 What Is Meant By The Term The Deep Feminine? Well what 'The Deep Feminine' ultimately speaks to me about is the womb, the holding place, the void for which the spark of creativity then flies from in the form of the divine masculine in fact.
One of the two sacred laws of the First Nation people as I understand them, states that 'everything is first born of woman', so if you are a man or male thing, or this spark that I have just talked about then that act of being male initially comes out from this holding space of woman, the place of birthing, of nourishment and vast nothingness and stillness. So the deep feminine means to me things like Mother Earth herself, our soul, where this quietness and calm resides at our centre, our inner void, our presence, our essence, all the creatures on the planet that are closely connected with this and in particular all women that we know that display similar if not the same qualities and abilities within our society. So we as men need to respect that natural law and bring back a real appreciation for the feminine aspect of our society and within oursleves so that it is able to establish an equal footing within our community again. So that the deep (divine) feminine is empowered and the divine masculine stands by guarding and protecting it so that it can continue to grow and flourish, rather than raping and pillaging it, which the toxic masculine would have done in the past and still does to a large degree across the planet today, a consciouness which needs to be brought to a rapid halt. This is the imbalance that we as men wish to evolve away from, distancing ourselves from toxic masculinity in order to become more divine in nature. This is something that we will be endeavouring to do through my new Orion Reborn Mens Program of which the Facebook Group for it has only just recently formed in support of the wider transformational program of the same name that I am offering later in the year to my fellow brothers. If you are interested in this program or know of anyone else that could be please do not hesitate to get in contact with me about it. x
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 In one I was wounded, brittle with fright.
In two I joined rank, for my life I would fight. In camp, on rota, I dedicated my might. In session, in fun, my poet-tree would delight. In three I found me, antler, horn and bite. Now towards the end, the reason is in sight. By Simon Blackler Copyright © Simon Blackler 2021 If you care to comment on this poem at all and the emotions that it brings up for you then please feel free to do so below.  Each day, I stand upon the circle.
With gratitude, forever present. No thought, to yesterday or morrow. Just here, to witness lunar crescent. With orange, the dawn has broken. There’s dew, upon this carpet green. Sprinkled webs, still in the making. Spirit’s here, it already seems. On bended knee, a prayer is started. A prompt, once more to dance. Tobacco pouch, at the ready. To greet this day, with pure romance. Mayflies, hover on warm updraft. Wren, hops upon the fence. Blue Tits, in and out of boxes. Bees, buzz towards the scent. Golden shafts, draw me in connection. Stretching up, I peer to see. Beyond, I sense the black sun. My heart beats, to infinity. I call, upon the warrior. The nurturer and the child. Some days, it’s ever so stormy. Others, more benign and mild. There’s no change however, to this ritual. For I’m committed, to this path. A joy to perform, this spiral. With mirth and mirk, I bath. By Simon Blackler Copyright © Simon Blackler 2021 If you care to comment on this poem at all and the emotions that it brings up for you then please feel free to do so below.  I look, into the eyes of the sheep.
She encourages me, to dive down deep. She chews the cud, and stamps her feet. Wanting me to announce myself, with my own rhythm beat. I wake in the night, and stare outside. The rain has gone, but the stars not quite. A veil there is, across the sky. But a twinkle still pierces, my own unique eye. For a portal has opened, and I can clearly see. A clarity through a window, all the constellations and me. All that I am is hear, near and far. If affirmation was needed, there’s a shooting star. I long for the sun, and the warmth to come. So I can honour myself, and all with the drum. To create a spark, and light a fire. In each direction of course, rekindling my desire. Gold and black, the totems are many. Butterfly, hover fly, caterpillar, two a penny. The star birds have come, and my spirits soar. There are crosses upon the sky, my heart begins to roar. Shapes in the cloud, to the East are seen. A crescent, a horn, a stag’s head I would deem. Back to the tent, there are musings a plenty. A standing stone is born, and incense very scenty. I sit, my back upon the tree. Such a beauty from a distance, just thee and me. In twig, in branch, in trunk, I love. Placing my arms around you, I feel supported from above. The daddy long legs is here, a symbol from another quest. Like thistle, foxglove, slug, panther and the