2008 All Alaska SweepStakes

Back to St. Lawrence Island for meetings and catching up with friends - that's Apa (aka Little Buddha from last year) - who gave me a wonderful baleen carving.



We got back to Nome an hour after the Great Alaska Sweepstakes started but I stayed for the finish - what a treat.

It's the first time in 25 years that the SweepStakes has been run - a 408 mile dog race from Nome to Candle and Back - no mandatory breaks, winner takes all - and that "take all" is $100,000; quite the incentive to win! A flat out race - some around here call it "old school racing." In the end, it came down to less than 9 minutes between Mitch Seavey who finished in 2 days 13 hours, 3 minutes and second place Jeff King (who also finished second in the Iditarod).

Here's a tired Mitch and his two leaders!

A Poem from Leonard Cohen (click here for more Cohen)

--Love Itself--

The light came through the window now
straight from the sun above,
and so inside my little room
there plunged the rays of Love.

In streams of light I clearly saw
the dust you seldom see,
the dust the Nameless makes to speak
a Name for one like me.

And all mixed up with sunlight now
the flecks did float and dance
and I was tumbled up with them
in formless circumstance.

I'll try to say a little more:
this Love went on and on
until it reached an open door -
Then Love itself was gone.

The self-same moment words were seen
from every window frame,
but there was nothing left between
the Nameless and the Name.

The Whites

Took a much needed break from work and headed with my friend Kyle and his dog Spruce to a couple of cabins in the White Mountains, about an hours drive north of Fairbanks. It was a wonderful time - good weather, fast trails, silence, northern lights, and friendship. It was also nice to get away from reading about discourse in indigenous politics and take a moment to contemplate the poetry of Rossetti.

Willowwood
Dante Gabriel Rossetti

I sat with Love upon a woodside well,
Leaning across the water, I and he;
Nor ever did he speak nor looked at me,
But touched his lute wherein was audible
The certain secret thing he had to tell:
Only our mirrored eyes met silently
In the low wave; and that sound came to be
The passionate voice I knew; and my tears fell.

And at their fall, his eyes beneath grew hers;
And with his foot and with his wing-feathers
He swept the spring that watered my heart’s drouth.
Then the dark ripples spread to waving hair,
And as I stooped, her own lips rising there
Bubbled with brimming kisses at my mouth.

Spring

Somewhere
a black bear
has just risen from sleep
and is staring

down the mountain.
All night
in the brisk and shallow restlessness
of early spring

I think of her,
her four black fists
flicking the gravel,
her tongue

like a red fire
touching the grass,
the cold water.
There is only one question:

how to love this world.
I think of her
rising
like a black and leafy ledge

to sharpen her claws against
the silence
of the trees.
Whatever else

my life is
with its poems
and its music
and its cities,

it is also this dazzling darkness
coming
down the mountain,
breathing and tasting;

all day I think of her –
her white teeth,
her wordlessness,
her perfect love.


~ Mary Oliver ~


(House of Light)