"The Place the Soul does know"
Evolving Merton Series
(c) 2012 Merton Parrish
About this series:
The Evolving Merton Series is an ongoing, mixed media series by Merton Parrish in pencil, pen and ink, Copic marker, colored pencil and gold leaf.
In this series, I share with you, my viewers, some recent art pieces which represent my growth as a soul, artist and person. Of course, as many of you know (who follow my work) this is standard operating proceedure for me (and you have loads of literary works in this vein from me), but I think my latest art pieces really seem to be grouped well under such a theme.
I suppose perhaps it is 2012 energy that is making me especially "evolution mindedd" (even for a Merton), but there we have it. Enjoy. Hope these pieces make you think about your own journey and evolution here on planet earth. Sending you good thoughts and prayers for creativity, happiness and fulfillment, as I always do.
-Your silly Merton
About this piece in particular:
Here is the original poem I wrote, upon which this art piece is based:
THE PLACE THE SOUL DOES KNOW
On forest floor, 'midst leaf and loam
is a place the soul does know,
past hermit cave and toadstool grove
a place 'ere all must go.
It's quiet there; we're prone to dream
and ponder upon the moss
why 'tis we came and where we'll go,
'fore that last fallen log we cross.
And fairies wing, and elfin folk
watch and peer and peek in,
from hiding place, 'hind rocks and brush
they see our silent Eden.
Yes human souls, to survive,
must listen, dream ov'r yonder,
cease busyness and task 'n toil
and give the mind to wander…
towards silly tales and dreams of day
and stories of the wildwood,
when we felt wisp of angels' wings,
heard things that only a child could!
Oh, back we must go, to forest glen
'tis medicine, this visit-
for the world's a mad, rushing place,
perplexes… "Just what is it?"
"Just what's this strange, noise-filled spot,
worrisome and taxing?"
we ask our selves, wond'ring why
we'd come some place so vexing?
Yet in it we are, and since we're here,
the woodland we must visit,
(and breathe and sigh and dream awhile
remem'bring heav'n so pleasant).
And 'midst the moss and smell of earth
we dream of what we knew-
things blithely said when we were young,
forgotten, once we grew.
So if some retreat from maddening crowd,
sojourn in between,
forgive them world, judge tenderly,
for they only seek what they've seen.
And if some stay, preferring this glen
to rushing world and highway,
if some find this the place to be
'stead of seething city 'n byway...
if some reside, with faeries' wings,
with wishes and prayers and angels who sing,
if some say, "Enough of soul crushing grind!"
(and attempt to recall what they came here to find)…
Can you forgive, dear world? Can you?
Please remember, if tempted to scold,
if leaning toward judgment, pronouncements of old,
in a world full of noise, lacking in joys,
it's the dreamers who remember…
recalling the lost, paradise womb
we seek to recapture, from cradle to tomb
'spite constant invention of techno toys
(for all of the good and bad little boys).
Oh if we all might remember,
shut our eyes and ears and remember…
For now, a few dreamers must do
(as the world rushes on, for me and for you).
"Judge tenderly," dear Emily reminds
and low'rs her basket,
thro' shades and window blinds.