This poem makes me feel big on a morning when i feel small.

"The same stream of life that runs through my veins night
and day runs through the world and dances in
rhythmic measures.

It is the same life that shoots in joy through the dust of the
earth in numberless blades of grass and breaks into
tumultuous waves of leaves and flowers.

It is the same life that is rocked in the ocean-cradle of birth
and death, in ebb and flow.

I feel my limbs are made glorious by the touch of this world
of life.

And my pride is from the life-throb of ages dancing in my
blood this moment."

~Rabindrath Tagore

Last night

I dreamt 

I was filling a backpack

with tools.

Boulder

Alone, at last.
Sitting in a cafe, people watching, writing, sipping a warm cup, and generally exhaling.
Phew.
It has been an incredibly beautiful trip thus far...realizing that this is the first time I have been alone though, and it feels good to be just me, my pack, my time, my car, the road.

I fell in love with Taos again, as expected.  My time there was so full, so mystical, and enlivening.  It feels almost like a dream, it has that sort of substance...

Hot springs, two sweats- to open and to close, garden time, impromptu herb classes, cooking and eating together, seeing old friends, making many new, being blessed over and over again by the graceful timing of Life, gleaning wisdom from the most surprising of places. 

Harvesting sage with Sarita and Yuko in the middle of a thunder and lightning storm? 
Priceless. Treasure. The stuff Life is made of.

I am so grateful for this time with them, especially right now.  Being with one another in all the difficult places only deepens the love we have for each other. 

And now?  Some student readings at Naropa, a day of exploration ahead tomorrow, good friends, ceremony, camping, and then, on the road again....

i have taken that journey
those scared, small, bold steps away
into the storming night
i have circled back now
time and again
with perspective grown
compassion and fierceness, hand in hand
i have heard those wild geese calling,
and still i forget
still i seek to
remember
in moments,
in solitude and sometimes loneliness
that i belong
that i
belong
to something
to the wild world
to my human family
to myself

i have been meeting
myself
in quiet moments
in stillness and movement, unfolding
i greet myself,
sometimes without words in my mouth to give
sometimes with hands and heart empty
of the knowledge of how
to gather, to weave, to welcome
to nourish

there is One inside of me
who follows behind
with machete gleaming,
hacking
silently, slyly, sneakily sawing
at every root i dare dig down
every thread of connection
spiraled out
her blade screams, no!
there is safety in separation
cut loose every tie
you cannot afford to love in this way
you must always be ready and able to sever,
sever and be safe

I come to her
crying
tears of compassion and pleading
dear One, dear One, the war is over now
i tell her,
the terrain is more tender
there are fields for planting
there are roots to intertwine
that do not seek to suffocate or harm you
there is beauty in the broken heart of loving
and separation
leaves you starving

I have been looking for a job for her
something new to do,
something to offer her hands, to offer thanks
for her service,
for her job well done
and now,
i think i have it-
do not lay down your blade,
just cut away
all that does not serve-
all these habits here, all these entangled knotty twisted branches
of a starving soul
searching for light, for comfort, for something to keep me from my own pain
i honor the power of your severing blade-
but let us rewrite the guidelines,
redirect the force of your tool's clarity
here,
here,
here you may cut, here you may sever, here you may prune my soul's growing
cutting away that which needs to die,
so that the miracle of new growth can emerge


there is One inside of me
who sits,
her shoulders slumped,
her head, unable to be lifted,
her hands limp and useless at her sides
her gaze, dead and empty
how do i reach this One?
this dear, precious One who has lost her will,
surrendered to an inescapable reality
almost broken, but not quite
see?
her breathe rises and falls in her chest
though shallow, her breathing, at least,
is a sign of life

I come to her,
and sit nearby
witnessing quietly,
sending love to her, to the place
where she has made herself untouchable

how do i reach this precious One?
what can i offer?
what can i give her to bring her back from this edge of despair?
how can i show her sunlight, if she cannot find her feet to walk?
she is barely there, shadowy, watery, etheral
lacking the substance of essence
the thinnest thread connects her to life,
because she has found
she cannot will herself to die

how do i tell her now, that she is free? 
to come and join me in a new life?

