At the end,

there is always a beginning.

as i sit, here
at the end of the world
in a place familiar and no longer mine,
i wonder
i ponder
the rhythms, the patterns that have brought me
thus far

i've been shedding skins
again
and this new me is also strange, and
somehow familiar

the moon's belly is full and hangs low in the sky
pregnant yet, with so much possibility
who am i?
alone, this night,
alone
as we all are, really

intentions with friends this morning, at sunrise
i spoke of roots intertwined
of deep connection,
of support and nourishment

sometimes
i can lose myself, so easily
in the day to day, ordinariness of things
or in the constant flux and flow and changing,
in the sorrow, the stuck places
or outside of myself, forgetting
that source is a wellspring
that overflows in my soul
and that my roots come with me, wherever i go
that my wings are not fragile things
and have known a heavier load,
than this

and this, is what?
is bliss
is hard
is changing
is soft
and unfolding
is unknown and scary,
is life giving death giving life.

Be Gentle...

i sit,
and watch the sunlight dance along
the strands of web
linking leaf and leaf
and plant to plant
a garden of shimmering threads
i hear the blackbirds
with their shrill voices
and let the whisper of breeze wash over me
let the sun's warmth in
through my skin
past every pore and all the broken places

what if,
in this unravel-moment,
you chose to do something different?
right-along-beside the old familiar pattern?
what if you chose,
to remember?

the strands of light that connect you,
the web of love that supports you,
the earth that holds you up?

Navajo song, via Joseph Cambell

"Oh, beauty before me, beauty behind me, beauty to the right of me, beauty to the left of me, beauty above me, beauty below me, I’m on the pollen path."

On Letting Go...

she nursed Honey
from my fingertips
i felt her feet
vibrating and vibrant
as she moved across my hand
stately, with dignity
and grace~
that slow stroll reserved
for royalty

i am a Child
in wonder at Life, so small
at a Mother of so much,
my eyes are wide, my heart is creaking open-
as i feed my Queen,
who's made an unheard of
appearance
this evening

just this moment, this
is more than i could have asked for
in the car as i drove, grieving
relinquishing my hold on
my resistence to letting go
my chest is shaking as
i am breathing, 
a deep trembling,
a crumbling, 
receeding.

inhale, exhale
this is Life, this is Death
here, in your hands, moving
surrender to the Mystery,
and turn your Heart towards that
which is Living,
allow yourself
the honey,
the Beauty,
the flame,
the sting.

how could i

forget to remember?

as hummingbird jewels
dart and dive
around me
this morning,
hum-strum-whirr they invite
me to dance,
to live in the moment as though it were holy
to inhabit my body
to embody the spirit within me
to create and recreate over
and over again.

perhaps my redemption lies in
daily resurrection
allowing myself to die and be reborn again
each morning,
rising from ashes of sleep and dream
to start,
to start again.

Mamuse

Garden Song

On this bright and healthy morning
I wanna sing my song
Let it be sung
And as I let it fly out into the world
Let it be known
I hear the music in all things today
The dance is on

I lay down on the ground
In the garden,
let the earth
Crawl up into my clothes
Stared up at the sky and we fell together
We really are so close
He whispers hello, hello, hello
And the dance is on

All the world is conspiring for me
The dance, the dance
Everything everywhere nourishes my growth
The dance is on
Let it be known
I can hear the music in all things
Today it's on
This one's for me

The bees are buzzing for me
The dance, the dance
Even the distant train is calling my name
The breeze is orchestrating
a complicated ballet
Between the leaves
The dance is on
This one's for me

All the world is conspiring for me
The dance, the dance
Everything everywhere nourishes my growth
The dance is on
Let it be known
I can hear the music in all things
Today it's on
This one's for me

The spiders are making rainbows
Between collard greens and the sun
There's a hummingbird calling
Up in his tree
I can hear his wings from way over hear
They beat for me
This one's for me

curious

shifting clarity
sifting experiences through the filter of mind and body
redirecting energy
hold it in close,
now,
expand exponentially-
hands open and unclasping
of all those answers so long longed after
the ball drops, the beat hits-
and bounces
with gravity
with bouancy,
so give me levity today-
a certain intentional casual-ty
give me
the freedom of air in my lungs
filling, emptying

cords touch, after so long left hanging
and i am grateful for that
in love
which transcends
the smallness of possesion and protection
and instead, gives of itself freely
with no need, no need
for reciprocity,
only receptivity.

