Benediction, Sanctity Of The Red Feathers, Who Awake Awakens?

Kneeling beneath
the circling hawks
makes one feel

Purest winds
red-wreathed soul,
aspire upon the high
hosts crowns;

We cannot know-
We cannot see-
We the weighted-
We the earth-

The sky is ocean of dry waves
purest laments;
sung from her halos,
and circled, white, her angels.

the circling



are those
who see,
and are kneeling seen,

circles in
the open

To The


About Epoch Awareness. Writer, J.D. Hughes

I write. Do you read? I write. I write words: Carefully and consistently, and chaotically, from the deep pulsar unison of the still mind (or the violent undoing of the still mind); Sometimes I resemble Robert Zimmerman (my hair uncut, my mind uncut, all unregulated thoughts, wind haphazard along a pale american brow too). Sometimes, Sometimes words are fragments of paragraphs and you find them eschew in and from time, and with care, in the long ribbon fabric or one single unsealed cosmic spiral, and then they burn wild like black-holes ( birthing voids built the milky way); Still there are words so heavy and pure that they anchor fast the mind to the mere memory of their syllables in the quiet echoes, in and around, the deep violet sea of the questioning readers inner-mind. I write sentences: In strands, like silk, or links in chains, or diamond arranged compressed carbon coal electrons, or the frequency of more intimately woven atoms; In intricate quilts of reason, and warmly glowing sheets of cotton fiction that cover you at 4 am on a Sunday (with the sun bright and a bastard, soon to be hitting your face from the slats in the window shades); I write paragraphs, and as such I consider it a duty of the considerate and conflicted human to consider their conflicts human, and consider: In airports, in churches, in penthouses in Hollywood (who overlook the homeless mountains and the slanting fogs of debilitated industries, and the vacuum seduction, and lifeless Angel City in the Wests bleached blonde sand, and lids of imagery cover sad vacant eyes), in station wagons, in deep wood temples in Maine, near the Androscoginn River, where the Native Americans caught silver fish and eternity lived off communal tides to the distant ocean, which is now more black than the sky from our waste, now wrought with the studied three-headed-demon-fish, (but still a holy place Maine, it glows); In any meaningful medium, known or noun, imaginable is mans only true duty. It is mans only Deity (For what was with God, what was God? The Word was, In The Beginning). To chase the promise that reality and truth are not yet only relative devices, and leaving these scriptures: On brains, and on paper, and on papyrus, and old plaster, and on the backs of old Polaroids (once someone did at least), the thin skin on wet hands who ru
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5 Responses to Benediction, Sanctity Of The Red Feathers, Who Awake Awakens?

  1. lifewith4cats says:

    I realy loved this! But you lost me on the last stanza.

    • The Red Tail Hawk is considered a holy spiritual guide.
      The totem of the Hawk travels the space between realms of earth and sky, earnings their red feathers only after years of wisdom, this is the ascension of the final stanza.
      The rejoining of a holy host with its true place among the higher realms.

      I am not Native American, but I have a deep intrest in many cultural and
      Theological beliefs,

      A similar journey of ascension is shown by the Hawk in Egyptian culture as a portion of the spirit, the Ba, Leaves the body during dreams, or at death, often thought to appear as a hawk.
      Also Horus, and the Eye of Horus, both holy symbols of Ascending to a final state of being beyond the bounds of earth.

      Prior to the final stanza
      The same blessing of growth and rest of the human conciousness is shown reflected by the reverent human, in kneeling, in silence, in communion with higher states of awareness, sich as meditation, we too reach peace beyond this earth in such states.

      Let me know if that’s any help.

      Thanks for reading!

      J.D. Hughes

    • The “Holy Sleep” being the attainment of a higher state of consciousness, apart from the confines of the purely phisical world.

      In Eastern culture, this can be likened to the awakening of the rising Kundalini energies by the Yogic masters.

  2. Yes even your explanation is beautiful and reflects true. I suppose I am unable to separate the term sleep with the common meaning of death.
    If I read it while substituting the word death for the word ‘state’ ahh then I see it.

    A poem about the wise teachings of the red tailed hawk was the first poem I ever wrote. Then later I turned it into a song. Thats why I really like this post. I loved your explanation.

  3. oops I meant the word ‘sleep’ not the word ‘death’ …see what I mean?

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