to bridge, acortar la distancia

a car ride with a head full,
i count the bridges
along the way
one,
two,
three, four
five, if you count the last half-ass one on my road, which i don't
innumerable, if you consider the worlds traveled between, which i do

tonight i seek reconciliation, and that sweetness
eludes me

Rachell?
i heard a voice say,
asking,
is that you?
yes, i think,
in some form, it's me
and i turn my head
to see
a face from my childhood,
the mother of a schoolmate from elementary school
Grace?
yes, it's she and Ryan, too
who was still in a stroller the last time i saw him, maybe four?
i recognize only his eyes,
and his gaze is quick and fleeting

Grace opens up to me
and pours out a flood of years
stories and updates,
and then,
what brought them here

they are looking for a sleeping bag
they are sleeping in the park downtown
i know the one,
with the bridge
where the shadows hang out
beautiful by day,
but different after sunset

her husband left
when she was outta work
and she and her son were evicted from their home
of sixteen years,
she talks and i listen
and watch sweet Ryan
as he's pacing,
and i'm guessing
he is 'autistic' or something
of that nature
i can feel
his sensitivity in me-
and i know,
it must be torture for him,
living on the street
i give thanks
when i also feel his resiliency

they are struggling to get help
getting what they need
because there is no place in the system
for a homeless woman and her homeless grown dependent son
there are no programs for that,
they don't quite fit
for them, the "government safety net" doesn't exist-
she could go to a number of shelters,
but housing for Ryan would mean a group home,
where he would be totally alone
he doesn't want that, and she doesn't either
they want to stay together

Love is exchanged
and i leave,
but this scene
doesn't leave me

it fills my head and breaks my heart
over and over
and over again,
how? how? HOW?

how do we live in a society that allows for this?
how do we walk over people lying in the street,
and then past empty houses and vacant buildings?
how do we trick ourselves into believing
that somehow they are bad or something?
and that's what got them there, on the bottom, begging

i think
more and more people are pushing closer to the edge
and realizing
how short a fall it is, really
and how impossibly hard and long a climb
i hope
people will change their minds
and open their hearts
when it's someone whose name they know
when the faces
on the corner or under the bridge
become strikingly familiar,
and hit closer to home.




may everyone have enough to eat.
may everyone find shelter and home.
may everyone know love.

the end of a life

herbs and feathers and sage
stones and chocolate and rose water,
these are the things i know to gather
to bring as offering

and sometimes these
are all we have,
to hold onto
to hold us
in the ever-shifting chaos
of an ever-tilting planet,
they remind us

it's not the objects
themselves, really
it's the meaning with which we infuse them
the external reminder of the sacred within
of what we are connected to
of what holds us, and surrounds us, and supports us,
all the time

querida, i will come
bearing basket
with a cracked open heart,
with feet rooted in the earth,
y llegamos otra vez
to lay our lives down
on the altar
porque sabemos que la vida es una oracion-
una bendicion,
un milagro, regalo, misterioso
lo sabemos,
aunque olvidamos
and we will howl and dance
and whatever else it takes,
we will have faith
like the sun, setting to rise
dying, to live again.

sunday questions

what does it look like to re-vision Life?
how do you hold the many deaths of all you thought it would look like?
when a vision dies, how is it reborn?
and it must be reborn again, now, with all of who you are, after the dying- all your unfolding, unveiling, all that you are blossoming into. 

o, the many parts of me, imagined whole- to create a vision of just that. to make it possible to believe. to see, to create. to know.
i wrote a song recently, with a prayer to Life to break me open when I have become closed. 
(shit.)
i wrote that song, but really, aspire to remember that in my daily life.
desire to know the sweet peace of surrender, to move with joy and greet even sorrow with gratitude.


Life will break our hearts, over and over- it is it's nature.  Joy and Sorrow inextricably intertwined. 
It is in acceptance of this, and in the fullness of feeling all of it- that we might descend/ascend/transcend through to a place of surrender- surrender to Life, to the cycle, to sorrow and it's dance partner, joy. 

like compost, that nourishes the earth and feeds what is living.

Love can transform and heal anything.
Love can transform and heal anything.
If we let it, Love can transform and heal anything.

I am

the tiptoeing sun..

