Mars
Venus
One compressed everything,
and then
BANG
e x p a n d i n g
but still
ONE.
Webs entangle,
connect,
guide –
in ways
only known
to the Weaver:
unfolding, often
in seemingly mysterious ways.
The Big Bang Is Still Happening.
Mars
Venus
We are still ...
one, everything.
The Dot is just bigger –
the web expanding –
and all is before us.
The Big Bang Is Still Happening
and we are
in flux.
(ty to LW for the thought, Dec 2009)
Tuesday, December 15, 2009
Friday, November 20, 2009
Softness
Lies in this
still-point:
Give it to you
Take it from you.
Offer it to you
Receive it from you:
Softness
Lies
in the balance
of this
still-point.
still-point:
Give it to you
Take it from you.
Offer it to you
Receive it from you:
Softness
Lies
in the balance
of this
still-point.
Friday, November 13, 2009
NYC Phoenix
Kudos to NYC
And all she represents
Crossroads of the world
and POETS HOUSE
arising,
a Phoenix,
from
literal
ash
and flame.
"A place
to meditate ... "
and share
thru words:
what grace.
Poetry
and Poets
arising.
Phoenix,
arising,
since 2001:
what grace.
Broken hearts
sing
the most beautiful
songs.
May the world
go deep
in your vortex
of diversity, and grief,
redemption, loss, and possibility ...
and all in you
be safe.
Namaste.
And all she represents
Crossroads of the world
and POETS HOUSE
arising,
a Phoenix,
from
literal
ash
and flame.
"A place
to meditate ... "
and share
thru words:
what grace.
Poetry
and Poets
arising.
Phoenix,
arising,
since 2001:
what grace.
Broken hearts
sing
the most beautiful
songs.
May the world
go deep
in your vortex
of diversity, and grief,
redemption, loss, and possibility ...
and all in you
be safe.
Namaste.
Modern Media and Water on the Moon
Water?
On the MOON?
OUR moon ?
REALLY ??
WATER ?!?
(NBC, Oct 2009)
Water?
On the MOON?
OUR moon ?
REALLY ??
WATER ?!?
(NBC, Nov 2009)
Water?
From the MOON?
OUR moon ?
NO WAY ??
MUST BE CONDENSATION ?!?
(Moonwalk, 1969)
TRUE STORY
(Oct 2009)
In the rock?
Water, in the rock?
The Indians saw it?
From a satellite?
Water in the moon rock?
Water in the MOON?
Well, yeah.
We've known since
the Landing, but doubted
the Science.
WATER? in the MOON?
Crazy, right ?!?
On the MOON?
OUR moon ?
REALLY ??
WATER ?!?
(NBC, Oct 2009)
Water?
On the MOON?
OUR moon ?
REALLY ??
WATER ?!?
(NBC, Nov 2009)
Water?
From the MOON?
OUR moon ?
NO WAY ??
MUST BE CONDENSATION ?!?
(Moonwalk, 1969)
TRUE STORY
(Oct 2009)
In the rock?
Water, in the rock?
The Indians saw it?
From a satellite?
Water in the moon rock?
Water in the MOON?
Well, yeah.
We've known since
the Landing, but doubted
the Science.
WATER? in the MOON?
Crazy, right ?!?
Saturday, October 24, 2009
Little Cat Feet
If they live long enough,
they'll be the death of us
for sure,
the way they
olly off the inside
of the ankle -
little punk boarders
with nothing but
paws.
But you have to
admire
their skill.
Perhaps they'll
keep us young
with their antics -
or even teach us
a thing or two
about light feet.
they'll be the death of us
for sure,
the way they
olly off the inside
of the ankle -
little punk boarders
with nothing but
paws.
But you have to
admire
their skill.
Perhaps they'll
keep us young
with their antics -
or even teach us
a thing or two
about light feet.
Being
Idea
... Expression
Exhalation
... Inhalation
Inspiration
... Expiration
(for every creation unleashed
is
a little death)
Spirit
... Body
Night
... Day
Sun
... Moon
(make visible the creations
of this dimension)
Giving
... Receiving
Listening
... Speaking
Doing
... Feeling
(all of these
lead to Being)
The timeless balance
(tic-toc tic-toc)
of All Creation
births beauty anew
(in-out in-out)
with every seething.
... Expression
Exhalation
... Inhalation
Inspiration
... Expiration
(for every creation unleashed
is
a little death)
Spirit
... Body
Night
... Day
Sun
... Moon
(make visible the creations
of this dimension)
Giving
... Receiving
Listening
... Speaking
Doing
... Feeling
(all of these
lead to Being)
The timeless balance
(tic-toc tic-toc)
of All Creation
births beauty anew
(in-out in-out)
with every seething.
Sunday, October 18, 2009
Rain Magnet
She lay on her back looking at the sky,
relaxed and concentrating,
melting into the earth and feeling
everything everything in it.
Overhead the clouds came from every direction,
slowly at first,
collecting in great puffy masses,
condensing as their numbers increased,
whirling together in
mottled expectation.
The sky faded to gray,
darkened further as the atmosphere
blotted out the sun.
