Green Goddess, Martins, Lotus Vision
Regally, palms filled with light,
you summon, yet I fear you,
because you command
I abandon defensive posturing.
I step back, terrified
of being issued a one way ticket
to an unknown destination.
A perennial refugee, I live as if
I were a hermit in an outpost garrison,
composing poems of exile, my songs
echoing amongst living trees,
but falling silent in their foliage.
You enthrall with gleaming presence.
In forests You gaze at me as infants do.
Insects under leaves collect
particles of light; birds chatter
of standstill moments when then
reaches now; rainbows stream
like rivers in the evening sky.
I shall no longer thwart
my heart in its calls for beauty,
or my soul of trust in, and thrust to be
an inseparable part of
this emerald world that is our home.
Regally, palms filled with green,
you summon, and I,
your fearless forest child, obey.
From Africa where tribal drums beat
you précis tales of travel into brisk banter.
You are heralds, impressing
the indefinable with fleeting presence.
Growing softer and streamlined
my body shrinks. Extending
feathers and tail, limbering in curving air,
I close gaps between desire and action.
With these talents to quarter
the globe, have I acquired the wisdom
to be free? Am I having a dream or is
the dream having me?
Meticulously we have turned clay into pottery
to hold and carry love, that most precious
and universal solvent found at rainbow’s end.
Of course, we made our urns water-tight,
sealed and decorated with brilliant glazes.
Yet with continual labour of containing
and transporting, the vessels scuffed.
Eventually we ditched them by river’s bank.
Lapped by currents, investigated by
beaks of birds, rims split, and weeds grew.
But water like love,
being inside at the same time
as outside, knows no containment.
As abandoned pots gradually returned to mud,
that heady with knowing, reached skyward.
From this elevation they saw a grand scheme
of ponds, fields, potters and basket-weavers,
the industry of civilizations, all temporary
containers of divine wholeness, creating
and dissolving individual boundaries of being.
By Misha Norland
Misha's legacy is immense, his footprints carved in stone in a myriad homeopathic nooks and crannies. He left a wealth of riches for every student, every homeopath, for every school - and so he will be remembered with the greatest of ease. Above all he left his sons to carry on his healing traditions.
Misha was our father, our grandfather, our beacon. Misha was the last bridge between the old and new eras of homoeopathy, yet always a pioneer. Misha was the founder of our schools. Misha was the face of peace and tranquility, the heart of love and poetry, the mind of metaphor.
Misha had a magical way of bringing joy every time he walked into the classroom. No one who met him could forget his smile. And I'll never forget the advice and the lessons he taught me. His wisdom will forever guide me in my homeopathic practice. Misha was a man who set a lasting impression on everyone he met. His deep laugh and kind eyes warmed the room and brought life into the most boring subjects in the class. He was a great teacher and a dependable friend.
Dear Misha, Dear old friend, So vital So full of Love, So curious, So good friendship, So loyal. Thanks for being in my life since 1984. 36 years. We connect sure in the next realm.