A Kind of Divorce

 
I'm still trying to work out which bits are part of the story. After
all, some of it has faded in my mind, and other parts are so clear and
vital, I might be living it now.

Besides, I feel -
uneasy,
and its not like me
suddenly to reconsider,
in terms of a long term
'might be', 'maybe',
the implications of the step
under my foot.

Even the longest journey of all
I began without knowing the end,
and this story is like that.
Perhaps it will be very long,
perhaps not.

The young man came to me
asking for knowledge.
There's no sense in hiding
answers, even when they're partial,
What is not needed has a way of
hiding itself, even when it's plainly there.

then, when I'd answered him,
he asked for copies, something
written down, and when he'd gone
I had the sense of
               a bait.
               but what hook
could a young man hide
that would hold the likes of me?

I've never thought of
withholding 
knowledge before
but
       it's not this knowing
       he wants
only a basket of words to look at
and smile, and know that the knowing
is in there, if he ever cares once more
to look again.

When I said I would, he exhaled
relief.
I felt the trap again, as if it
sprang. For a moment thought of
warning..

But we are not like some of the other families
in the block, which makes me wonder
if we are not rather old.

Think of the Olympians up their mountain.
They keep their mists and vapours
       cool,
       they like their ice dew
       on the cup 
       of ambrosia,
       and a touch of elegance.
       All the delicate spangles
       of Iris' rainbow
       caught and reflected
        to tinge with elevated light
       the sweet chased chalice 
       of a drugged and separate
       immortality. 
 
while I brew beer.. 
       am famous for it, truth to tell, 
       and there
       there's another hook
       for later.
 
       Its as if
        they come down
       to earth,
       only 
       for rough and tumble

        suspicious of Titans
       torturing Prometheus
       who dared to look into the face of Majesty
and bring their fire
        down
         to earth.

Our family was never like them.
Here mists flow from the still liquid earth,
and crystals crust and shiver underfoot,
and heat renders the air to vapour. Our gift
was intermingling self, being together
in a flame, and never thinking twice of warmth.

Why, even so, I never saw my mother's form, entire,
yet heard her when she taught of root and healing leaf.
 Wandered the banks and knew what would be good
for me to eat. 

It was as if my being and my soul
flowed in her motherhood, knew myself, 
Safe in His.  Yet I was free.

Not all felt so, as you would know. Some of her
children, never knowing what they did, were restless.
Felt they couldn't breathe; of course, not knowing
what the price might be.

So heaven was part of us till Rangi must be separate
from Papa, and much was the exertion to part us
from their misty love.

Olympians of course, make much of what they call
'communication'. Iris and Hermes, occasional
messages assuring folk of Sky's long felt concern,
and Hera, lady of the Milky Way, choosing her heroes
to climb up and leave their inner natures
so to live some extra long mortalities..

It all implies a distance we
had to work for, and by what I hear
even before Queen Hera's Courtship
Rhea and Chronos had their problems,
bloodily.
A separating lot, an alien consciousness,
who think they cannot be themselves unless
they are alone.

But us - we lived, knowing ourselves, different
from That which intermingled us, and unaware
of Marduk's slaughter of Tiamut at the city gates
by which men learned control, which was plain
murder,
 called communion chaos -

Oh, we were softer, for we knew ourselves
part of each other, independent, whole, and free
knew in the inner being and the outer love,
our own dependence, lovingly.

Myself, I think this was the 'fall'.
Despite the lifting up, 
The sense of difference as a threat,
no longer some new gift

What kind of separation is a birth?
I hear them yet, Chanting through the mist,
Bracing strong feet
against my mother's breast,
breaking his heart who held her held her
held her to his heart
Rangi must separated be
from Papa's sweetness,
 that we might
 living be..

       "Lift, lift up the south land,
       Upward, upward lift the South Sky
       Each in their own place
       there to rest forever..

       Lift, lift up Rangi
       and with offering made to thee O Rangi,
       We lift thee up!!

       Stand apart the skin
       Be divided the skin
       As the nettle to the skin
       As the Tataramoa to the skin-

       Do not grieve for your partner,
       Do not cry for your husband
       Let the ocean be broken
       Let the ocean be far apart'
       Be you united to the sea,
       Yes to the sea oh earth
 
       Broken asunder are you two.

       Do not grieve,
       Do not continue your love,
       Do not grieve for your partner.."

(from: Reed: Maori myth & legend)

And so they stamped, and chanted, 
stamped their feet upon their mother's flesh
so to encourage energy to break, to part,
to lift, to lift us up oh -
       Papa
       Papa tua nuku,
       mother of us all,

to lift us up .. to

Heave.. Heave.. Heave.

we were born of their intermingled breath,
the power of sky in the cell of earth,
the nerve of loving in the fire of womb,
we were born, and we had not understood
       how could we, till we had felt,
               Papa could feel pain
       and Rangi weep

For the first time rain fell,
       separate
       and cold

       Papa shivering

We did not feel that grief,
but we felt different.
We saw outsides often
as clearly as inner thoughts,
and our young brother lived
unborn
and still inside his mother, Papa -
 never to find release, relief, 
 save in the furnace 
 of explosion. 

       Lift. Lift up Rangi
and our mother's flesh
is bruised beneath your feet
       that sweet flowing 
       restless
mist
       rises to Rangi
        who is become
cold,
       cold in the heart and
                        silent,

Her warmth rose to him,
and the smell of her
       and for the first time
did he feel
       desire
               for what was always
part of him 
       before,

so did rain fall,
       out of a cloud
which broke, where it before
embraced and held us whole
and all her love and his
still mingled
       had become
               yearning
 

The name which is not spoken 
is become two streams 
of life, 
long, long after creation's birthing. 

And where, where is Papa's soul and heart, 
and where is Rangi's mind and flesh? 

Oh Papa, 
Papa tua nuku 
       mother
       of us
       All