What the Forest Has to Say to Me

once again,
to the singing creek
with paper and pen
my breath
rises and falls
more steadily
as i take my seat,

listening,
listening

i become very still
and notice only
the movement around me
my eye is drawn
to leaf,
to bird,
to web,
to moth,
to bee

listening, listening

i let my vision
lose focus, go soft around
the edges
as i listen for what i hear

the creek,
water over stone
dripping, flowing, smoothing
soothing me
a bee,
circling

my dog's tags,
somewhere nearby
in the distance
as he no-doubtedly leaps, exploring
still within reach

now raven's calling, deep
and throaty
and i think
about the naming of things

unexpectedly
my voice tumbles out of me
and i feel
the resonance in my chest
and hear the
echo back from the trees

i sing to the forest, again
uninhibitedly
my heart cracking
open in my chest
my breath
settling deeper
into my
belly

sing your breath,
when you breathe,
the
water whispers to me

feeling.

listening, listening

my body rocks,
hips rolling
side to side
opening, releasing, I
breathe into them
imagining the vast space
of possibility-

release.

listening, listening

heart thumps.
that cracked open place, oh yes
i move
there
with my breath
i let the tears come,
and they come
so quickly-
right below the surface,
waiting
i give them over to
the creek, who willingly
recieves me.
she
seems to say,
give them here, Child,
again and again,
as many times as need be

i imagine my tears
flowing
down the creek
growing to the stream
joining with the river
flowing out to the sea

that vast and wild
Ocean Mother, She,
who my tears taste of
She,
who responds to the moon, as i
gently cycling,
re-cycling
She who knows the ebb, the flow
of tides
her wild, crashing, joyous
waves,
that move
like my pain-
i feel them wash over me,
and away
wash over me, and away~

i open my eyes
and notice the rain

i stand up, abruptly
moving to leave-
and the hem of my
paiyaso pants
catches a nail and i land, Thump!
on my butt again
outright and unexpected
down again
as quickly as i had risen up
i think,
i guess not!

my laughter shakes the trees

i lay back
on the two-plank bridge
to see what else
the forest has to say to me

i look up to the sky,
and watch the rain drops fall to earth
fresh water mixes
with salt
and i let the rain cleanse the sorrow from my face
washing this releasing~
cleansing,
healing

o! let the day begin anew again,

listening,
listening.

Progress

couple of weeks ago i
went for a hike
down
by the singing creek
and saw a pollywog,
who reminded me that-

transformation
is an awkward thing

back again, today
by that sweet, cleansing
water
and there, again
my friend-
four-legged this time
he swam by
still at full-tail throttle-
but closer,
one step
closer,
to his
unknowable,
unknown
form

Lost and Found

I stop
and take stock
of this re-clamation scene

I am re-membering
my Life,
piece by piece

I am peeling back
layers
of years
of skins
of lifetimes of hiding
protections
long past needed,
silences, melting

invisibility
only binds you

and it is only in my re-vealing
that i can discover
how
Big
I Am

and so
I will greet my Life grinning-
humbly,
gratefully,
knowing

that whatever comes
is Teacher.

big guns and little dresses

churning
alone, here
at the country coffee shop
so far outta town, that everybody's local
except, maybe, for me
never local, never known, never home

i am waltzing
down corridors of memory-
kicking up dust-piles of days
forgotten,
peering into corners
questioning cracks and crevices,
cause some crazy-coyote-counselor lady
told me
to start digging

turning away
from shadows, from self
has kept my red-shoes tapping
has kept time to rhythms of pain and patterning
pushing away
all that is too pitiful
too poor and lonely
too vulnerable
to bare
to bear
in the glaring light of day

so, today
hand me a shovel,
a trowel,
high boots and pen,
and let the
digging dance
begin..

unedited.

a little bleary eyed this morning
but at least
a little less than the rest
waking from dreaming
that my ex-lover has died
bleary eyed
i move forward through the personal fog of morning
sifting through dreams and visions, memories that sometimes grow vivid
others that threaten to completely fade away
who am i, today?
emotions flood shallow laguna plains
marshy morning
i note the preferred posture of percieved safety
hunched in on myself and crunchy
just below the semi-permeable surface
the soft and fleshy layers of vulnerability
i'm between
the softest and the hardest parts of me
so let me be easy
today
gentle with myself and others
breathe
i sit on my porch and think that everything is okay-
or nothing is,
which thought would i like to live by today?
the light of possibility unfolding
or the dark depths of a cave where i've been hiding
on too many sunny days,
too many sunny days