rest. But to the golden orb, is where I must look. To a huge swallow on the wing, a herald of the book. I journey to the centre, to birth pleasure from the pain. And yet another message comes, in the lining there again. This time, fast fuelled fighter jet. Not like passenger this morn, that’s another set. There’s a goat-man on the hillside, smiling this way. A buzzard flies South to North, to him I must pray. His screeches, rise upon the upward draught. Where raven’s realm croaks, like a spiritual raft. The next sign that comes, is a bloody big splodge. In humour I laugh, joy in my lodge. Those black birds are at it, continuing with the climb. To the pen I must drop, until another rich time. Ash, rowan, sycamore, willow. Thoughts drift to me, from my altar and pillow. That orange great E, upon the white fleece. Won’t leave me alone, or give me much peace. Calling the shots, they dictate my next plan. A baa from the bracken, walk, stomp or just pan. There’s a rainbow where dawn breaks, and yet it’s still eve. Swifts dart along valley floor, so close I barely believe. A little bird comes, and tweets from the bush. A flaxen gleam upon the hillside, as night starts to hush. Bright satsuma against the blue sky, a chill wind doth blow. Lifting my wings, I fly, and go with the flow. My hairy friend is back, now silver and bronze. I almost stepped on him, bringing down my tonnes. All wriggled up in a spiral, he stopped me in my track. Unfurling form his curl, he’s off to hit the sack. An eerie cry rings out, from a circling bird up high. Not one but there’s two now, of the same flock or herd in sky. Masters of the hunt, when looking for their prey. It’s time to snuggle up, and bring an end to this day. Yet still there’s a heron now, rising form the river.. A full moon is on the up, all bar a sliver Winking at me from the canopy, inviting me into the mystery. Less questions in my mind, of my own forgotten history. In the last throws of the light. A moth bursts forth a-flight. Dancing upon the thistle spike. To a melodic thump of might. My paper now, is all a glow. Luminescent, to the backward throw. A distant torch, is seen a part. Of the heavenly body, tugging with my hart. The wild wind has come, disturbing me with hurt. Like the Hayoka at work, down in the yurt. I dream of a horse race, where the leader is well clear. But there is trouble on the course, he is thwarted, oh dear! The buffeting of the tent poles, entices me outside. Where Orion and King Cepheus rule, no-one else beside. They call upon the warrior, the mighty king himself. Guardian, protector, hunter, chief of animal health. More visions come of Great Dane, and a flighty Jacob flock. On rising in the morning, the ovine have run amok. Sheep have come and eaten, my centre and my South. Scoffing all the berries, bar 1 or 2 escaping mouth. It is clear where the work is needed, for the freedom to come. In flexibility of emotion, curiosity, adventure, awe-some. Immediately there is a Lepidoptera, basking next to my chair. An opportunity for me to look a while, and just simply stare. For there he sits, wings open, soaking the warmth of the sun. I can park right next to him, and energise all for fun. Adorned he is in umber, burnt sienna, sunshine yellow. For me it is just a pleasure, to be with this little fellow. And then there is this tiny fly, of similar colour and nature. Pitching upon my written prose, aware of the bigger picture. In sunlight too is where he finds his natural home. Crouched small and humble, a new place to come and roam. Sat looking East we are together, like much of this journey’s core. Praying for the clouds to break, to be bathed again once more. And in a moment he is gone, one spring, one jump, one leap. To another place he’s alighted, but his memory I will keep. And so it is to all fours, down amongst the shit. Just like my woollen friend, who dumped at night, one hit. But now my attention’s drawn, to every blade of grass there is. To every barb and seed I see, every insect in green mist. For here there is an unnoticed sight, minuscule red eggs. Lined out across a very fine leaf, as if attached with pegs. And then there is this blue-bell, or lilac to be true. Ever the beauty in my space, adding yet another hue. Raven comes to call me, from the place of North and West. So near he is this time, I honour him with my best. Then settles wasp and fly, emblazoned with the noir et jaune. Colours that are ever coming to me, midnight, noon or dawn. I meditate upon my shield, my monarch of the glen. Images come to me of royalty, of women and of men. My flowers rock and sway, to a wind that blasts with might. But I stand tall with trust, for now I have more fight. Now to whittle a few hours away, upon the fallen wood. Twirl the talking stick, walk reverse, do you think I should? There’s freedom in this other way, something quite contrary. And there within the stalks, lies black and scarlet fairy. I watch her use the stems as roads, alternative tiny highways. I realise now I must tread this path, as my own soul bi-way. For