butter and honey days

the skin snaps, bursting
and the juice from fruit, warmed
by the sun
rushes
to flood my mouth
and run down my chin,
land
sticky on my chest,
drips,
like kisses
like sweet drops of sweat
on sun-browned skin,
in orchards that hum
with
ten-thousand tiny wings

hand in hand
briefly, just
for a moment
now and
again,
skin on skin
feels good, and so
i give
in
and let
the "soft animal of my body" just love
what it loves,
and let
this blessed
sensuous
beauty
in.

The Freeing

She lowers the pail into the well
pulls up black water
a full bucket of it
sets it in the grass to
moonbathe until dawn

She has heard tell
water painted by the moon
gives you the power to change
loosens old skins and masks
tightened by days of trying

She has heard tell
water soaked in the moon's gaze
becomes the sweet nectar
of free life
free thought
liberation

Under the fits and starts of stars she waits
and when the dawn finally comes
eagerly tips the metal lip to her mouth
lets the moon dusted river
rush her body
clear her of all things caged




~dawn thompson

reminiscent

dreams of bees
humming
I wake to clean
and find a lizard
snoozing
under the couch,
I pick him up
to take him
outside and
he's slow
to leave
the warmth of
my hand.

it's foggy
here
this morning,
but the birds are singing
and the horses
are
romping.

and
I land somewhere
between
poetry and prose,
pausing for a puff
and a sip.
new rituals beginning,
new rhythms-
hit the re-set this weekend
and i feel fresh-
holding onto my center,
learning how to
rest, there
and reminding
myself to
have

some

fun.


the days of the oh-so-solemn,
ceremonials are
over-
I welcome
breath,
I welcome
pause,
I welcome connection,
I welcome
the smile that plays
on the edges of my lips,
I am That-
and now, too,
This-
just
and all
and every bit-of,
this.

well.

tell me,
what good is a candle,
without a flame?
when all spells are broken-
only the truth remains.

gargh-blargam-bluey

heave pillows
and throw sighs
i want to curl up on the couch
with someone's hand on resting
on my head
my shoulder
my thigh
i am jealous of the cat tonight
who can creep up, turn her motor on
and illicit caresses and snuggles
in a moments time
tonight
me siento sola
once again
but i know its passing
its
passing
and sometimes the road is lonely, gaw-dammit
sometimes thats
just how it goes
sometimes it doesn't matter
how much
you "know"-
you just don't fucking know.

Ausencio

how do you sit with it?

a grown man,
unable to read, to write
in his own language
let alone yours, a foreign tongue
here, in an unfriendly land
unable to look you in the eye
or speak loud enough for you to
make out his words
the first time

how do you sit with the
injustice of it?
that by place of birth
circumstance
and chance
you were given so much more than him?

how do you sit
with the suffering of soul
the loss of confidence
the absence of dignity
pride abandoned, or thought undeserved
or maybe beaten out of him

how do you sit
with it?

maybe you don't
maybe you just drive home crying
and pant and wail to the sky
pushing palms of feet and hands
into the ground
asking, begging for it to be taken

how do you sit,
with this man named Absence
whose downcast eyes
have pierced you through, unexpectedly
on a thursday afternoon

maybe you don't or
maybe you do
maybe it's unexpected thursday afternoons
that call and call and call you to
be a balm for suffering
however you can
here,
in an unfriendly land.

Such...

sweetness.

Mm.

"And forget not that the earth delights to feel your bare feet and the winds long to play with your hair."

Waking Dream Warrior

I meet you in my dreams,
or,
I meet myself, really.
She, who could not for the pain of love see,
that which stood before her,
and, or
danced in the shadows behind her back.

I will meet you there fiercely, reclaiming.
I will stand before you, eyes full and blazing,
with hands open, gently, releasing.

I,
I do my own work now.
and She who meets with you in dreams,
is She that wakes with me each morning.
She who walks beside me,
and catches my hand, should I start to fall.

She is my warrior woman, standing tall and unafraid of
what she knows,
She is that virgin huntress queen, with bow and arrow drawn.
She is open-eyed and in waking, no longer waiting for
the proof of love unfelt, or of betrayal unseen.

