I’m exhausted and exhilarated both, in spring. Coming through what – in Germany – is called Frühjahrsmüdigkeit (literally spring fatigue).
So I am about to treat myself to a solitary writing retreat, here at Dhruvaloka under the North Star, five years since I came to my first solitary at Portgower just a dozen miles up the A9.
Yet not solitary, because I shall be joining – by Zoom – a Buddhist retreat at Adhisthana, called ‘Friendship: Duty, Delight and Freedom’,
It’s my second virtual retreat there this year, following ‘Individuality: Self-contained and Boundless’ in February, where I joyed to find – by delightful serendipity – some of my friends from Cambridge Buddhist Centre. And we had been placed in a group led by a close friend from Triratna Highlands Sangha (sangha means ‘fellowship’ or ‘community’).
Meanwhile here is a new poem, birthed from the chilly viscerality of living towards a northern May, emerging through & into the shock, the pandaemonium, the cacophony of spring tides & terns on a boreal shore.
Blessings of Earth, Air, Fire & Water to you all.
Full Beltane (for thee, Raven) I found myself, then, at the heart of the mandala by whatever devious, delirious root it took to draw, from deep within the earth, the nourish- meant for we, and we alone. I found myself, there, at the here-and-now moment- ousness of grace, no race to reach the centre; placenta wavering like the trembling of catkins on a numinous breeze of a May morning, when with ease the wallflower opens, and blushes with all her blood-red fragrance upon and upon the pregnant lambkin-land where the maimed crow, too, learns to ride his song © Kathy Labrum McVittie 26 April 2021