A few blessed drops
struck the dust of the desert,
created ripples on the surface of the parched earth,
And then the rain came down in torrents,
soaking her hair
and her face
and her clothes.
***
It wasn't imperious,
this coming together,
this gathering.
It wasn't controlling.
It was simply what was:
natural.
Tiring,
to be a magnet
for the rain!
Invigorating!
And open, not hiding,
but not broadcasting either,
because people are afraid
of what they don't understand,
and that wasn't the point,
to make them afraid.
Or to be revered for some strange power,
because it wasn't strange:
it was only
what was.
It wasn't like
gathering the clouds in her arms:
How could anyone gather clouds that
didn't want to be together?
But it was rather like creating a space in herself,
letting herself open to attract the clouds
with the intensity,
like a magnet.
Trusting.
relaxed and concentrating,
melting into the earth and feeling
everything everything in it.
Overhead the clouds came from every direction,
slowly at first,
collecting in great puffy masses,
condensing as their numbers increased,
whirling together in
mottled expectation.
The sky faded to gray,
darkened further as the atmosphere
blotted out the sun.
A few blessed drops
struck the dust of the desert,
created ripples on the surface of the parched earth,
And then the rain came down in torrents,
soaking her hair
and her face
and her clothes.
***
It wasn't imperious,
this coming together,
this gathering.
It wasn't controlling.
It was simply what was:
natural.
Tiring,
to be a magnet
for the rain!
Invigorating!
And open, not hiding,
but not broadcasting either,
because people are afraid
of what they don't understand,
and that wasn't the point,
to make them afraid.
Or to be revered for some strange power,
because it wasn't strange:
it was only
what was.
It wasn't like
gathering the clouds in her arms:
How could anyone gather clouds that
didn't want to be together?
But it was rather like creating a space in herself,
letting herself open to attract the clouds
with the intensity,
like a magnet.
Trusting.
Bull Dreamin'
I woke from a dream
and, in waking,
Was in a dream.
I was 5, and near me
a great Bull,
with horns,
and a gleam in his eye,
stood in the courtyard.
I walked up to him,
and held out my hand,
as if it held a lump of sugar.
A golden ring
pierced his substantial nose.
He nudged my small fingers.
And I awoke.
and, in waking,
Was in a dream.
I was 5, and near me
a great Bull,
with horns,
and a gleam in his eye,
stood in the courtyard.
I walked up to him,
and held out my hand,
as if it held a lump of sugar.
A golden ring
pierced his substantial nose.
He nudged my small fingers.
And I awoke.
Saturday, October 17, 2009
Mt. Tam (revised Oct 2009)
There has been ceremony here;
I feel it in these medicine stones.
Every atom vibrates with ancient knowing.
The peace eagles make it pure,
But the song rings through the air
just as it did
The day I was born.
There is ceremony here;
My song, my people, my privilege.
Peering at family who've carried the wisdom
of beauty and celebration -
Circled through space to let me through the door.
My infinite privilege to know your presence.
Even my courage to let you in -
and out and in like tidal waves
in my teeming universe -
Comes from the wonderment
I've caught in glimpses.
My longing overrides my fear.
I prey to be devoured by your grace.
I feel it in these medicine stones.
Every atom vibrates with ancient knowing.
The peace eagles make it pure,
But the song rings through the air
just as it did
The day I was born.
There is ceremony here;
My song, my people, my privilege.
Peering at family who've carried the wisdom
of beauty and celebration -
Circled through space to let me through the door.
My infinite privilege to know your presence.
Even my courage to let you in -
and out and in like tidal waves
in my teeming universe -
Comes from the wonderment
I've caught in glimpses.
My longing overrides my fear.
I prey to be devoured by your grace.
Friday, October 9, 2009
Part Three: The Red Road (Vsn 2, Oct 2009)
Part Three: The Red Road
Path of Heart,
of Connection;
Ribbon of blood, sweat, and tears,
each Red Road
One Path of fulfillment
(and unique).
Love
and Gratitude
and
Red Road.
Gratitude.
Within you,
you carry
seeds of
unique greatness.
Your Red Road.
There's an irony:
you have to be grateful
for you don't even know
what; but gratitude
is key.
Many have known
Love has no room for
other. Not to choose love
is to be swallowed by a Void
of Pettiness, and isolation.
With love,
may we be grateful to serve.
With love,
may we fuel the fire
within.
Your Fire
opens
your deepest treasures.
That Fire
is
your Red Road.
Find that fire,
and Unlock those
seeds of greatness.
Find the fire within you, and
bring that fire to the people.
The Red Road is
narrow;
the path of the Heart
is specific.
You know
when you are on the path.
And you know
when you are not.
Sacrifice your ego, and
your Heart will lead you
to
treasures
only you can find.
I know these things to be true:
Your Fire is needed.
Answer the call to greatness,
and let your Heart
lead you to riches.
Path of Heart,
of Connection;
Ribbon of blood, sweat, and tears,
each Red Road
One Path of fulfillment
(and unique).
Love
and Gratitude
and
Red Road.
Gratitude.