She walks beside me, he-ya-na-hey-neh
and whispers words of strength to my feet.
She sings freedom to each step that I have walked away.
She calls to my spirit, to every last vast inch of it-
return,
return to me.

All that is mine, I re-claim.
All that is not,
She gathers in her arms and with a firm and humble nod,
places at your feet.

He-ya-na-hey-neh-oh-wey.

-re, or the promise tenses.

time
to
re-assemble
re-create
re-invent
re-evaluate
re-name
re-member
re-connect
render
re-locate.

hablare.
cantare.
disfrutare.
crecere.
imaginare.
sanare.
sonare.
vivere.

Sigh...

Conversation with a good friend, sit, relax, enjoy...
and then the ol' horoscope echos- what if it's the rainbow, and not the pot of gold?

I am sitting in the local hip coffee shop, feeling stand-outtish and foreign and full.
Maybe a little too full, in reaction to an empty growling stomach, in reaction to feeling alone.
I wonder, too, about that reaction on a bigger scale, I have been hungry, hungry, hungry for Life-
and now am feeling a little too full, an appetite that has grown voracious and a weakened ability to prioritize leaves me feeling overwhelmed.

So grateful for that conversation, for the reminder to take a breath, and ground.

So many good changes have left me feeling so much clearer than before- no drank, no smoke, no joke.  A moment of celebration, here or there, but rare.  And it feels good, feels better.  It is far too easy to cloud and hide and avoid Life, myself, my pain, my goals.

Needing to find more balance, find my boundaries and hold them well, with kindness.
Phew.  Sometimes I grow tired of that lesson, and yet it doggedly arises, again and again- as often as I need it to until I learn it, I suppose.

Should go, that list is'a calling.  Less overwhelmingly though...
Bless~

Don't Worry...

In Honor Of...

...one of the greatest men I have ever known.

A Teacher, a Friend, a Blessing to all who crossed his path.

A man who embraced his Death with as much love and grace as he embraced Life.

"Peace! Fullness of Life!"

~John Jerry Anthony Parente

Rest in Peace, John.

Now you are Everywhere...

Take It In

dark-chocolate-caramel-sea-salt tongue
and finger tips
musica brazilera
bailando por estero
y yo
sitting, staring, speechless
at these surroundings

me,
at the table, looking out on the rain
me,
here, alone, unable to escape myself
that elusive
woman in the mirror
who is
dancing again
and now
a little samba shake
all the way across the living room
she pulls herself
passionately close
and spins, dips, twirls
bouncing back-
i watch her shimmer and smile
hair, wild and curly
from the rain

i am
re-membering
again,
now
this rhythm
this pulse
this life that is so full of possibility and
probability not detracting, I
am beginning
once again
to believe

that something of more substance can be created.
that life is full and so am I.

que todo esta vivo en mi.

Stillpoint.

Be, don't seek.Sit warmly open,
lightness in your brow,
not questions.

Be ready for the quiet
when it comes,
and the creaking
of the house's bones
and the wind's music
playing the notes of the trees.

Be, don't brood.
Don't wait for Life
to announce itself
in capitals
or high garb.

Be available to its whispers,
know how to listen
when it tells its true self
and not the lies
you've dreamt up.

Be able to breathe
and let go of your breath,
let go of life as you wish it to be
and take in the simplicity
the facts-

This sky is.
This day is.
This sparrow is.

Be, don't try.
Your weariness must have
shown you something by now.
Stay seated in your soul,
remember the sun is there,
truth and time are there.

Be, don't seek.
You've already found.
You already have.
You already know.
You already are.


~Elizabeth Page Roberts

chrysalis

door ajar, letting the rain in, cleansing. 
the air is cold, but i welcome the freshness, the movement, it's chill on the little skin that's exposed.
i'm wrapped today, "moving like a pupa." :)
morning conversations of skitz-o-frenia, shamanism and spirits, emotional reactions and defenses. 
i'm surrounded by mooning women and skittish cats, still adjusting to the pit-bull size beastie that's moved in.
late morning brunching. :) 
protein and more of it!
my body is aching with this change of weather, of seasons it seems. 
but
movement is medicine
and i am doing lots of it.
feline, fluid stretching, qi gong,and shakin' it out, yo.

