TRANSWOVEN

21AE61A2-B62E-4751-85D0-209957B8B575A single charge—
from fabric too bright to grasp
weave your riven and ribboned robe
from the seasons
of your dusk to dusk
and your dawn to dawn.

The shocks of the age have you stunned,
it is known.

They’ve pulled at your threads
and frayed your gown,
and a dark deed or two sewn
in your sleeve can be seen—
all just proving you were here.

But by Trust’s holy vow,
be your own tailor
and wear your true cloak.

No one can stitch into the cloth of time
that original star
like you.

No one.

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THE WIDEST HUES

6116B67D-C45B-408C-A274-7A15369D8AB0A Vision, seeing as much
with my feet
and my stomach pulling me up
the fickle hill
and over

While the web is weaving split infinity, each to each
I see what wrecks and wings await
at every step
well-absorbing me as much
as I absorb them

When Goodfellow hermit thrush,
that Grand Inquisitor, invites:

Have the exquisite marks formed upon you yet? No?

Then keep opening—
strive ye with death
and moonly silence

Not beyond despair,
but spanning both dark
and bright buffet

Form and fill
your unique dimensions, earthedly

stretched just so taut
and ache
the good ache, Dyeing
yourself in the widest hues

—Ryan Van Lenning

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You can get my books RE-MEMBERING: Poems of Earth & Soul, and High-Cooing Through the Seasons: Haiku From the Forest through your local bookstore, on Amazon or Indiebound, Link in bio. My book of mystical poems, Silence Begins Here, and book of love and erotic poetry, Wild Rose Hips, will be out later this year. Follow me @ryanreturntotheearth for ecosensual mythopoetic inspiration and @wildnatureheartfor my heart-centered nature connection & 1-on-1 inner/outer wilderness work.

 

TO LOSE YOURSELF IN A MASTER PATTERN

05BB6694-037D-4DC0-B107-B8C42B4EC9EA.jpegA mystery larger than the Milky Way
lies at the heart of your secret longing

That stalk born in you from the cup of night
drinks daily from the moist and merry met

Make no argument with dawn,
for it is your own stubborn face
writ with play at any cost

If you turn it all over and find
that you were merely a mirage
on the old coin,
don’t fret

Merely open your heartpockets
to find true wealth

When the great buzz
of the techno sky is Unlearnt
the June moon’s melody laps at your ear-shore

And the low hum of lover earth
begins to seed in you the original song, singing:

Your name is cognate with Mystery
and rhymes with every bloom and crooked flow.

-Ryan Van Lenning

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You can get my books RE-MEMBERING: Poems of Earth & Soul, and High-Cooing Through the Seasons: Haiku From the Forest through your local bookstore, on Amazon or Indiebound, Link in bio. My book of mystical poems, Silence Begins Here, and book of love and erotic poetry, Wild Rose Hips, will be out later this year. Follow me @ryanreturntotheearth for ecosensual mythopoetic inspiration and @wildnatureheartfor my heart-centered nature connection & 1-on-1 inner/outer wilderness work.

FACTORY MEN

55F5AA90-8296-4653-85D1-DFBF45A81778A poem about my dad & me, our different professions and ways of being in the world. I guess it gets at my struggle both to live up to him, and struggle against him-that universal archetypal drama. My dad worked at a factory* that made engine component parts for most of his working life, which put a roof over my head and food on the table. On Sunday’s too he got up early, “What did I know, what did I know
of love’s austere and lonely offices?”**

Thank you dad for everything.
——————————————

By the factory clock he walked
in mustache, flannel, Levi’s jeans
to cut & measure engine parts
and perhaps himself it seemed

With that a man a living made,
his son am I in different trade

What labor can a father see
within a forest poet’s verse?

Do I lay my lines less shaped
than steel pistons driving force?

Are words less needed than the steel
to make the world’s wheels whirl?

Which is more—elusive words, or
the driving engine’s massive roar?

The car was first a dream of man
Before the iron hot was poured

No less the word that’s first in mind
Before it lands upon the page

To do whatever poems can do
To guage whatever words can guage

And so the valves they rise and fall
How well depends on how they’re cut:

Scent of oil, scent of ink
One of pitch, one of grease
One machine, the other mud
Both take their share of blood

Even Rilke’s father wanted
A son to be a civil clerk
An honest job with honest pay
But what if he had had his way?

No sonnets or the elegies
Crafted in his atalier
No letters on a poet’s plight
Or other gems that he would write

If ‘a fact is the sweetest dream
That labor knows’*** by his own hand
Then sweetest dream in poet’s mind
Becomes a fact by poet’s pen

If strained relations seem to be
Between the metered form & me
Between the father & his son
It’s because of how it’s seen
This world of facts, how it’s sung

To craft a final form or shape—
What tool of note can you name?
It takes as much of “be” as “do”
To make a poem come to you

Is a stanza much less a craft
Than an engine component part?
Does my meter measure less than
that which makes a motor start?

Is labor not paid, work at all?
And if not work, then what’s it called?
Can you eat a poem, make it tall
To live inside its flimsy walls?

The woods are where I live & walk
Set to quite a different clock
Yet in my factory daily dream
In mustache, flannel, Levi’s jeans

—————————————-
*Factory ultimately derives from Latin roots meaning Fact, maker, and to make, to do, to perform.

**What did I know, what did I know
of love’s austere and lonely offices?” Is from Robert Hayden’s Those Winter Sundays.

***the line ‘a fact is the sweetest dream
That labor knows’ is from Robert Frost’s Poem ‘Mowing’

Inner Wilderness Work

4689267C-2493-4318-8EDA-2F702B643B6B.jpegI love the work I do! I just finished another 2-hour Earth-rooted mentoring session with a new client. It is such an honor to be able to help provide a safe container for Whole Self exploration and witness the soul journey as people come into deeper belonging to themselves and nature. It’s gonna take each of us becoming our full selves and sharing our gifts to transition in this time of the Great Turning. The beautiful wild coastal landscape evoked the inner tide and walking at one’s growing edge.

Trusting your inner guide. Courage to take meaningful action. Creating Ritual for marking transition and celebration. Finding your own flow and rootedness. Leaning into the hardest spaces. Connecting to the inner child/healer/masculine/feminine. Clarifying your purpose. Dancing on the growing edge. Own the shit parts. Cultivating facets of the whole self from the four directions. Shedding old stories that no longer serve. Deepening your ecological self.

These are some of the things I live for!! Like anybody, I have a lot to learn, but I love holding space, deep listening, and gently guiding. 1-on-1 work is about a third of my @wildnatureheart work (the others are reconnection workshops and Wilderness trips-and the Wild Nature Heart Academy soon). One of my specialties is facilitating a series of inner/outer wilderness sessions, culminating in a solo wilderness ceremony that we co-create.

If some of these themes resonate with you and you’re curious about working with me, drop me a line at ryan@wildnatureheart.com, I’d love to have a free chat with you. Everybody who works with me over several sessions also receives my two earth poetry books. I currently have 1 in-person spot available (in Humboldt County) and two remote (via video chat) spots available. Find out more about working with me in 1-on-1 Earth-Rooted Mentoring/Inner Wilderness Guiding.
-Ryan @ryanreturntotheearth