here I am the man I wish to be, to do what I flippin want. This is my space, my life, my water from the open font. But here there is a thunder crack, the rain begins to lash. Have I upset the code, taboo, behaving rather rash? There’s a leak now in my lodge, a splish, a splash or two. I decide to take a leak myself, and hope no need to poo. But if I were to do so, I’m sure the fly of horse would come. As he has done this alvo, when pitched upon my tum. The underworld is opening up to me, down amongst the mirth. My spirit begins to speak with me, not heard since kin or birth. A shepherd gathers flock together, one man and faithful dog. I spot a sign upon the mountain, lifting all the fog. Tonight I heard a fable, of hunter, king and queen. And there within the gorse lies Cassiopaea, clearly to be seen. The unmistakeable W, courts marriage of boy and girl. Sheep upon the landscape, giving me the very pearl. And now the lunar skyline, is ablaze with peachy globe. Whispers in the breeze come to me, caressing me at the lobe. For here there is a peace within, of sun replaced by moon. Both apparent in the East and South, giving me of their boon. Tis the masculine and the feminine, where I seek balance at my core. The physical and the spiritual, to which I both must enter door. At night I dream again of marriage, 25 years to be exact. Hardly seeming credible, for partners 21 and 22, a fact. Written in silver bubble, upon the greying cloud. The message is barely visible, let alone to be read out loud. I ask the man called Beckham, a celebrity in his own right. If he knows the meaning of this invitation, this very night. There is a celebration to be had, as there’s an 18th birthday too. Two events at the same time, it could be a hell of a do. I also dream of three women, involved in a marathon race. Two out in front and one behind, but she’s got the devastating pace. Tis the third girl that is the winner, to ring the homeward bell. To scorch up the opposition, and give out triumphant yell. The night is framed with calling, of feral fox and chorus crow. Let alone the bloody sheep, getting ever closer now. Tis time to rise and see what’s next, upon the coming day. To once more go to well, and see what nature’s got to say. In morn I have this question, of what reverse C means to me. Evident in threaded bag, and pube upon my pee. Tis an emblem that has been here, from very origin and start. From sunshine in the sky, of ear, amulet or looping part. And so the answers come, with horseshoe on the tree. And the sheep that are ever present, not one or two but three. There’s a star within the crescent moon, upon my beloved ash. And a sea of flowers apparent, upon the hide I have as sash. Thoughts rise upon the Turkish flag, of dream centres I have seen. Of Islam, Appaloosian, and all the spirit plants it seems. For rose, and foxglove and thistle too, they create this very shape. To compliment my stag and sun, to be worn upon my cape. I delve upon the deer, I can see he starts to eat. All the medicinal plants, he stumbles on to meet. To the flowers I must go, and learn of this very art. As a buzzing bee insists, injecting ear with potent dart. And then amid dew drop belles, where thistle seed is strewn. I’m reminded of my fertility, and my own authentic tune. There’s magenta in the knapweed, and sandy coloured flies to find. There’s a boat upon my East, and happy times to mind. On back I sink to ground, and to whispy clouds I look. I see hoof prints in the cumulus, and ideas begin to cook. Another horn is there now, and face of billy goat. And then the copter comes, a great dragonfly of note. He disturbs me in my reading, visiting time and time again. The shamanic way being made known to me, upon the dale and fen. I wonder what can possibly, bring this story to a close. A thought constantly with me, one the universe does pose. Once more round the circle, where black slug is met and seen. Patience is the message, before a great stag has come and been. And then there is this gigantic cross, made up of trails of vapour. And perhaps another sheep or goat, just adding to this caper. When finally the clarity comes, it hits me in the iris. Stood upon a shoulder bag, of a fellow seeker and aspirist. There it is the stag I seek, stood amongst the flowers. Of pink and gold in crescent shape, a man at the height of his powers. And yet there’s still one more, awesome, mesmeric sight. Of swallow and that of house martin, swirling in full flight. Dance and dance and dance they do, in spectacular display. Round and round and round they go, at frolic and of play. And then the heron flies back in, landing plumb South West. What a quest I’ve had, surely its been the best. And if my name weren’t Running Deer, I’d have to have a think. It could be that of Swallowtail, I’d better have a drink. By Simon Blackler Copyright © Simon Blackler 2021 If you care to comment on this poem at all and the emotions that it brings up for you then please feel free to do so below.  She is in the moment, when the clock strikes three.