have some work to do that i'm avoiding.
again.
ha. 
i think that some inner dis-order needs arranging
before i can move towards that bid'ness lady who's gotta write a semi-professional letter.
phew.

gotta remember to breathe. 
it's amazing how easily and often i forget.  

no music in my life at the momentito...
my technological means are packed up in a box being stored under a bed in another town.
and so
i listen to the rain, the sound of it
on the roof, the wooden slats of the porch, the cement, the cars crashing puddles below.
i hum a little tune now and then,
and traditional chinese music trinkles in from the room across the hall.
yes. that's right. trinkling. :)
i've got the grouch's, Lakeside tune playing in my head,
mostly on repeat of,

"release-release-release-release,  release,  release,  release-"

my doodle-bug
half-crawls, half-slides off the bed, yawning.
he steps onto the carpet in front of me, bowing.
what a dawg.
i get up to give him some good puppy lovin' and i am so grateful for his presence in my life. 
no matter what worries and trials it been along the way with this guy-
they are forgotten with abandon when he snuggles in or makes me laugh so hard i cry.
damn.

ha.
i said that really loud on bart yesterday, accidentally out loud.
it kind of rang out into the conversation that was happening across from me.  i didn't look up, they definitely paused.  whoops.
it was a genuine response, after reading that in the latest issue of Street Sheet 
that there are 185 VACANT units in San Francisco's Housing Authority's buildings. 
(Who is reporting much fewer less..) 
and as the article said,
"Meanwhile, we have families in San Francisco sleeping on the floors of churches, at drop-in centers, and in their cars. Some families are forced to stay in unsafe situations as they have no place to live."

need i remind anyone of the season of weather that has just come upon us? 
rain, no matter how much it's needed or how beautiful it is,
is never welcome when you live outside.

and yes, there's bureaucracy, institutions, paperwork-
but where is the heart? the humanity?
i wonder,
with so many empty houses and so many mothers, fathers, daughters, sons, brothers and sisters outside?

the man who sold me the paper,
who gave me two issues, even though i only had 1
shared a smile with me
and generosity
i thanked him and wished him,
'Be warm, stay dry-'

just thoughts, today.  on this rainy finally-wintry day.
just feeling grateful for every little thing.

Caminante

You
witness yourself.
scarf and jacket wrapped tight
against the cold.

You.
walking down the street
you were raised on

you see
where you learned to
ride your bike
where you fell down,
and got back up
again

you see silhouettes of trees
shadow lined sidewalks
and it's nothing but
You
and the cloudy city-night sky
and the cool, wet
breeze

And your dog.
whose click-clacking
step
calls you back
to the present,
happening.

you see
the tree that once stood
there,
cut down long ago
the houses full
of ghosts
of kids you used to
play with
where are they now,
you wonder,
where did they go?

You
walk this street that
you know like
the back of your hand,
in a skin
you can finally
claim
as your own.

and for once,
You don't feel homeless,
coming home.

make beauty everywhere you go

there's a mockingbird
somewhere nearby,
singing
i'm perched and listening
on the rooftop porch,
which transformed
into a garden,
in a morning's time

hands in dirt
as the city woke up
sleepily, slowly
saturday morning style

i hear that sharp trill
unmistakable
as she ducks and weaves
through borrowed songs
now she mocks
the car alarms
mimics the men on the street
as they call
from yard to yard
from car to car

i finish up
sigh, and take a seat
to survey with pleasure
the unexpected beauty
that blossomed
with a little roof-porch tetris
and some elbow grease

smiling,
i recognize the pitch of the hummingbirds' wing
zip-zzoooooooooooooooooooooooooom~
there he is,
he pauses and dives low to
check out
this new
little patch of green.

PAY ATTENTION.

laws are being passed to prevent us from being able to grow our own food and make our own medicine.
our dependency on technology has made us pasty and weak and has left us with little common sense and no idea how to provide for ourselves.
and the deportations are on the rise....

they will sell it to you wrapped in convenience, they will tell you that it will make you SAFER.
they are not out to protect you- they are out to protect their profits and their pockets and there is no human life or suffering that will deter them.

PAY ATTENTION.

Letter from Eve Ensler

Dear Emotional Creature,

I believe in you. 

I believe in your authenticity, your uniqueness, your intensity, your wildness. 