Within you,
you carry
seeds of
unique greatness.
Your Red Road.
There's an irony:
you have to be grateful
for you don't even know
what; but gratitude
is key.
Many have known
Love has no room for
other. Not to choose love
is to be swallowed by a Void
of Pettiness, and isolation.
With love,
may we be grateful to serve.
With love,
may we fuel the fire
within.
Your Fire
opens
your deepest treasures.
That Fire
is
your Red Road.
Find that fire,
and Unlock those
seeds of greatness.
Find the fire within you, and
bring that fire to the people.
The Red Road is
narrow;
the path of the Heart
is specific.
You know
when you are on the path.
And you know
when you are not.
Sacrifice your ego, and
your Heart will lead you
to
treasures
only you can find.
I know these things to be true:
Your Fire is needed.
Answer the call to greatness,
and let your Heart
lead you to riches.
Tuesday, October 6, 2009
Storm Comin'
Shadows move;
gusty winds
show
Treetops,
usually not seen,
dancing on asphalt –
clear as night.
gusty winds
show
Treetops,
usually not seen,
dancing on asphalt –
clear as night.
Monday, September 21, 2009
Equinox Yin & Yang
My craft is writing.
My medicine is poetry.
My craft is gardening.
My medicine, connection with the earth.
My craft is yoga.
My medicine is celebration.
My craft is smudge.
My medicine is freedom.
My name is Eve, and
My name is Dancing Hawk.
My medicine is all of these things, and
My crafts are my expression.
May my worlds be not separate;
May my worlds be one.
May my medicine heal the people; and
May my internal drives
inform my
external expressions.
May I find balance in all these things.
Aho, Mataquiesen.
(I Celebrate, And for All My Connections.)
My medicine is poetry.
My craft is gardening.
My medicine, connection with the earth.
My craft is yoga.
My medicine is celebration.
My craft is smudge.
My medicine is freedom.
My name is Eve, and
My name is Dancing Hawk.
My medicine is all of these things, and
My crafts are my expression.
May my worlds be not separate;
May my worlds be one.
May my medicine heal the people; and
May my internal drives
inform my
external expressions.
May I find balance in all these things.
Aho, Mataquiesen.
(I Celebrate, And for All My Connections.)
Sunday, September 20, 2009
Gatekeepers of the Red Road
(For Scott and Mike, who believe in the power of dreams, and listen without judgment and with great insight. Thank you!)
The canyon was Red rock
High sides
Dusty, dry,
and Narrow
And the Buddha was Gold,
Wrapped with a
Rattlesnake
Coiled up, ready for action.
At the left of the path, along the wall,
He sat laughing and Immovable.
At the right, a Frog sat, on a Scarab,
Copper tones,
greens and blues,
petrified, ancient ... also, Immovable.
The Path sits in shadows,
while the Gatekeepers sit in light.
The time ... unknown, eternal ...
the red road leading
To a land
I have not yet seen.
The canyon was Red rock
High sides
Dusty, dry,
and Narrow
And the Buddha was Gold,
Wrapped with a
Rattlesnake
Coiled up, ready for action.
At the left of the path, along the wall,
He sat laughing and Immovable.
At the right, a Frog sat, on a Scarab,
Copper tones,
greens and blues,
petrified, ancient ... also, Immovable.
The Path sits in shadows,
while the Gatekeepers sit in light.
The time ... unknown, eternal ...
the red road leading
To a land
I have not yet seen.
A Fall Equinox Prayer to Lucan
Tmkashla, giver of life
and
Lucan, bringer of life:
Thank you for the acceptance
of the seeds of spring,
And the high energy of
Sun heat and light
to bring those seeds forth.
Thank you for the harvest
and this time of Balance,
Where day and night,
heat and light
Meet
on equal terms
for just a moment.
Thank you for the high time of Creativity
and Productivity
we've just enjoyed,
And thank you
for the coming bringing forth
of the depths of winter -
the wolves'
Season of Plenty,
Diving deep, when the
Earth is solid,
to the Spirit World.
Help us to know
our souls, Lucan.
Help us to
Bring Forth with Joy.
Help me to honor you
by continuing to birth anew.
Help me to honor and release
the fruits of this season, and
Help me to let the ground rest
so that I may go ever deeper
with the New Year.
Thank you for allowing me to
see the beauty of these things,
and Thank you
for bringing forth the expressions
that allow us to share.
May all the seeds of spring find new and
deeper life.
And may all those who have passed
Rest in peace.
Aho, Mataquiesen.
(I Celebrate, and for All My Connections.)
and
Lucan, bringer of life:
Thank you for the acceptance
of the seeds of spring,
And the high energy of
Sun heat and light
to bring those seeds forth.
Thank you for the harvest
and this time of Balance,
Where day and night,
heat and light
Meet
on equal terms
for just a moment.
Thank you for the high time of Creativity
and Productivity
we've just enjoyed,
And thank you
for the coming bringing forth
of the depths of winter -
the wolves'
Season of Plenty,
Diving deep, when the
Earth is solid,
to the Spirit World.
Help us to know
our souls, Lucan.
