, the geese have honked unity from China Sea to Siberian Steppe, from Euphrates to Volga, from Nile to Murmansk, from Lincolnshire to Spitsbergen. Every March since the Pleistocene, the geese have honked unity from Currituck to Labrador, Matamuskeet to Ungava, Horseshoe Lake to Hudson Bay, Avery Island to Baffin Land, Panhandle to Mackenzie, Sacramento to Yukon.

By this international commerce of geese, the waste corn of Illinois is carried through the clouds to the Arctic tundras, there to combine with the waste sunlight of a nightless June to grow goslings for all the lands between. And in this annual barter of food for light, and winter warmth for summer solitude, the whole continent receives as net profit a wild poem dropped from the murky skies upon the muds of March.

(may we someday come to know the peace of the geese)

Mists & Rain & War ©3/19/03 Thea

I asked the fairies in the woods today
what they thought of war
but the mists were heavy and obscured
the heavy hearts they wore

I asked the divas of the desert
of the battle now at hand
but the winds blew hard and did obscure
all thought but desert sand

I heard thunder all around me
and the rain come pouring down
All life seemed to be in hiding
no guidance to be found

The fairies have surrendered
to the darkness all around
with folded wings they’ve turned away
and moved to higher ground

And here are we all left alone
to meet our long due fate
what once was sown shall now be reaped
before the closing gate

We knew this time would one day come
that the door would soon be closing
we chose, we know, to bend the bow
and send the arrows flying

so many choices never chosen
left for the past to swallow
what is first shall soon be last
with nothing left to follow

The forest covered thick with moss
the springtime here tomorrow
I feel protected in these mists and mountains
content to hide, for now -- like fairies in the hollow