This week’s creative retreat comes in the form of a poem, then a ponderance, then some questions; not ones to answer immediately, but to walk with, and notice how the questions shows up in our feet.
Had I the heavens’ embroidered cloths,
Enwrought with golden and silver light,
The blue and the dim and the dark cloths
Of night and light and the half light,
I would spread the cloths under your feet:
But I, being poor, have only my dreams;
I have spread my dreams under your feet;
Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.
W.B Yeats
The light on the Burren limestone that day was all honey and liquid; a landscape painted both delicate and firm. It was late Spring, too late for the early purple gentians, but not too late for the orchids, which were now rising, in abundance, from the karst, like flags raising their own standards of what might emerge from the cracks, if we thread carefully. Each step I took across the rocks and blooms felt both a blessing and a danger. To be a witness to the emergence was a dream, but to let one foot fall out of place would be to crush it. We walk such a delicate dance in the ecological frame.
Looking along the hills, it would be so easy to assume that the Burren is a stone dessert, but up close, it’s a whole other story: rare plants, some specific to those very rocks; others remnants from the ice-age, alpine migrants whose seeds still carry the genetic heritage of a pan-european freeze 15,000 years ago. Now their descendants still find their way through the very same cracks.
Walking across the hills, I thought of the Yeats poem, then recited it aloud to the orchids by way of thanks for the wonder and the marvel. The orchids waved back in the breeze. What I then pondered was this: what if these blooms were the earth’s way of dreaming herself into being, through this embroidered flowering cloth. What if, below our feet, every step is onto that emergent dream; a dream still needing time to rise? What if the earth has not done with her dreaming yet? How then might we thread?
Had I the heavens’ embroidered cloths,
Enwrought with golden and silver light,
The blue and the dim and the dark cloths
Of night and light and the half light,
I would spread the cloths under your feet:
But I, being poor, have only my dreams;
I have spread my dreams under your feet;
Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.
So no matter what part of the world you are in, the invite is to take these questions with you next time you walk directly on the earth- the grass in a local park perhaps, a country path, or even the desire lines across a landscaped campus. No matter where, we have a question now to put our feet into: what if this is the earth’s dream, still dreaming?
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Thank you for being here.
For all Wild Edge paid members:
Poetry Salon:
Sunday 9th February, 6-7pm (Irish/ UK time)
This is an hour to read, share, connect with the spirit of poetry. As a previous participant has said: ‘The salon is a welcoming, inquiring and reflective space, where you can take a pause from the world and drop into the felt experience of poetry. It's a balm for our times’.
OWL Hours:
6th, 13th, 18th, 25th February - 8-9pm (Irish/ UK time)
This is creative practice time, with intention, in community. An hour of quiet focus, together. We set intentions at the start of the hour, work independently, and then I host a simple gathering at the end for insights and next steps. It’s about building momentum and accountability, and a sense of feeling less alone in our work.
New Writing Series.
I am also working on a series of posts exploring the transformative aspects of creative practice and learning how to navigate creative traps. I also have a series in development about trying to maintain boundaries, and sanity, in the (online) world. Online is in brackets, as much of what I will be talking about can be applied offline too. Any questions for me as I prepare these? I’d love to hear… you can post them in the comments. Thank you.
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