Old Ones Humming

There is a place where emerald mountains,
nearly meet the waters of the lake.
Their firm unwavering presence
murmurs constant reassurance
to the ones who live between,

tiny humans
on the narrow strip of land along the shore,
beings who do not tune
to any scale but theirs,
who rarely hear the Old Ones hum;
who barely hear the waters, in duet,
braid melody of love.

Still the softly greening mountains offer
the steadiness of their procession
of mounded breast and belly.
“I am here for you,” the round hills say.
“I recognize you dear ones at my feet.
Feel my quiet, lasting love.”

Today my ears are opening
to the blessing of my days between
the mountains and the sacred lake.
I begin to hear the susurration,
of the mountain Teachers.
their forests undisturbed and virgin.

Through the organ of my skin,
today I hear their thrumming love.
It hauls me to the moment.
Everything not here, not now,
made ash by their attending murmur,
I come present, with the presence
of the ancient, emerald mountains.

©Susa Silvermarie 2018

photography by Susa Silvermarie

photography by Susa Silvermarie

Above Ajijic

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