IN~VOCATION
Ode #1 - Transcribed Poetic Dictation, Initia~l Ode
[Blessed solstice, Midsummer, Alban Hefin — and a warm welcome to Odes From Avalonia! Born of Little Cosmic Missives, two years and 84 missives later. We welcome and recognize Avalonia (I invite you to read the updated About page for more information on this evolution). Tonight I offer IN~VOCATION, the Initia~l Ode from Avalonia. Initiatic <> Initiating. Sitting on the Avalonian schist behind my house, the words began to flow. While I do not always make a point of transcribing by hand, this time it felt important. I may decide to transcribe all the coming (epis/)odes by hand, to impart some of the material sense, the textural tactile. The cosmic constrains to the geologic local — though no less in scope. Sometimes a finer focus yields paradoxically wider range. We are called to certain ways of being, of seeing, of conveying. Here I am in my vocation. Vocatus atque non vocatus. The format will be familiar to you all, though I wouldn’t be surprised to see evolutions emerge in the coming days. For now: the foreword, the word, the afterward. Recitations remain, as my experience of receipt remains audial. My awareness, however, sharpens — of the source. Of the sound of the source. Of the relationship of one source to another. We carefully contract, in order to expand. We put forth what must be put forth for reasons yet unknown to us. Perhaps never known to us. Such is the joy. May the sun shine upon you as it shines on me, and on all of us atop this great green blue holographic marblesphere~ ] Received 6/20/25 | 10:01-10:24pm
Listen to the Recitation:
IN~VOCATION
Invocatus Invocatus
Invoke the spell:
Sing now of the Avalonian shores
The shores of Avalonia
Fogged Sibyl sing of stone
Which lies beneath the sea
Basement terrane, submerged bank and shelf
Where the long-lived corals dwell
Where kelp forest stretch further
Harboring life and lore in the emerald blue
Gulf, bay of giant tides, where
Red rock forms are shaped, arching
Revealed and concealed, chasing
Great swirling whirlpools, reversing
Falls both beautiful and treacherous —
The bold rock breaks against water
Shaping tumbled thoughts and dreams
Each a dragon’s egg, waiting to be
Found, nurtured and cradled, by
Selkie stuck on shore, scribe
To the seals, releasing the seal
On an old bound book, carved
Of precious stone, gem runes softened
By salt they are woven, and by salt
Undone — vying for authority from
Ever elder sources — the gridstones,
The pointed tomb cairns, the granges
Grumbling over solstice sun staves
Staying the light, which itself stands
For a bold resurgence of life, from the depths
Both desperate and despairing; this is when
The Sun shines — bathing the earth
We carry water to the land, offer
Of ourselves, the water we drink, the water
We received, flowing, from those filtered
Deep places of the earth, long ago rain
Now groundwater, underground reservoirs,
Rivers in the dark, where none can
See but what sees in the dark, knowing
That what comes from the dark is
What feeds us tomorrow, what fuels
Tomorrow, we see the purple tinges
Kiss the mist, light upon the moss,
The black spruce, the red oak, scarlet
Rimmed wishes plunging head first
Into the kettle bog, peat pillow
Propping up another spirit quest —
Is it a turkey vulture? Or Golden eagle?
The Red tail flashes while the white
Wings fold up in the marsh, long yellow
Beak and black long legs, patiently
Eyeing a toad in the mud — the very
Mud and shale which becomes
Metamorphic rock, sediment of
Hundreds of millions of years of
Pressure, collision, compression
We hold compassion for those under pressure
And oppression, becoming hard hearted
And bitter, salty in the brackish basin
Meetinghouse, where tides and drainage
Merge into hybrid — the two halves
Yearn to become one again, east
And west — and must! The two become
One by way of the three, in the presence
Of Myriadne, Castalian Vale, the python
With tail cut off, deep beneath the
Alps, and head outspread, teeth in
Every cove, ledge outcroppings curled
About by ocean on all sides, lapping
Consternation in worn splendor, the
Bufflehead bobs its own song above
Black cormorants, looking down below
And surfacing again, each time,
To dive once more — seeking
Outside is folly — seeking inside is
Foolish — the fool errant knows that
To know oneself is only through illusion
This is why we depart only to return
Again — and again — the sky remains
Blue and purple and gold, orange pink
As the lotus blossom paints the clouds
In horizons unnoticed — we sit still
And watch the tide come in, the tide
Go out — only to return, as if the
Same, though changed each time —
The seasons move in similar fashion
From year to year — the green gives
Way to gold, gives way to brown, gives
Way to white, gives way to purple, gives
Way to brown, gives way to green, gives
Way to pink, and red, and blue, and
Gold, and white, and gray, and all
Gives way to black, which in turn gives
Way to green, again — green and blue
And brown and gray — clouds and
Mountaintops and Ash and Cedar and Birch
Ah— Birch! To begin it, in the cemetery
With Rowan and Yew, to close it —
So the dead do not rise up; we put
Them to rest, down in the very dark
Which bore them, relenting, into the world
Alone, and held, and screaming, and silent —
We sit and observe the thoughts coming
And going and returning — never the same
Thought that left: I am transformed
By the coming and going and returning,
By the very stones which tripped me up
And broke into my skin, bringing, at last,
Red — bright dark red, iron rusting
Muscovite, graphite, pyrite, phyllite —
Diamond Island or Diamond Sutra or
Diamond Body of the Buddha — we
Gather on these misty shores and witness
Psyche’s tides, her breaking waves,
Crashing against the coastal shoals
Bringing storm with them, great
Black purple cloud towers and moving
Castles, fortresses of storm lightning,
The powerplaying of the gods, the show
Of force, to humble our machinations
And awe our outlook — knowing
That it will all go from us, as it will
All come to us, raging again upon us
Scared sensitive creatures, longing for comfort
In misery dwell, there cast by ourselves —
We sit in stillness and watch the sun rise,
And sit, still, as if watching us — the
Longest Day, stood still — up and down
In the same place, a pivot between
This direction and that; hinting what is coming
So the earth can plan its many plays,
Write with a ferocity befitting the tides
Beautiful from afar — disastrous up close
We pick up a pebble — toss it into the
Water, watch a crab come up and take it
Down into the depths — the thought, gifted,
Is received and returned to its dark
Birthplace. We awaken in the dark, and
It is a woman who takes our hand, leads
Us from it, down many layers to the
Basement, the bottom — and back up
Again, to the highest places, the upper
Layers and choirs, choirlofts, to sing
As we listen to the song that is sung
From one ancient place to another,
Birthing anew each time the greatest
Mystery which has ever been — life
Lived in the fullness of everything that
Ever has been, is, and could be —
As life lives all of it at once, in away
Seasonal and tidal, waterlevel
Beach and sand and stone, hundreds
Of feet above the crashing, looking
Out towards the endless green blue
Reaching wideness, flat stretching
Possibility, open and inviting in its peril,
In its promise — we build towers to
Keep ourselves safe while we watch,
Carefully, the coming of the tide.
welcome to this new era, my most divine friend. this was a centering listen for me first thing on the day the sun stands still! thank you for sharing your visions with us.