I love it when
the wind strolls in
and my meadow friends
dance and bow.
Love it when
waves rush to crash across
the wide beach smiles up
where the eagles rest silent on the wind above
etch greetings sky to horizon down to me
all the way home: carried and strong.
I love it when
ears find old playground laughter between
of empty swing sways
find playground teasing within
little sister crow’s nagging cries
following big sister eagle
back and forth
back and forth
boat house to nest
nest to boat house
boat house to nest.
Ah, little sisters.
Love it when
eyes cherish the faded flap-flapping flag
forgotten by neighbors rushing back to the city.
Cherish wind: an absent spacious presence
Cherish sand: a shattered toe-hugging
Cherish the polished-cream beauty of driftwood.
Here books, stones, deer, and gentle evening light
invite themselves to play:
sated, triumphant, wildly creative
complete within themselves and completely inappropriate.
All silent and awkward at just the right moments.
Humans arriving here
and far between.
We arrive like children
gleefully joining the chorus
certain our tiny voice is heard
among books, stones, deer, dancing warm light
heard within silence.
Or, we arrive here like grownups: certain of nothing at all.
Either way, those invited here
come to play
pulled by the sea
or some other place
where they grow quiet enough to hear the invitation.
I love that we hear the call
so everywhere, so often now
More than anything else in this world
I love dropping every last big plan I had
just to respond, in kind
to the invitation
Dancing in the breeze the tree
is quiet and self-contained.
except for the sun
the soil, the birds
butterflies and bees
rain and wind
Daniel and me
pruning away dead and crossing branches
inviting more sun in to her center
lending her our shoulders and driftwood
to prop her up
after November’s storm pulled up some of her roots.
Ok, so not exactly self-contained.
What I mean is self-assured
happy with where and who she is
not fliting about like we humans do.
You know, worried, questioning everything,
wandering some days, angry, distrusting
Although, some years she is lost too:
like the two years that she was covered with
she had to have been a little worried
made almost no apples, and dropped those she did, quickly.
Her world was dark then. She hunkered down, moved within
sent no new branches toward the sun.
my point about this apple tree is that
Beautiful, strong leaves.
Graceful, arching branches
and more than a few that prove trees get bed head too
with limbs nestled all askew against the sky at night.
Amazing, delicious apples
beyond generous in her season
(to the point that we have run out of ideas again
for things to do with all these apples
and so have our neighbors
even the deer here are drunk).
The apple tree is pure delight.
To play a small part in her full and shining life is enough.
Every single time
I doubt my intuition
compromise what I need
shove aside my body’s warnings
bow before convention
elevate kindness too far above truth
allow another’s needs, or society’s, to entirely drown my own
the world goes sideways, fast
I become angry
I become the destroyer.
Behold the power of the goddess.
When will I fully trust myself?
Trust others enough to handle me as me?
Listen to my body?
Listen to her wisdom?
To myself? Here at this window.
Surely now at middle age
I should have learned by now
by now at least
that I am trustworthy and strong
that my intuition speaks only truth
that it’s my fear that sometimes lies
and lands me here again. Again.
Surely I should know
you, too, can handle my truth
my messy self, my needs, especially those that appear crazy at first
those that appear to contradict yours. How silly we seem now
the people who let fear lead us.
Crazy contradictions are precursors to all life-bringing creation.
Mud to a lotus.
I rest today, at peace, here within storm’s gentle eye
covered in the mud I made myself, grinning ear to ear.
No tom boy.
I apparently needed just one more example.
Laying sick again, in bed, on this beautiful and perfect August weekend day
while others brunch, slightly worried about she who takes cover at home.
Don’t worry about me. I can brunch another day.
I am content here, now, learning the lessons I insist on teaching myself until I get it.
I am stubborn. Thank god.
We become idiots when we don’t trust ourselves. Destroyers of selves and of worlds.
I was an idiot. Again.
humility and gratitude
my oldest, dearest friends.
And well played, self.
Too much humility is annoying as shit.
Weapons, walls, blame, and technology
security is an open space within.
Security is the freedom to be a gentle sprite
at rest and moving among ever-shifting hearts.
Borrowing others’ eyes to see.
refuses to be a big thing.
She’s fiercely personal.
If I was a person
would destroy me.
Good thing then that I am
at peace under your fingernails.
A robin on her nest.
Shining feather grass
waving in the ditch.
at rest in the sky.
And the wind
rolling foam into waves
for the fun of it.
You may be a woman weeping.
You may struggle, petition, march, vote, scream, follow, vent, and lead.
What I see is a creator laughing out loud
on the very worst of days.
I see you.
You may be
by all the sides
I witness but do not feel. Deep down
where my bones are
there are no sides.
Me. I just love this world of ours.
I am this world of ours.
Events don’t change that.
I am here naked and in gratitude.
Only in gratitude do I come to you.
Only in gratitude do I listen to you.
Only in gratitude do I learn from you.
I stand here with you.
I will receive
receive arrogance and ignorance.
I will receive the blood you spill.
I will hold it all
as my own.
I am love.
Try to wash me from your hands and
witness straight lines melting into rivers.
I will turn your rigid bones
Muse #1: Mine
This is My home
I am allowed to
retreat and rest
speak my mind
make a significant difference
fully embrace grief
Muse #2: Yours
This is Your home
Will you invite me in?
Want me to stay?
Ask me to return?
Muse #3: Ours
This is Our home
Can we all feel this moment
as Mine and Yours and Something Special
down into our bones?
Muse #4: Privilege
Privilege is being stretched while feeling loved.
Any place, any moment, any sensation
within which we’re learning, feeling the edges
–while being loved–
and so can grow
to appreciate differences among mine, yours, ours, and home.
And any moment
within you and without
that you can find a space where you are loved.
This place, this moment, this sensation
today is privilege.
Any moment we can stand up for this place, moment, sensation
for weeping selves and hurting others:
imagine this a given, the default, the real for all
is privilege too. Breathe in and just imagine…
Muse #5: Home
My Old Pal Reflection
Cat Paw Presence
Time for Play