Poem # 19 "Oregon Trip I: Camp Myrtlewood"

Hello Steemers! Haven't been on in a while, but I am excited to share some new stuff.
I recently spent a week in Oregon and I am about to post three poems I wrote while there. I am also writing a blog post about the trip that should be ready to share on here this weekend. Here is the first poem. Hope you enjoy!

Oregon Trip, I: Camp Myrtlewood

I am by the fire in
The room where I drummed
And where Merry Titus opened my
third eye. This very room. This very fire.

The coffee mugs the rivermoss and moss on trees and the green on light green moss.
Green the color of growth and the color of the heart chakra as well.
This time, my fifth time,
I built the fire.
The times before, I was
Learning who I am. I was growing.
Did I know that then?
What do I not know now?
If I am his friend, which I am, I will help him.

The search for the theme of the trip
Continues. Coming home –
Seeing old friends –
Do I feel more myself here?
Is my rebellious nature more pronounced here?
Fasting is just a feeling. Hunger is no enemy of mine.

People are older than before
My face is fuller than before.
Now there’s ash upon the floor
But no cobwebs on the door.
Sky is greyer than before –
But we all know what that’s for –
Fat clouds hold the moss in store
And keep camp green forever more.

The ancient love of nature –
Trees will judge you not.
The river’s flowing faster
But the fire’s just as hot.

The rain falls when it wants to
In the cycles of the land,
Gently wakes up and confronts you
Then lets you glimpse the master plan.

Time to tend the fire. Time to whisper grace.
At least I’m not a liar. At least I’m in this place.