How long ago were we taught?

How long ago were we taught

to fight with our own selves,

to oppress and bind ourselves–

to be better, to be nice, to fit in, to be worthy?

To be successful, accomplished, competent?

Parents aren’t to blame, they were taught the same.

Go back and back and back. . .

and back.

It served something much larger

for us to bash down our own beating hearts and bright,

lit up eyes.

We needn’t be oppressed from out there when

we do it first from the inside.

Go to a job (what a weird requirement)

at the outlet mall so you can live.

Nursing survival fears, real and imagined,

keeps us very busy–and useful–

to systems that cut us from the land,

from the divine,

from one another.

Life has never been, will never be, easy

but isolation,

disconnection,

meaninglessness

are the poisons we serve our own bodies and minds

when chasing and begging for pieces of paper.

Currency.

And the fear of not having enough, or

losing what we have,

ties us in

to beliefs and habits and conditioning

that make television the closest thing

to mother’s milk that we can reach.

Or the bottle.

Nothing is wrong with you. Nothing is wrong with me.

Nothing is wrong with us.

But something is wrong with wedging our precious selves

into tiny spaces, tiny perspectives, tiny versions

at the breath-stealing expense

of our own inborn radiance.

Wind blows a chorus

Wind blows a chorus in the mountains.

I’d forgotten how the trees sing in rounds,

sometimes whispering,

sneaking a song, suddenly, behind you

then switching far out in front, down the hardscrabble

with its abundant life of stone and tiny leafings,

scales and flitting feathers.

I wonder about the songs echoed

from those not swishing needles and branches.

What part of the rondo do our human ears miss?

How sweet to offer our voices back

to the heart of the mountain

by joining in its steep and generous sound.

Walking the long road

Cracked earth and fallen cottonwood twigs,

bare branches sweep the sky.

Walking the long road, heavy trucks rumble away,

away up dry hill.

Mountains embrace this flat place,

mud walls embrace the people.

Shuffling along wooden sidewalks

with a strange highway straight through the heart of town,

I am a fish out of water.

The dust that settles behind my scales,

lines deepening in dryness,

may show its true face yet and whisper

a magic too quiet

for a busy brain to hear.

A slowing grows

and this fish can sense that breath is still possible

where the sun shines continuously

and rain gathers in the prayers

of the ones living here.

With ceremony

With ceremony comes the sweat

and all the questions of what to leave behind.

Set down your pain in recognition

that that heavy visitor, with tricks up its sleeve,

is simply

the pain,

looking for an identity.

If you’ve offered it one, you’ll know

because the pain has moved in and set up house,

happily snuggled behind a breast bone, or deep in the pelvis,

grateful to be held there in perpetuity.

The pain stays.

Suffering of any or every kind,

the pain translates easily from heartbreak

to backache–

ache being the tone of its song.

Pain will keep singing,

and your mouth is the one it uses

as if the voice belongs to you.

There are guests who need to be kicked out of the house,

might the pain be one of yours?

A place I have become

A place I have become,

with no knowing where home is.

I carry home with me and in her, them, him I reside.

Words only bring us to the doorway,

imagination opens the door.

In this extended departure

the landscape broadens, roads disappear,

names change, expectation reveals its hollowness,

and desert mountain awaits.

A place I have become, moving upon this earth

without long plan, without people on the receiving end,

with nothing of permanence.

Laughter will replace fears and doubts soon enough.

For now, chasing details fills the days.

This place I become will carry me to the grave,

wherever and whenever that shall be.

In the meantime, feeding the soil, sitting with what is,

allowing for what will be, dropping off

assumptions,

and listening softening listening softening. . .

I want to know this place deeply and dearly

before I go.

What is to come?

What is to come

with such violence in the world?

Old as existence, violence arises and

falls away, erupts and leaves ash heaps,

sterility, an airlessness that waits,

waits,

waits

until seeds able to withstand–and bring Life–

from extremes

begin anew.

But the cycles can not, will not, alter

until every one of us, each one unto themselves,

can reach the threshold of greeting

the violence with and in

ourselves.

Begin, begin, as those stalwart seeds,

to come consciously into relationship

with the most difficult impulses we humans possess,

one by one by one, together,

let us move into wisdom’s ability

to navigate this earthly realm

beautifully and whole.

Out of the dissonance

God, how we fight, fight

to get our needs met.

Out of the dissonance of yesterday

today arrives, new and in flux.

Sitting with turmoil after a verbal attack,

I wonder.

Wonder at our repetitions of what has befallen us,

of the disrespect and dismissal,

bullying and belittling;

What came at me with heavy disorganization

and aggression, brought a new face

to an old pattern. What came at me at home

as a child

came at me again in my home

as an adult.

Only now, now! I could say,

there is no fight here,

slow down and hear what I am saying.

Having one’s boundaries blatantly ignored

and crossed may be

a desperate ploy for power

but I wonder,

might not power be the question at all?

Where rivers join

Where rivers join

goodbye and hello are fingers entwined,

one feeling like another in swift,

painted tangles and currents.

Waters from here

meet

Waters from there.

Confusion and torrent, swirl and coherence.

Holding on is a goodbye with wings,

watch it fly away~

Enter the River

A new movement is afoot,

with steps unknown. There are none.

Enter the River, whose banks

support you now.

Fear may be stripping away, removing the old,

debriding the wounds, a turpentine in the veins.

Let it be.

She beckons. Enter, and be moved.

You will learn–they will teach you.

Call up faith, rebuilding the trust you think

has been lost.

When ready, your own feet will guide and

root you deeply in place where waters and winds

may dance you, earth holding close.

In time, in time,

the Way emerges…

The open door

Somehow it is February and 79 degrees.

What a wonder.

We have entered a new world, mostly of our own making.

Turning back is a fantasy holding some together,

imagining it isn’t happening holding others.

Our earth mama talks with us, through us, always–

she shows more loudly by the year

the honest consequences of our actions.

Birds sing loudly on the other side of the open door,

more kinds than usually heard in chorus.

They bathe bathe bathe and chitter, twinkling songs..

A magical day,

yet strange.

Prayer flies through the open door that we all learn to listen,

listen and praise, find ourselves on our knees ready

for change that serves Life.