Today is the birthday of Stephen Harrod Buhner, who joined the ancestors last December. I am often not so good at remembering birthdays, but I never forgot his, because it is the day before mine.
Stephen taught me more than I can express about engaging the living world in ways rooted in the heart. This poem emerged from our correspondence in the final year of his life. It was my honor to share it with him then, and it feels right to share it with you all today as I remember and honor him:
It should have been
beneath Redwoods
or ancient Oaks
that you told me
of the Elder voices
whose mycelial tendrils
are the web
that dreamed the world
and how they came
to many species before us
and will come to many more
after we were gone,
the rhythmic, resonant voice
that taught me the ways
of incantation that quiet
the talking mind enough
for older things to be heard
should have echoed
through air redolent with
rain and moss and rich soil,
but I give thanks for the spores
carried on the wind
from your fruiting body
preparing to return
to the everything
that dreamed you
that I breathe in now
and hold close in my chest
that I might breathe them
to the ones who come after,
life continuing in the face
of insurmountable odds,
finding shape and voice
again and again and again.
Perfect.
Beautiful.