Solitude
Morrill
Click for meditationRegarding "Morrill"
Every autumn for 21 years,
I went up to a cabin in the woods of
Morrill, Maine. It was a wonderful
Experience which I will never
Forget, and it is where I wrote scores
And scores of some of my
Favorite poetry. Seven years ago I
Took a sabbatical from going up,
But every fall I continued to
Feel the pull of the spiritual
Silence and majesty of those Maine
Woods. This autumn, after
My seven year hiatus, I
Returned for several nights
To those woods. It seemed a little
Strange for me, because
Although the woods appeared
Essentially the same, they
Did appear to have changed in
Subtle ways. It is hard
To explain. The more I have
Thought about this,
Though, the more I have
Come to realize that the true
Changes and differences
Were with me, and not the
Woods, and this is the theme of
All the poetry I wrote
While I was just up there. The
Poems try to put their
Finger on “something,” and the
“Something” is that the
Twenty one straight years
Were a distinct, unique period
In time, and performed a
Specific role in my life’s
Journey, and thus, when the
Woods and I saw each
Other again, we each took a
“Double-take” at each
Other – in pause and in
Shock – and I realized the truth
Of Thomas Wolfe’s saying,
“You can’t go home again,” and
Find either home and/or
Yourself the way things
Once were…
Leo Carroll
December 2, 2019
Ode to Morrill
You watch, waiting in
Silence, as if expecting I might
Have something to say, while I, in turn,
Watch you, thinking your
Branches to be both changed
And unchanged, your faces the same
Tho’ not the same…
Woods
Gray came up’n me,
Cold whipped the trunks of my soul,
Wind beat about me, and the
Woods whispered that “old” had crept
Into my snowy bones.
Moment
Still no movement, silence
Has even stopped…branches which are
Bent remain bent…branches
Which are straight guide my gaze
To their tops…
But then something flies
Chirping, and I would describe it if I
Could, but its feathers are
Too far away, and so I resume my
Autumn mood…
O, Angel of God
“O, Angel of God, my guardian dear…,”
And thus I begin my catechism’s
Childhood prayer, and then
In the silence, a distinct silence
Cold and white, a chorus rises up,
And chickadees alight…
Calling Out
“Where are you, Memory,
Where can I find you in the midst
Of this snowy field lying in
My mind and up’n this ground…?
Everything looks the same,
But my mind tells me
Something has changed…!”
Requiem
I returned to these woods to
Re-walk and live my old memories, and
Found some of them moved and
Wondered to where they
Might be keeping…?
And so I mused aloud,
“Is there not anything here
I can depend?!”
And then all my old
Haunts and shadows looked
O’er at me, and I knew
I had crossed the
Threshold to an e’er
Approaching requiem.
Morrill Road
Click for meditationRegarding "Morrill Road"
There is a road, a magical,
Spiritual one, which leads me into the
Woods in Morrill, Maine.
It is not like the fantastical
Yellow Brick Road of “Wizard of Oz”
Fame, but every time I visit
These Maine woods I travel down this
Road as I descend deeper
And deeper into a “different”
World – – into a world which is as
Different from my normal
Existence as could possibly be…
I recently traversed this
Road once again as part of
Returning for several
Nights to a cabin in these
Woods, which at one time
I had visited annually
Every autumn for 21
Straight years. As I’ve
Detailed already in another
Associated meditation, there was
“Something” which was
Not the “same” this
Abbreviated time around.
The biggest contributor
To things seeming changed
Were not the woods,
Themselves, but me…!
For I had changed, as much
If not more than any
Tree or branch or stream
Or animal or anything I would
See…! And this change
Played out as I
Reflected upon those
Things I encountered, such as a
Remnant, colonial-era
Homestead and its
Surviving cellar hole…and a
Myriad of other things
I once knew years and years ago. …
To re-visit these things, I
Had descended what on a
Topographical map is only referred
To as a “Jeep Trail,” but in
My mind is a one-of-a kind
Portal Into a deep,
Spiritual world of unimaginable
Eye-openings and magical
Goings-on…
Leo Carroll
December 9, 2019
Jeep Trail
What a wonderful road,
Its ruts and rocks and grooves painted like
A mural up’n the melting snow!
It winds like a pathway
Interconnecting
Spiritual things…and oh the
Wisdom of its compass
Heading…especially when I
Am filled with the anticipation of
Where its portal leads…!
