haiku5

“One day I’ll be Hawk
soaring above canyon walls.
For now I just watch.“

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Daily Haiku by Marshall Deerfield

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Joshua-Tree-Haiku-OPTIMIZED

“The mysticism
of now. Trapped forever in
desert paradise”

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Daily Haiku by Marshall Deerfield

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(source: marshalldeerfield.tumblr.com)

The Flight of the Crow

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It’s amazing how quickly one can skip across the country. One day acting a fool in the desert of Joshua Tree, the next day climbing desert mountains until finally i’m crossing the border of New Mexico and diving through colors so grand the sky is like nirvana unimaginable (to think some people see this every day and think nothing of it), then pulling over and sleeping in Pueblo ruins alongside ghosts of an old alien culture that transformed themselves long ago into the crows that follow my car to every rest stop and grand vista pull off. They bark at me loud orders and i think of something my friend Mariana said about how they signify that i’m going to say things that people won’t like. I see them as elders and they guide my dreams. I’m on a heist like in the old westerns, only somehow i’ve conned a moving company out of a truck loaded with gold money and with a crew we’re driving out of the city. I’m swimming in a lake of liquid lava and out of the flames of my own body a falcon rips to the surface soaring over us with red and purple colors streaking the skies behind her. I make love to a beatnik princess and after lovemaking we talk about the change of guard and how someday we’ll settle in the country and grow our own food but first we’ll make love more in our dreams together.

Did I tell you about how I followed two crows around in Joshua Tree? I was dashing through some boulders and moon temples and I heard one of them cawing but they kept flying further out of reach until finally I hiked through some arches and out of a wash to a clearer view of the mountain where they were gliding around. They cawed to me so I started climbing. The sides of the mountain were exploding with fragments of rose quartz as I got higher and at the peak I found a few dozen rock balances from past wanderers. Now the crows were below me and I slowly descended to where they sat laughing and pruning their feathers atop a giant round boulder kind of like a skull. They let me walk right up to them and they just sat there staring at me. Now was my turn to make silly noises so I howled and wooped  and yahooed as much as I could think to. Here’s where it echoed, surprisingly out into the valley and I wondered how, when I was so high and the ground so far away. It drove me practically crazy and I kept testing it. My woop followed by seconds of delay and then it coming back to me faintly almost as if my ears were playing tricks on me. The crows just stared at me some more, slightly alarmed but more just blase. I think they were just surprised to be cawed at by this silly ape below them. Not usually used to anyone paying attention to their own voices. Eventually they flew off and I caught one on film for a future TV installation. Cute couple gliding away and back into the boulders to bother some other tourist.

I wake in the morning and I’m as cold as a ghost myself with frost permeating from my blue lips and caking on the tent ceiling. I watch the sunrise and watch her colors streak all across the sky evenly filling it with the fire of my dreams. I do a quick sun salutation but i’m shivering like a wild man so I pack up and take the Willie Jeep route and head for Santa Fe grabbing at the sage brush with my hand held outstretched through the open window. The crows are around every bend, but i’m not paying attention to them anymore as the Rio Grande grows into a Grand Canyon beside me. Eventually there are snow covered mountains, Pueblo ruins, and painted canyons on every horizon. I pass Santa Fe (thinking of my friends there, bummed to miss them) and roll up to Taos taking the main street in, happy to see nothing has changed. I park at the Spot Cafe where all my last adventures began, and immediately feel like a wanderer returned home from the season of travels. Here a pretty punk chick smiles at me as I enter and an old hippy lady tells me, “Oh, number 11. That’s  a good number. The number for ‘peace’ in the I Ching.” when I receive my number for my breakfast sandwich. There’s a group sitting in the doorway and they remind me of everything I love about people in the mountains. Earthy vibes, with a little bit of elfish wonderment,  but here there’s also the vibe of the desert rat and a wild-eyed hippiness that got here 50 years ago and got so excited they stripped off all their clothes and dove right in. Soon i’m basking in hot springs, letting everything around me drift away and loosing my sense of identity. That flow of the earth breaking away at whatever worries I may have for heading home. Soon i’ll spend time with friends of the heart that I made the last time I drove through here. And then from there tomorrow I’ll make the last dash for the east where more friends and a series of readings awaits me.

The Flight of the Crow

The Desert Jester and the Joshua Tree

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The desert fool sits between a Joshua Tree and a pile of boulders. He thinks of himself as a Lone Ranger type in this land of very little spoken word. His golden mask made for a masquerade, but seemingly appropriate for this lanky bandit lost in his own revelry. The sun warms his smile as he sits there and ponders what it must be like to be one of these humble trees, with heads and arms all contorted in several different directions. So rooted in the ground so as to let the madness soar in every which way above the earth up towards the heavens.

He stands up and begins to contort his body in its own natural way. Raising his arms above his sombrero in a sun salutation and his legs into some kind of binded anchor. He lifts his wbole weight up onto his tippy toes and accelerates his gestural dance until he himself has sprouted several more arms and heads.

Here the magic tells him it is very normal to want to pass on and be reborn a tree. Even the desert crow and the wandering coyote entertain the idea. Still one must be very wild to grow in the desert.

The Desert Jester and the Joshua Tree

Meditation on Rock Hopping

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Our hearts give to the earth with fragrant airs
We catch the ground
Hesitant feet letting go of their fear
Little mountains
Gentle giants
To and fro
The humble flow
Taking us outside of our safety zone
In a simple meditation
That proves our bodies are able
Our minds are sound
There is nothing so simple as lying still
Atop the Buddha full boulder
An epic in rock temples
The solid ground

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Meditation on Rock Hopping