Under the sequoia

I have already mentioned the visit to the old church. While I was there, I sat under the sequoia and let things happen.

And what happened was that a raven flew over me. For the first time, I saw the bird's silhouette clearly and could make out the diamond shape of the tail and know that I was looking, I was really looking, at a raven.

I felt that I looked into the bird's eye as he or she flew over and that the world said, Morrigan.

This is it, said the world: write about death. About the generosity of dying and the inevitability of being part of the cycle.

I saw a snake, as though this snake were angry, the dragon of lore, striking, with the humans, St. George, fighting it off. And the message was this: you don't accept the cycle, the give as well as the take, and so you tear the Ouroboros from its circular form into a beast that can and will destroy you. You think you have the beating of the dragon, but that is hubris. The dragon always wins. The only way to be at peace with the dragon is to reinstate the circular nature of being, the wheel of life. The dragon's fury arises when it is denied its right and its right is the graceful acceptance of death.

A time for living, yes, and a time too for dying.

That is what happened under the sequoia.