Thanksgiving
E’en aft all the glorious
Things this earth has already seen,
Can still be found such a
Lovely, holy road, and it leads
To a blessed place where
Seated I can witness as all about
To the Lord sings…
Bottle Rock
Click for meditationRegarding "Bottle Rock"
In the frenetic world we live,
It is almost impossible to
Take a timeout to catch a breath…
To recalibrate…to reset, to
Just breathe and not worry about
What comes next…There is,
However, a wonderful place in the
Woods of Maine. It is bare-boned in
Appearance, but is a spot of
Stabilizing, spiritual reassurance.
It is located near a quicksand
Swamp and within a stone’s
Throw of centuries-old, colonial-era
Rock walls. And, all of this
Enclosed by thick woods…It is
An ancient, glacial boulder
Which one day an ice
Sheet got tired of pushing!
And there it still sits, and
On the day of this poem was
Covered in snow, but in other years
Was where I sat with a friend
To talk but mostly just to feel the
Silence…and on one day was
Rewarded when a snow owl
Alighted and watched us
Quench our thirst with a beer,
And then solemnly bury the two
Bottles ‘neath leaves where
We could revisit them every year.
As it says in the Creation story in the
Book of Genesis, “God saw
That it was good,” and so it still
Is in Morrill, Maine, where a simple
Boulder provides an enduring
Backdrop for remembrance and
Resurrection and friendship.
And it stands where for
Millennia it has stood,
Where a glacier got tired
And Yahweh said, “This is good.”
Leo Carroll
January 14, 2020
Blank stares the old rock,
Plain in its face but wizened and hoary
In its thought, secluded, not
Far from a quicksand swamp, but a
Safe haven, simple in looks, and
Faithful, too, dependably strong against
What the world would throw,
Always there, an anchor against
Cascading, overwhelming change,
A place where two sets of
Shoulders could sit and lean and
To the rock not have to explain, and
Where a snow owl in agreement
Was once seen to alight, and
Witness a toast being raised and
Then two bottles beneath leaves
Being laid, where year after year they
Could be revisited and
Resurrected…
Beloved
Click for meditationRegarding "Beloved"
There is a place upon a
Beach, a low-slung cottage
Attached to tufts of sea grass and
Sand on a Whidbey Island bay.
It is brown and small and
Unassuming, a perfect place,
Especially if someone was looking
To lay their head upon a
Pillow safe. It looked
To me like a way station,
Where a pilgrim could
Pause before proceeding…
Proceeding onward to heaven,
Carried up a golden
Staircase by gilded rays
Shining through
Clouds overhead.
This way station would
Serve as a rest stop for
One final smoothing
Of the edges of the soul,
Where one could sleep, pray,
And gather the energy
For one final push to
Return – – to where we all
Started and to where we are
All invited back to go.
Leo Carroll
November 7, 2019
Jewel
…And to think I was
Shown all this – – a breathless
View of heaven, of a
Wondrous portal into peace’s bliss – –
And lying below a little
Cottage, snuggled close
To earth like a
Supplicant, and
Me metaphorically
Cloistered its walls inside, from
Where prayers could be
Whispered and
Straight to God’s ears
Uninhibited fly…
Cottage
What is it about this
Little place, something familiar and
Secure I think…? Is it perhaps
I’ve been here once before, and
Under the tutelage of the
Healing Light was bathed
And brought forth?
Yes, I feel like I do
Know this place, simple as
It is – – and pure – – a
Cottage I would like,
No pretense allowed,
Just a hermitage
To house the silent
Prayers of the lame,
Sick, and halt…and those
Lost but mercifully
Now found…
Cottage Re-Visited
Could it be this little
Cottage is a microcosm of me,
A hermitage huddled at shores edge,
Hesitant to lift e’en its eyes,
Lest they be seen,
Hunkered down its head,
Its rooftop fast and secured,
But bathed, nevertheless, bathed,
Because Creation welcomes
Each pilgrim at its door?
Being
Click for meditationRegarding "Being"
I am coming
To realize that in this
Wood I am seeing my reflection,
Everywhere, in the form
Of leaves and trees
And inaudible
Whisperings, animate
And inanimate, in God’s
Image, all things
And me, beauty
Surrounded by beauty,
Change surrounded by change,
Life and death
In tandem, and seen
E’en in the faces of
Brittle hues on mottled,
Genuflected, leafy
Knees…
Leo Carroll
August 7, 2019
So here I am,
Where immersed in this
Grove of almighty
Pines and beech I sit,
Peaceful, as long as lasts the
Glory of this instant…
In sync I am, and putting up
No resistance like
Autumn leaves – simply
A pilgrim on the path
To crinkled dust, and
Carried by the wind on
The carpet of
Creation’s love…