Help us to
Bring Forth with Joy.
Help me to honor you
by continuing to birth anew.
Help me to honor and release
the fruits of this season, and
Help me to let the ground rest
so that I may go ever deeper
with the New Year.
Thank you for allowing me to
see the beauty of these things,
and Thank you
for bringing forth the expressions
that allow us to share.
May all the seeds of spring find new and
deeper life.
And may all those who have passed
Rest in peace.
Aho, Mataquiesen.
(I Celebrate, and for All My Connections.)
September Raspberries
Maple seeds crown the head
of Timmy the Cat -
stretched in the sun -
and a
cool breeze
rustles the crispy greens
of late summer.
Deep pink in the hollyhock,
deeper in the amaranthus, the last
of the dying, brilliant poppies
red and a
blush of color
on the fruits
of the apple tree.
But the queen, September Raspberries,
a Brilliant treat
of sweet and color,
the last gasps of summer
bleeding its life -
breathing its last color -
Into the garden.
of Timmy the Cat -
stretched in the sun -
and a
cool breeze
rustles the crispy greens
of late summer.
Deep pink in the hollyhock,
deeper in the amaranthus, the last
of the dying, brilliant poppies
red and a
blush of color
on the fruits
of the apple tree.
But the queen, September Raspberries,
a Brilliant treat
of sweet and color,
the last gasps of summer
bleeding its life -
breathing its last color -
Into the garden.
What My Medicine Is
-To Steve, for asking the question, and the Wolf Clan, for holding space. Fall Equinox 2009. Thank You.
(notes for finished piece titled Equinox Yin & Yang)
My craft is writing.
My medicine is poetry.
My craft is gardening.
My medicine, connection with the earth.
My craft is yoga.
My medicine is celebration.
My craft is smudge.
My medicine is freedom.
My name is Eve, and
My name is Dancing Hawk.
My medicine is all of these things, and
My crafts are my expression.
May my worlds be not separate;
May my worlds be one.
(notes for finished piece titled Equinox Yin & Yang)
My craft is writing.
My medicine is poetry.
My craft is gardening.
My medicine, connection with the earth.
My craft is yoga.
My medicine is celebration.
My craft is smudge.
My medicine is freedom.
My name is Eve, and
My name is Dancing Hawk.
My medicine is all of these things, and
My crafts are my expression.
May my worlds be not separate;
May my worlds be one.
Tuesday, September 8, 2009
Revisiting The Blues
Nothing says The Blues
like the back side of a train.
Wailing harmonica and train whistle
Love vanishing down the tracks
A packed suitcase and goodbyes
And the soulful heart crying out
through guitar strings and a subtle blues beat.
The memory of love lost
is as fresh as the turn of a dial
And as universal as the beating heart;
Visit, re-visit;
Every win has a loss ...
Every arrival, a departure ...
Every rose, a thorn.
like the back side of a train.
Wailing harmonica and train whistle
Love vanishing down the tracks
A packed suitcase and goodbyes
And the soulful heart crying out
through guitar strings and a subtle blues beat.
The memory of love lost
is as fresh as the turn of a dial
And as universal as the beating heart;
Visit, re-visit;
Every win has a loss ...
Every arrival, a departure ...
Every rose, a thorn.
Monday, August 24, 2009
Mt. Spokane (August 15, 2009)
Perfect bonsai
Miniature pine
Grass and flower
Evergreen and berry
Little waterfall
Mossy rock
and Sprigs of Purple and Blue
Cling to the Mountain,
Define its curves with
Miniature elegance.
Every four-legged homestead
a Microscosm of
Shelter and Light,
Rainfall washing the
Paths of last season.
Nature's perfect balance,
Everything in its place
And no stone unturned.
What any city gardener would give
for this Skill, this
Magic of placement,
Soil and moisture
Exactly to Specs.
Difficult to Duplicate
Impossible to Fake
Beautiful in Execution.
May all the fragile vignettes
Survive the onslaught
of Asphalt
and the Mountain
Forgive our unconscious traverse.
Miniature pine
Grass and flower
Evergreen and berry
Little waterfall
Mossy rock
and Sprigs of Purple and Blue
Cling to the Mountain,
Define its curves with
Miniature elegance.
Every four-legged homestead
a Microscosm of
Shelter and Light,
Rainfall washing the
Paths of last season.
Nature's perfect balance,
Everything in its place
And no stone unturned.
What any city gardener would give
for this Skill, this
Magic of placement,
Soil and moisture
Exactly to Specs.
Difficult to Duplicate
Impossible to Fake
Beautiful in Execution.
May all the fragile vignettes
Survive the onslaught
of Asphalt
and the Mountain
Forgive our unconscious traverse.
Saturday, August 8, 2009
Garden Meditation, August 8, 2009
[For John, and All of Creation. May the Microcosm and the Macrocosm Be One.]
Unfold me
Like a delicate flower,
Opening to sunshine
And moonshine,
Shadow
and Rain.
Let me
Feel grounded
In our love,
And trust
No harm
will Be done.
Awaken the breeze
And the rustle of leaves,
Delicate chimes
And hummingbird song.