I love the way you dye your hair purple, or hike up your short skirt, or blare your music while you lip synch every single memorized lyric.

I love your restlessness and your hunger. You possess the energy that, if unleashed, could transform, inspire and heal the world.  

Everyone seems to have a certain way they want you to be - your mother, father, teachers, religious leaders, politicians, boyfriends, fashion gurus, celebrities, girlfriends.   In reporting for my new book, I learned a very disturbing statistic; 74 percent of young women say they are under pressure to please everyone.

 

I have done a lot of thinking about what it means to please: to be the wish or will of someone other than yourself.  

To please the fashion setters, we starve ourselves.  

To please men, we push ourselves when we aren't ready. 

To please our parents we become insane overachievers.  

If you are trying to please, how to do you take responsibility for your own needs?  How do you even know what your own needs are?  The act of pleasing makes everything murky.  

WE lose track of ourselves.  

We stop uttering declaratory sentences.  

We stop directing our lives. 

We forget what we know.  

We make everything OK rather than real.

 

I have has the good fortune to travel around the world.  Everywhere I meet teenage girls and women giggling, laughing as they walk country roads or hang out on city streets.  Electric girls.   I see how their lives get hijacked, how their opinions and desires get denied and undone. 

So many of the women I have met are still struggling late into their lives to know their desires, to find their way.

  

Instead of trying to please, this is a challenge to provoke, to dare, to satisfy your own imagination and appetite.  To take responsibility for who you are, to engage.  Listen to that voice inside you that might want something different.  It's a call to your original self, to move at your own speed, to walk with your step, to wear your color.

 

When I was your age, I didn't know how to live as an emotional creature.  I felt like an alien.  I still do a lot of the time.   I am older now. I finally know the difference between pleasing and loving, obeying and respecting.  

It has taken me so many years to be OK with being different, with being this alive, this intense.  I just don't want you to have to wait that long.

 

Love, 

Eve 

push and pull

o goodness!
gladness!
oye, voy-
it seems that i don't
know my place anymore
i am seeing more clearly
those true colors showing
like the hints of color
through peeling paint
on walls
there is something
unraveling
here for me
and it seems like maybe my journey
is asking
that i make my move
once again
cause i feel like i'm
carving out causes
rallying resources
and drumming
and drumming
and bumming
and slipping
back into the lulling
rhythm
of a rhythm-less life
but
i can't sit still anymore,
my body won't let me
there's a buzzing in my belly that
makes me squirm
with impatience
an ever urging insistence,
more than, more than, more than
mere existence,
and if my hands lie
too long useless
they scream their resistance to lifelessness
in aches and pains like
fire needles in joints
they cry use us, use us,
don't miss the point!

you are divinity,
you are the skin it's housed in,
Life is sacred and profane and you
can swing from extremity to extremity
or find a middle way,
your own rhythm,
to walk to.

Steaming

i am simmering
boiling
roiling in my own juices
this morning
i wake
sleepily, sweetly, sadly
letting go slowly
doesn't hurt any less, you know
it may in fact be
the more painful
choice
but on my lonely way
back-
but i am finding pieces
of my heart along
the path,
acknowledging what must be mended
places that bleed still,
fleeting glimpses
of the kind of compassion
that might transform us both,
once again,
into something resembling
friends.

remember?
please remember,
how i've adored you-
caresses carrying love's buoyant weight,
nights of laughter and mornings steeped
in passion's wake-
don't forget.
don't forget, amor mio.

and even back
before that still
delighting in you
without possession or pause,
you did not belong to me then-
and neither do you now,
so why and when and how
is it
that this
separating
tears me into pieces,
and can be a bittersweet relief in
one breath,
and a chest-crushing weight
in the next?

we are shooting arrows across caverns
sending up flares that can't be seen-
we have lost our common ground now,
and there are oceans
in between

i'm sorry, love,
i'm sorry-
i don't have any fight left in me
and
i can't bridge these distances
alone.

(i never could.)

"Don't be so hard on yourself."

janelle turtle and zoe keating
today
as i try
to make right
and re-set patterns,
place them gently aright
like little children
learning to walk
who topple over
again and again
gently,
patiently
make quiet that voice that screams,
never! not good enough! not right!
soothing,
gently,
who would scream
at a little child,
anyway?