Rising center

16 Saturday Jan 2016

Posted by in becoming, change, courage, dark, devotion, discomfort, freedom, honoring, listen, movement, mystery, nature, poems, poetry, transition

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So you really never fit,
and now it’s more of a really really.
Shrug it off-
not fitting frees the exploring soul.
Neither want nor need nor longing, but
a deep call for rest
surfaces
through songs your bones sing,
once the clattering night noise settles,
in twists of incense smoke,
a meeting of damp earth and bare toes,
between falling canyon air and sun up,
and mountain lion’s lingering musk.
You’re in the wash,
a cycle of agitation.
Finding rising center means
letting it drop in
to find you.

Full circle view

13 Wednesday Jan 2016

Posted by in abundance, becoming, change, devotion, discomfort, gratitude, honoring, learning, listen, movement, nature, poems, poetry, Sight, the road, transition, vision, wonder, work

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walking a path
moments arise
when the ground underfoot
disappears,
a little free fall
gives new vision
upside
down
isn’t
right side up
unless
it happens enough
to be forgotten..
with full circle view
one becomes whole in the turning

Them

11 Monday Jan 2016

Posted by in becoming, courage, dark, devotion, fearlessness, freedom, gratitude, honoring, listen, movement, mystery, poems, poetry, the road, vision, wonder, work

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The sensitives,
the permeable, the dancers, the strong,
knowers of medicine,
open-eyed dreamers,
familiars of the taste of tears,
hearts wounded in ache of loss
buoyantly loving all the same..
whose laughter is song,
whose feet go bare,
who chew leaves and talk with hawks,
whose ocean tides move both blood and moon,
ones as fiery in temperament as in flame,
courtiers of the unknown,
inviters of ancestors,
those who were a problem, a scapegoat,
an assigned patient…
The sensuous.
Creators and celebrators of beauty.
The manifest.
You.
Come.
We will follow the dark of our bodies
along serpentine trails
into growing light.

 

 

*with special thank you to James Hillman.

From here

06 Wednesday Jan 2016

Posted by in aging, beauty, becoming, change, devotion, discomfort, honoring, learning, movement, poems, poetry, release, the road, transition, work

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Before the flash flood breaches the banks,

Or heat melts fabric,

Or mind reaches the brink,

Step back.

In the too muchness comes a madness,

One you may never need know intimately again.

Pick up the thimble, oven mitt, helmet, or wand-

From here out you direct yourself along winding ways

In full grown possession

Of every sensuous, blossoming moment.

Two kinks in her tail

26 Saturday Dec 2015

Posted by in abundance, aging, beauty, death, dreams, family, honoring, poems, poetry, receiving, vision

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frost on rooftops,
steam rising in ray of sun,
squirrel rests outside the window,
taking in a treetop view.
i dreamt of tortoise-shell kitty,
the feral girl with two kinks in her tail
who i buried so long ago.
calling urgently out the door
for my forgotten meow,
she came tearing up the wooden walkway
to jump in my arms.
glad to see ya, kiddo.
stay close,
let’s visit again soon.

Borderlands

04 Friday Dec 2015

Posted by in abundance, aging, becoming, change, courage, discomfort, Inspire, listen, lost, poems, poetry, receiving, release, the road, transition, work

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Along the borderline,
territory between nowhere and here,
a no-woman’s land.
As the barbed fence you’ve been following
runs out,
wire hanging,
wind and boot crush
contain the remains.
Stop walking.
Look far, gently,
in each sparse direction,
above and below.
A kiss will press your cheek,
hair will lift out of your face.
Even desolation carries Spirit.
Perhaps, especially.
Where the winds blow uninterrupted,
dry sweat into salted white rings,
room for Her grows.
Beneath an open range sky she spreads wings,
hovers,
inspires your scent.
In the borderlands, a map is only hope-
drop it.
You are being breathed-
oh yes, bigger journeys beckon
and instructions no longer apply.

Each day

29 Sunday Nov 2015

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The rock,
the dense coldness you carry, can’t put down,
shift endlessly hoping
for a more comfortable position-
that stone you think is solely yours
as it mopes and drags and cautions and weighs and snivels,
all while closeting the real pain?
Think it belongs to you?
Turn your head,
look back down the line.
Greet your inheritance.
It is simply your time.
Now, begin the work-
call forth the generations of people
whose blood you share, and
who’ve given you each celestial day
to awaken again.

Until now

29 Sunday Nov 2015

Posted by in abundance, aging, beauty, becoming, change, family, honoring, lost, movement, poems, poetry, release, Sight, vision, work

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A vision may well peek from the crack
with cloudy newborn eyes,,
Step out, sticky, legs wobbling,
sensing whether this environment is ripe
for emergence.
A vision may appear,
reminding you of what’s possible,
then
disappear from whence it came.
Within the steam trail of its memory
and your belly’s pool of tears,
grief
for what could have been
and
a growing relief-
ah!
the nourishment for that dream
couldn’t exist
until now.