Journey with me
to the Center of the earth.
Patience
As we walk the path
And turn the corner,
And maybe Sink,
Let go,
and Fall together.
Oh Best Beloved,
I pray
To be worthy of your grace,
And offer my own softness,
Privileged to witness
the Unfoldment of your light.
Together we glow
With all the forces of nature,
Colliding,
Radiating,
Coming together,
Altering perception
and Altering reality.
With gratitude,
May I express these gifts of love
with Amplified love.
Aho, Mataquiesen.
(I Celebrate, and for All My Connections.)
Unfold me
Like a delicate flower,
Opening to sunshine
And moonshine,
Shadow
and Rain.
Let me
Feel grounded
In our love,
And trust
No harm
will Be done.
Awaken the breeze
And the rustle of leaves,
Delicate chimes
And hummingbird song.
Journey with me
to the Center of the earth.
Patience
As we walk the path
And turn the corner,
And maybe Sink,
Let go,
and Fall together.
Oh Best Beloved,
I pray
To be worthy of your grace,
And offer my own softness,
Privileged to witness
the Unfoldment of your light.
Together we glow
With all the forces of nature,
Colliding,
Radiating,
Coming together,
Altering perception
and Altering reality.
With gratitude,
May I express these gifts of love
with Amplified love.
Aho, Mataquiesen.
(I Celebrate, and for All My Connections.)
Friday, July 10, 2009
The Chicken and the Buffalo (excerpt)
She stood still, mildly horrified, as the bird - a chicken with a long graceful neck like an egret - came near her, a slight malice in its eye. She stood still, and she was small, a child. The bird came right up to her, at a fast wobble, awkward the way chickens are, and she put out her hand to shield her face. The thing pecked at her hand, leaving a mildly deep and bloody wound. She looked at her hand and felt fear, and then felt really, really angry.
She grabbed its neck, and at first just squeezed, but then she twisted at its scrawny muscles, until she felt a definitive snapping, and she let it on the ground, blood spilling neatly from the break, the body lifeless. She was a curious mix of elation and shame, and she ran from the spot, around a corner and down a sandy hill, a sand dune with no living thing on it but her.
She fell to the bottom and she covered herself to hide because there was a buffalo at the top of the hill, and she felt it looking for her and she was afraid. She was afraid, and she certainly couldn't strangle a buffalo like she could strangle a chicken. So she covered herself with sand, burrowing under, scooping the sand from above her over her body, and she lay still.
The buffalo moved on and two little girls, sisters, came down the hill looking for her. She remained hidden, because she wasn't sure where the buffalo was or why they wanted her. One of the girls saw just a bit of Child of the Desert, and was just a little frightened at first because she wasn't sure what was under the sand. So she raised her right hand up out of the sand and waved at the girl, like a secret handshake, and the girl laughed and they all got up and went back to the village.
Faced with an elder, she tried to explain what happened. He looked at her with kind eyes, wrinkles crinkling in his face, the sun behind him. He looked at her with compassion, and said nothing, only listened to her story.
She grabbed its neck, and at first just squeezed, but then she twisted at its scrawny muscles, until she felt a definitive snapping, and she let it on the ground, blood spilling neatly from the break, the body lifeless. She was a curious mix of elation and shame, and she ran from the spot, around a corner and down a sandy hill, a sand dune with no living thing on it but her.
She fell to the bottom and she covered herself to hide because there was a buffalo at the top of the hill, and she felt it looking for her and she was afraid. She was afraid, and she certainly couldn't strangle a buffalo like she could strangle a chicken. So she covered herself with sand, burrowing under, scooping the sand from above her over her body, and she lay still.
The buffalo moved on and two little girls, sisters, came down the hill looking for her. She remained hidden, because she wasn't sure where the buffalo was or why they wanted her. One of the girls saw just a bit of Child of the Desert, and was just a little frightened at first because she wasn't sure what was under the sand. So she raised her right hand up out of the sand and waved at the girl, like a secret handshake, and the girl laughed and they all got up and went back to the village.
Faced with an elder, she tried to explain what happened. He looked at her with kind eyes, wrinkles crinkling in his face, the sun behind him. He looked at her with compassion, and said nothing, only listened to her story.
Wednesday, June 10, 2009
Walking in a Good Way (excerpt)
After the first sweat lodge, Child of the Desert went to Grandfather in tears.
"Grandfather, was I ... was I paying attention? I felt the same in sweat lodge, in ceremony, as I did before. Was I not paying attention, or ... am I walking in ceremony all the time?"
He looked up at her and smiled, his brown eyes soft, his voice low. "You did impeccable work on your medicine journey." He emphasized each word, and each word rang in the her head.
"I'm very proud of you."
She cried all the more.
"Then I've been walking in ceremony this whole time?" she asked, her eyes wide and voice trembling.
"I can't imagine now not being in ceremony."
He nodded.
"Grandfather, was I ... was I paying attention? I felt the same in sweat lodge, in ceremony, as I did before. Was I not paying attention, or ... am I walking in ceremony all the time?"
He looked up at her and smiled, his brown eyes soft, his voice low. "You did impeccable work on your medicine journey." He emphasized each word, and each word rang in the her head.
"I'm very proud of you."
She cried all the more.
"Then I've been walking in ceremony this whole time?" she asked, her eyes wide and voice trembling.
"I can't imagine now not being in ceremony."
He nodded.
Tuesday, June 9, 2009
Rain Magnet (notes)
She lay on her back looking at the sky, relaxed and concentrating, melting into the earth and feeling everything everything in it. Overhead the clouds came from every direction, slowly at first, collecting in great puffy masses, condensing as their numbers increased, whirling together in mottled expectation. They sky faded to gray, and darkened further as the atmosphere blotted out the sun. Beginning with a few blessed drops, the rain struck the dust of the desert, created ripples on the surface of the parched earth. Finally the rain came down in torrents, soaking her hair and her face and her clothes.
But it wasn't imperious, this coming together, this gathering. It wasn't controlling. It was simply what was; it was natural. And so tiring, to be a magnet for the rain! But invigorating. And not hiding, but not broadcasting either, because people are afraid of what they don't understand, and that wasn't the point, to make them afraid. Or to be revered for some strange power, because it wasn't strange: it was only what was.
It wasn't like gathering the clouds in her arms: How could anyone gather clouds that didn't want to be together? But it was rather like creating a space in herself, letting herself open to attract the clouds with the intensity, like a magnet. Trusting.
But it wasn't imperious, this coming together, this gathering. It wasn't controlling. It was simply what was; it was natural. And so tiring, to be a magnet for the rain! But invigorating. And not hiding, but not broadcasting either, because people are afraid of what they don't understand, and that wasn't the point, to make them afraid. Or to be revered for some strange power, because it wasn't strange: it was only what was.
It wasn't like gathering the clouds in her arms: How could anyone gather clouds that didn't want to be together? But it was rather like creating a space in herself, letting herself open to attract the clouds with the intensity, like a magnet. Trusting.
Thursday, June 4, 2009
Hall of Records (poetry)
My hall of records
is a library of compositions
in leather-bound volumes.
An old man curates the collection,
recording the cyclical scenes of connections
that fill my mind.
Unreality dusts the pages.
Compassion for my sanity
dictates the preservation of
observations clouded in ego -
but if I were true to my intentions,
I would burn the books
and emerge from the ashes of time as nothing.
As it stands,
the best I can do is furiously re-write
the vast identity with an alien hand,
and try to dust the fresh ink
with what is real.
is a library of compositions
in leather-bound volumes.
An old man curates the collection,
recording the cyclical scenes of connections
that fill my mind.
Unreality dusts the pages.
Compassion for my sanity
dictates the preservation of
observations clouded in ego -
but if I were true to my intentions,
I would burn the books
and emerge from the ashes of time as nothing.
As it stands,
the best I can do is furiously re-write
the vast identity with an alien hand,
and try to dust the fresh ink
with what is real.
Tuesday, June 2, 2009
Laundry (poetry)
Air the damp folds of my heart.
Musty secrets lie in mildewed
passageways -
Let winds race through every sinew.
Hang.
Stretch.
Begin again,
Fresh.
Musty secrets lie in mildewed
passageways -
Let winds race through every sinew.
Hang.
Stretch.
Begin again,
Fresh.
Monday, June 1, 2009
Ode to the Peace Eagle (poetry)
Smiling at the stench of carrion
Great vultures tear great dead life
Sustain heavy beaked frames
Reaping life from non-life
putrid flesh thrown aside.
Purify what is rotten excess
Digest what no longer interacts with the world
Clear the ground for winter's turn.
The near-dead grasp at everything, feel nothing, wall themselves away.
Preparing for flight - the dead weight must be left behind.
I can smile at the stench of carrion
for I know it will be devoured by
ravenous buzzards who prey on my dead weight
and leave me free to fly.
Great vultures tear great dead life
Sustain heavy beaked frames
Reaping life from non-life
putrid flesh thrown aside.
Purify what is rotten excess
Digest what no longer interacts with the world
Clear the ground for winter's turn.
The near-dead grasp at everything, feel nothing, wall themselves away.
Preparing for flight - the dead weight must be left behind.
I can smile at the stench of carrion
for I know it will be devoured by
ravenous buzzards who prey on my dead weight
and leave me free to fly.
Saturday, May 30, 2009
Dancing Hawk (short story)
"Get a good smoke going," he said, looking intently across the circle.
She held the shell, gingerly and firmly, and blew into the pile of white sage smoldering in its pearly interior. Finally understanding she was indeed to claim a name, she smiled in disbelief, ashamed she'd doubted her prayer.
"Washee Naktahe," the words so familiar as Ten Bears said them, but strange in her own mouth, "Dancing Hawk," so relieved she was not "Ten Gnats" as she'd feared, and yet resolved to maintain that as a shadow name, and wondering how she came to such a name as "Dancing Hawk." A medicine name, at last!
Ten Bears spoke. "Washee Naktahe is a greeting, 'I am.' When you talk to Spirit, identify yourself."
She nodded, deeply honored, and taken aback at the beauty of her own name.
She held the shell, gingerly and firmly, and blew into the pile of white sage smoldering in its pearly interior. Finally understanding she was indeed to claim a name, she smiled in disbelief, ashamed she'd doubted her prayer.
"Washee Naktahe," the words so familiar as Ten Bears said them, but strange in her own mouth, "Dancing Hawk," so relieved she was not "Ten Gnats" as she'd feared, and yet resolved to maintain that as a shadow name, and wondering how she came to such a name as "Dancing Hawk." A medicine name, at last!
Ten Bears spoke. "Washee Naktahe is a greeting, 'I am.' When you talk to Spirit, identify yourself."
She nodded, deeply honored, and taken aback at the beauty of her own name.
Friday, May 29, 2009
Spark (poetry)
My funeral pyre is the fire
of my rebirth.
It glows as twilight deepens into
moonlit ritual embers;
Friends witness, build the
silent celebration;
Fire and fireworks
Spark.
of my rebirth.
It glows as twilight deepens into
moonlit ritual embers;
Friends witness, build the
silent celebration;
Fire and fireworks
Spark.
Thursday, May 28, 2009
I Am All Who I Am (poetry)
It's not linear. The lessons,
moments and lifetimes curl up like smoke;
all the women I am exist at once.
Twins shipwrecked in time, one scattered, one strong;
Stranded magical beauty gripped with fiery extinction;
Warrior woman on strident horseback
(don't fuck with me).
All the deaths
revolve until I am at my core,
then spin out seeking beauty.
Excited adolescent, wide-eyed adventure, possibilities;
and the Grandmothers, who know just how to enjoy presence.
I am all who I am to the end of time:
my eyes hold all my secrets.
I am all who I am
right now.
moments and lifetimes curl up like smoke;
all the women I am exist at once.
Twins shipwrecked in time, one scattered, one strong;
Stranded magical beauty gripped with fiery extinction;
Warrior woman on strident horseback
(don't fuck with me).
All the deaths
revolve until I am at my core,
then spin out seeking beauty.
Excited adolescent, wide-eyed adventure, possibilities;
and the Grandmothers, who know just how to enjoy presence.
I am all who I am to the end of time:
my eyes hold all my secrets.
I am all who I am
right now.
Wednesday, May 27, 2009
Mt. Tam (poetry)
There has been ceremony here;
I feel it in these medicine stones.
Every atom vibrates with ancient knowing.
The peace eagles make it pure,
But the song rings through the air just as it did
The day I was born.
There is ceremony here;
My song, my people, my privilege.
Peering at family who've carried the wisdom
of beauty and celebration -
Circled through space to let me through the door -
My infinite privilege to know your presence.
Even my courage to let you in -
and out and in like tidal waves in my teeming universe -
Comes from the wonderment
I've caught in glimpses.
My longing overrides my fear;
I prey to be devoured by your grace.
I feel it in these medicine stones.
Every atom vibrates with ancient knowing.
The peace eagles make it pure,
But the song rings through the air just as it did
The day I was born.
There is ceremony here;
My song, my people, my privilege.
Peering at family who've carried the wisdom
of beauty and celebration -
Circled through space to let me through the door -
My infinite privilege to know your presence.
Even my courage to let you in -
and out and in like tidal waves in my teeming universe -
Comes from the wonderment
I've caught in glimpses.
My longing overrides my fear;
I prey to be devoured by your grace.
Tuesday, May 26, 2009
The Sound of One Hand Clapping (poetry)
Gong!
My hand hits all the atoms
of everything there is
and ever was
and ever
will
be.
My hand hits all the atoms
of everything there is
and ever was
and ever
will
be.
Monday, May 25, 2009
Huntress (poetry, 1997)
Watchful:
Lancing a glancing blow
with every daintily pawprinted step,
she glides, solitary,
drifting;
Glimpsing:
Whiskered tail switching,
dodging a forgotten hunger,
confessing empty,
alert and
Longing:
Not for solid sunshine warming
through ancient rock (long held
for well-deserved repose);
but for
Seduction's faintest scent,
Drawing her
as gravity
draws
water.
Lancing a glancing blow
with every daintily pawprinted step,
she glides, solitary,
drifting;
Glimpsing:
Whiskered tail switching,
dodging a forgotten hunger,
confessing empty,
alert and
Longing:
Not for solid sunshine warming
through ancient rock (long held
for well-deserved repose);
but for
Seduction's faintest scent,
Drawing her
as gravity
draws
water.
Sunday, May 24, 2009
The Warrior, The Meditation, The Red Road (poetry, 2008)
Part One: The Warrior
What happens after you
Birth a planet and
Rip out your heart to
Create a sun?
Nothing to do but
Follow your Heart into the
Center of a
Maze of possibilities and pathways
Blazing, each one, with
Atomic energy
Radiating
Swimming
Producing
Heat and Light to your
Beautiful Birth Child -
a Planet of possibilities
waiting for care.
I was a
Woman once, in a
Vision, covered in
Mud that was a field of
Primordial ooze, new,
Unshaped, but holding the
Seed of ancient beginnings.
Awakening by some
Spark, sitting up, letting the
Ooze slide off my
Two-legged form
Standing to reveal a
Viking, an armor-plated
Warrior with
Horned helmet and
Fierce boots.
Muscular
Rock-solid -
A fine progenitor of
Body and Mind -
Square-shouldered
Long-haired and
Blond, Practical
Braids dripping from
Ceremonial costume,
Ready for
Battle, or Exploration, or
Love. Ready for Action.
Surveying the fecund
Wasteland around me,
My freshly raised form
Bends to pick up a
Sceptor with my right hand.
My left picks up a
Globe of
Beauty and Mystery,
Worlds within Worlds
Barely contained
Within its form.
I place the Orb on the
Staff,
Hurl it into
Space, and
Fly up after it, like
Superman, or Wonder Woman,
a Viking prototype
of Supernatural ability.
Every thought is an
Orb
Hurled into
Space.
May all my Offspring
Walk softly and with Gratitude.
Part Two: The Meditation
I have sat in
Meditation, the
Light at my back through
Windows that overlook a
Scene I cannot recall.
I remember sitting in
Meditation, my
Robes and
Status around me, perhaps
Smug in my situation,
Hair in a neat ceremonial
Bun, when the
Doors before me
Opened and disgorged a
Warrior, a Soldier with a
Sword, that
Cut me in two as I sat.
The mark still appears as a
Line down the left side of my
Face, an ancient battlescar only
Healed by Forgiveness.
Part Three: The Red Road
The man Jesus knew
Love has no room for
Other. Choose love or
The Black Road will
Swallow us in
petty concerns and isolation.
The Red Road is the
Path of the Heart, the path of
Connection, the
Ribbon of blood that
Traces the one path of
Genetic fulfillment.
Within you, you
Carry the seeds of
Unique greatness.
Unlock those seeds and
Share them with your
Brothers and Sisters.
Find the fire within you, and
Bring that fire to the people.
That fire, your seeds of greatness,
Are your Red Road.
The Red Road is
Narrow. The path of the
Heart is specific. You
Know when you are on the path.
And you know when you are not.
Sacrifice your ego, and your
Heart will lead you to
Treasures only you can find.
I know these things to be true.
Your fire is needed.
Answer the call to greatness, and
Let your heart lead you to riches.
What happens after you
Birth a planet and
Rip out your heart to
Create a sun?
Nothing to do but
Follow your Heart into the
Center of a
Maze of possibilities and pathways
Blazing, each one, with
Atomic energy
Radiating
Swimming
Producing
Heat and Light to your
Beautiful Birth Child -
a Planet of possibilities
waiting for care.
I was a
Woman once, in a
Vision, covered in
Mud that was a field of
Primordial ooze, new,
Unshaped, but holding the
Seed of ancient beginnings.
Awakening by some
Spark, sitting up, letting the
Ooze slide off my
Two-legged form
Standing to reveal a
Viking, an armor-plated
Warrior with
Horned helmet and
Fierce boots.
Muscular
Rock-solid -
A fine progenitor of
Body and Mind -
Square-shouldered
Long-haired and
Blond, Practical
Braids dripping from
Ceremonial costume,
Ready for
Battle, or Exploration, or
Love. Ready for Action.
Surveying the fecund
Wasteland around me,
My freshly raised form
Bends to pick up a
Sceptor with my right hand.
My left picks up a
Globe of
Beauty and Mystery,
Worlds within Worlds
Barely contained
Within its form.
I place the Orb on the
Staff,
Hurl it into
Space, and
Fly up after it, like
Superman, or Wonder Woman,
a Viking prototype
of Supernatural ability.
Every thought is an
Orb
Hurled into
Space.
May all my Offspring
Walk softly and with Gratitude.
Part Two: The Meditation
I have sat in
Meditation, the
Light at my back through
Windows that overlook a
Scene I cannot recall.
I remember sitting in
Meditation, my
Robes and
Status around me, perhaps
Smug in my situation,
Hair in a neat ceremonial
Bun, when the
Doors before me
Opened and disgorged a
Warrior, a Soldier with a
Sword, that
Cut me in two as I sat.
The mark still appears as a
Line down the left side of my
Face, an ancient battlescar only
Healed by Forgiveness.
Part Three: The Red Road
The man Jesus knew
Love has no room for
Other. Choose love or
The Black Road will
Swallow us in
petty concerns and isolation.
The Red Road is the
Path of the Heart, the path of
Connection, the
Ribbon of blood that
Traces the one path of
Genetic fulfillment.
Within you, you
Carry the seeds of
Unique greatness.
Unlock those seeds and
Share them with your
Brothers and Sisters.
Find the fire within you, and
Bring that fire to the people.
That fire, your seeds of greatness,
Are your Red Road.
The Red Road is
Narrow. The path of the
Heart is specific. You
Know when you are on the path.
And you know when you are not.
Sacrifice your ego, and your
Heart will lead you to
Treasures only you can find.
I know these things to be true.
Your fire is needed.
Answer the call to greatness, and
Let your heart lead you to riches.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)