I turn 47 today and my mind and heart smell of the celtic salmon story (http://www.yourirish.com/folklore/salmon-of-wisdom). It’s a season of life when one turns their face towards home. Spawning takes on a mythic reality beyond parenting. One sees that there is far more to leaving behind oneself. In the natural order of life, we usher in life at the beginning of our adult journey. We provide and protect, we give ourselves to instilling the vision and values of life and eternity with youthful vigor but without the wisdom of age. Until you start passing through the zenith of youth, you can’t see that the last half of life is far more youthful than the first. You understand that writing the fairy tales is much more childlike than reading them. I hope to scribe and bard, more than read…on the road back to eden.
Fishing for Fintan
by Eric Blauer
I stand on the edge of yesterday,
lapping away the thawing ground
at my feet.
I hear the echoes, Homeric voices,
feel the Herculean deeds,
reverberating through my consciousness,
a fly strumming on a spider’s thread.
Elysium cascades upon me,
Valhalla’s lighted hall is not yet full,
Zion’s gates of pearl stand open,
and Fintan the salmon returns,
again and again for the seeker.
The fires of Olympus still burn,
pages like torches lighting the way,
as thundered hammers crack open,
sleeping men in stone,
and the ambrosia or truth,
touches the lips of Adam,
Leaping like horses,
the river riders return,
upwards, onward they throw themselves wildly,
mercilessly driven by the ancient call of home,
the ruin of the run,
each scale torn, gash received,
a mark of divine love and light,
At the pool, I sit,
sucking the thumb of wisdom,
the scent of salmon,
my anointing oil.
the colors of my scales,
my painted dreams,
wash backwards to the sea,
the way of return.