She is in the nighttime, when there's only loneliness and me. She is in the shadows, of the day long stress I find. She is in the emptiness, in the splinters of my mind. She is in the circle, of where it all began. She is in the landscape, walking hand in hand. She is in the weekends, in a past life full of joy. She is in the morrow, more authentic and less coy. She is in the fragrance, of a scent flirting with my nose. She is in the flowers, of honeysuckle and of rose. She is in the deerskin, a treasure to the touch. She is in the cards and gifts, that promised all too much. She is in the memory, of fun times often shared. She is in the heartbeat, of lovers who once cared. She is in the albums, of snap shots time's forgot. She is in the flame, that tries to burn the flipping lot. She is in the beach, where I go and sit and think. She is in the shoreline, as the sun turns clouds to pink. She is in the driftwood, washed up on the coming tide. She is in the reality, of a light that’s gone and died. She is in the body, of someone I don’t know. She is in the doorway, not sure to stay or go. She is in the onward, our destiny entwined as one. She is in the reason, for the journey still to come. She is in the necklace, of a new recruit. She is in the wood, in twig and branch and root. She is in the breeze, that caresses all the trees. She is in the spirit, that comes to set me free. She is in the counsel, of many a true friend. She is in the healing, of a human on the mend. She is in the woman, who I have not yet met. She is in the future, to settle an old debt. By Simon Blackler Copyright © Simon Blackler 2021 If you care to comment on this poem at all and the emotions that it brings up for you then please feel free to do so below.  A pheasant breaks cover, just above my head.
A clapping of wings, stopping me dead. Like an arrow he flies, to the other wood bank. I'm distracted, I pause, to him I must thank. For now I've switched over, into the mystery I sink. As the elements conspire, to make me just think. The sunshine emblazons, autumn's fiery red hues. No wind in this valley, to disrupt the clear views. The earth starts to sing to me, its melodic song. The water in front of me, a mirror, where I belong. I'm in awe and in wonder, of the path of liquid gold. Moving incrementally down river, the story unfolds. Two swans glide so serenely, across the mill pond. Creating ripples of silver, to which I'm most fond. My breath is now taken, my heart in my mouth. My chest gripped in tension, my soul shifts South. I'm encouraged to release, to let my spirit drop. To dive into the deep, let my thoughts go plop. There's just me and this stillness, not to be afraid. Just to witness the telling, the act to be played. For now in the emptiness, a brilliance is filled. A flash of orange and turquoise, my whole being is thrilled. For there in the moment, a kingfisher flies forth. Not one but there's two now, connection true North. I'm in rapture, enthralled, in bliss, pure joy. At one with my surroundings, in heaven, oh boy! By Simon Blackler Copyright © Simon Blackler 2020 If you care to comment on this poem at all please feel free to do so below.  Running about the garden, with my little yellow net.
Tottering in and out of borders, wondering what life I’d met. Chasing fellow brethren, through flowers and the veg. Pulling wings off Cabbage White, avenging atrocities of the dead. Then one moment that did change, you appeared above the hedge. A power came to greet me, placing love in heart, in wedge. So vibrant in your colour, yellow, magenta, cyan, black. Shining well beyond that of mine, I could never now look back. What pleasure had you brought to me, in one mere fleeting glimpse. Little did I know then, how long before meeting hence. Three decades flew by, plus a year or two besides. Travel needed to foreign lands, different times and tides. But there again you were, in garden, bobbing through the bush. My pulse began a racing, to a beat I could hardly hush. For here you brought an energy, like which I had never felt. Throbbing up my vertebrae, my body began to melt. A tingle and a rush of blood, my head was all a swoon. Giddy with delight on seeing you, one moment not too soon. All ablaze in sunshine, of daffodil in hue. A dream to be together again, just that of me and you. But what about the purpose, connection thirty years apart. A thought I must just ponder on, not knowing where to start. And so a journey then began, of peak and then of trough. Of looking for my life and path, before spirit cried enough. A dozen dances of the wheel, had come and gone by then. Camped within Druid valley, awash with poetry and of pen. Nights spent under canvas, daytime in and out of lodge. A training in completion, no false identity to dodge. Here I was in element, to nature in just keeping. Touched so deeply by the land, tears continued on the weeping. And so it was upon the vale, where swallows kept a coming. Swooping low and fast, bringing messages of becoming. Darting here and darting there, a gilding and a sail. A flish, a flash, a loop or two, one glorious coloured tail. Whispering ever so quietly, each one they said the same. My mirror that of Swallowtail, I’d found my medicine name. By Simon Blackler Copyright © Simon Blackler 2020 If you care to comment on this poem at all please feel free to do so below.  There’s a freshness to this place, like which I’ve never seen.
