Willed, Done

Posted in notes, nothing special by maggie on 2016/11/30

A myriad poems I have written.

Many more I have spoken or sang without writing down. And many more I have fragments of, waiting to be tied 
to the rest. And countless more I have seen or thought of or dreamed or known to be there. All within reach. But 
these myriad I have committed to ink here and in my other books.

A myriad poems I have written during the past decade. Slightly longer, as a month is to the cycle of the moon, 
as the circumference of a circle is to the line across its center, as a man's ten is to a woman's three times three. 
A myriad poems I have written during the past four thousand days.

Four thousand days ago today I lost my first muse to a cruelly abusive early death. She left me pieces of poems 
she had to leave behind, and she sent me to her mentor. A decade ago today after I had found in him a mentor 
my own, he pointed me toward a casting call that led me to my new muse. One thousand nine hundred days 
ago today my mentor began a new life after walking through death for us a dozen times.  Forty four months ago 
today I lost another kindred spirit and partner in crime for my poetry and my devotions, again to an untimely death.  
And in those four thousand days and through that decade and with these past nineteen hundred days and their
forty four months, a myriad poems have I breathed through my pen.

Credit Nancy for the fire. 
Credit Adrien for the discipline. 
Credit Sara for the breath.  
And for the life and the love, credit one who wishes not to known.

Still in grief after losing Nancy, ten years ago I initially had every intention of quickly following her, after first 
obtaining from Adrien the archives she had entrusted to him to be held for her daughter. Adrien sensed the risk 
I posed to myself and pointed me to a 100-poem challenge, then specifically bringing to my attention a casting 
call made almost simultaneous to my challenge launch. I met Sara as I was working on those 100 poems.  
The rituals instilled by that poetry challenge and the spell woven by that casting call and the fun I had with Sara 
saved my life and reignited my heart.  Those 100 poems were and will always be the core of the myriad I have 
written around them.

Those 100 poems I began at this very moment a decade ago, I dedicated to Nancy and the faith she and I shared. 
I wrote those 100 exclusively in sonnet form, reflecting the fortnight of the days in half a moon's cycle, from new 
moon to full moon in the odd-numbered sonnets, then from full moon returning to new moon in each succeeding 
even-numbered sonnet. Reflecting the continuity of the moon's passages, each sonnet was connected to both its 
predecessor and its successor, as in a close mirror. With the full circle of sonnets representing 50 moons, the 
images I worked with were designed to approximate a 4-year leap cycle centered around the moment I first met 
Nancy, although I doubled up on images and memories and expectations to suit each fortnight's particular timing. 
I wove in cycles of our stars, made love to many of Nancy's own poems, collaborated with Sara, and blended my 
voice with my muses both old and new as best I could.  Throughout, the ritual served me for devotion to our one 

Those who choose to wish me ill have falsely accused me of speaking in riddles, of employing poetry's holy language 
of metaphor to conceal. Our faith has held our knowledge in secret from the earliest. Such secrets are not fashioned 
to withhold knowledge nor to kill it, but to preserve it and to believe it and to give it new life from one to another. Those 
who choose not to accept me for who I am have falsely laughed at my faith and made fun of my words as if they were 
mere games. Our faith has been rejected by countless of every people. I do not write seeking publication or audience, 
no hidden agenda. So also I crave the acceptance of none, not even that of my mentor nor my muse, none save the 
favor of our Muse.

For reasons related to my rituals and for those with whom I have been writing, I consider this moment as the midpoint 
of a 20-year cycle, as also the midpoint of an 8,000-day period of my writing, embracing 3,800-day periods and 88-
month periods of life and love.

As dreamed, so willed.
As willed, so created.
As created, so done.
As done, so blessed.

Tagged with: , , , ,

One Response

Subscribe to comments with RSS.

  1. maggie said, on 2016/12/02 at 07:38

    I have been asked — challenged? — about other crucial events and people in my life and writing, how those fit with the circles I have drawn here. I wonder maybe that the question might not be so much for to know, but rather for to doubt, for to find a flaw.

    One other reason our faith has from the beginning held so much in secret has been protective — there are certain powers that present a threat. It’s not a matter of courage nor of transparency. We do not fear the danger nor seek escape by pretending not to be who we are. But just as it would be foolhardy for me to openly post my Social Security number and certain other private information about myself here at this place, so too some of the other facts that would complete this post.

    My friends already know the other wheels, and how as intricately they fit with those I here have disclosed. Those who know the moment, the three attributes and the way everything blessed connects, they will see without me needing to say.

Sincere comment by readers who accept responsibility for their words will earn my appreciation and response.

Please log in using one of these methods to post your comment: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: