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.)
Monday, September 21, 2009
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.
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