There’s a wind, a breeze, an inkling, lifting veil of life and dream. There’s grass beneath my feet, soft, moist, like never tread. There’s an expectancy apparent, of an existence hanging by a thread. Stood tall, eyes pierced, to horizon, crystal to the view. There’s a nudge from behind me, of a presence unimaginably new. A force that continues pushing, of a creature’s mighty thrust. I look down upon his shoulders, my limbs buckling to his trust. For now I feel him in me, my legs and his are one. Calves strain, muscles, sinew, as in a moment we begin to run. At first I think I’m mounted, riding powerful, masculine beast. But then I see my hoof hit ground, will wonders never cease. My hart begins to pound, animate pulse pumps and quickens. Adrenalin, blood, spirit, coursing vein thickens. My nostrils start to flare, as we power on the charge. I and he as stag, passed bush and gorse we barge. Antler not in evidence, a steed not in his prime. Still development to be made, whether his essence or mine. Suddenly there is nervousness, a palpable, convincing fear. For what is that upon our path, no other than grizzly bear. Such a shock to see him there, immediately it is break. All senses alert and paralysed, as if bitten by a snake. My eyes wide eyed and open now, I’m back upon my bed. What more I wonder of Running Deer, my name whispered to me by the dead. By Simon Blackler Copyright © Simon Blackler 2020 If you care to comment on this poem at all please feel free to do so below.  She stands upon the shoreline, eyes peeled through breaking sea.
Windswept dunes and tide line, seaweed, pebbles and just thee. Far out beyond the horizon, stirring in the cobalt deep. There's a flicker of a tail fin, stretching sinew from slumbering heap. She's lithe and sleek, scales glistening, in shafts of moonlight shone. Answering an ancient calling, of a journey just begun. Through reef, along current, of a destination she is sure. A birthplace only known to her, individual and just pure. Inside the outstretched peninsula, a ripple of hope is barely seen. A swell of expectant bodies, ready, excited, very keen. Co-joined they are at estuary, between sand bar and the beach. Foot and gill a stride apart, just out of each others reach. A pace is taken forward, not one but three or four. Saline giving way to water, washing open homeward door. A yard or two along the riverbank, flat stone replaced by rock. There's a swishing and a splashing, a tick of body clock. Upstream there is momentum, the walk becomes a run. Pulses start a racing, breeding time has come. The salmon start a leaping, across weir and open brook. From eyes there is a seeping, of a longing for a look. A strong heart is so needed, for such a herculean jump. Around whirlpool and up waterfall, all faith in upward pump. At last upon the spawning ground, ones life can come to rest. A new generation in the birthing, all given of their best. By Simon Blackler Copyright © Simon Blackler 2020 If you care to comment on this poem at all please feel free to do so below.  There is a silence and a stillness, to this place I love to be.
Where the simplest trickle of the water, brings a sense of peace to me. I've descended the steep hillside, like a little mountain goat. To a secluded cove, dear to me, only accessible by boat. I'm now in rapture, warm and naked, close to my beloved sea. Where the sun and cloud have separated, to leave sky blue, totally free. A breeze comes to caress me, and every follicle of feeling. Where an energy is present, bringing any amount of healing. There's rock pippets here, grasshoppers, emerald green beetles. Cathedrals of stone, jagged edges, very tall dark steeples. There's a majesty in the calmness, in the gentleness and karma. Whatever hour you are present here, each one equivalent to dhama. Kingfishers have been seen here, wooly sheep, and racing pigeon. Bringing messages from afar, great mystery by the legion. Two ravens croak above, black eagles of the divine. My heart begins to soar, my spirit starts to shine. I've written many a word here, letters, poems and true prose. I've had many a thought here, of dreams I do propose. A skinny dip is often called for, a plunge into the cerulean deep. Where silk wraps all around me, sending me off to a dreamy sleep. Kestrels hover on an updraft, eyes focussed on next prey. I'm happy, I'm in clover, on this very special day. Time to reflect and mull things over, bringing insight and pure wisdom. This is the place I call home, where there is true love and more freedom. By Simon Blackler Copyright © Simon Blackler 2020 If you care to comment on this poem at all please feel free to do so below. |
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