Margit- grew up over a trains-station in Germany

Her father played in Hitler’s symphony-

But she had a picture book of tropical plants

And now lives in a garden on the big island.

Making art – like these charming geese –

Naming them-Kate ( for the Duchess of York)

Gracie and Josie- the Defender.

She did this work for her amusement

And so to this point – watch on YouTube

Isabella Ducot- Now I am fully an artist.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~`

It is very daring indeed to think

That by giving ourselves to what amuses us

We are fulfilling our purpose-

Is it that simple?

Yes.

No one will want to hear this-

But I have seen again-

The deep conditoning of the diminished self

Of women.

We were not supported -and

There is guilt and shame

In our lineages.

( affecting our strength and power now)

`````````````

A friend told me that her mother

Got pregnant- her first time having sex…

High School boyfriend- they broke up

Four months later she understands that she is pregnant

The parents make the kids get married

The baby is born and dies.

And this story was kept in secret – until an uncle

Mentioned the baby-

A baby that my friend knew nothing about.

`````````````````````````````

Secrets were the name of the game in my mother’s generation

But also too in the 60’s onward-

We have been so well taught

That the blame is ours.

There is recovery in shared stories

Hearing about my friends mother- heals me

And makes me mad- in the best of ways….

``````````````````````````

There has been no healing for either of them

Her mother shut off her heart long ago

Saying to her daughter- I moved on- and so should you.

But there is no flow between them and she is 83.

This is a travesty… we can do better.

I was beyond spent and my soul said

Go to the high country- NOW

Wild basin is the headwaters of the creek

We call our own- the St Vrain.

But up there – it belongs to nobody

And I needed that kind of wild.

We were zombies

So I wasn’t suprised

That when we returned to the truck

Pink cheeked and restored- that

We had locked the keys inside.

So we made a day of it-

Hitching a ride from the parking lot

Back to Lyons

Only to go back up again.

But I swear this is just what I needed.

Letting the power of the mountain

Claim what is not mine in the first place.

An eagle was involved

I had just begun my meditaion

But nature had another thing in mind

As the hawk made a hasty landing

Her feathers in disarray.

We waited- the hawk, the eagle and I.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

But what was my part in the story?

Am I just the witness ( is it enough?)

Or am I the interpreter of the dream?

My feathers too are ruffled

My beloved America is in trouble

As we witness a steady flow of disruption,

We wish there were more we could do.

``````````

The eagle took flight

Who knows what actually happened?

I like that I can ask this question.

Keeping my heart open

Is a full time job.

An eagle was involved with the quick landing of the hawk

(I had just begun my mediation) Facing East

Toward the sawed off Cottonwood- I

Waited with the hawk- while she

Readjusted herself after a close call.

Reading the signs of nature – her ruffled feathers..

An obvious a reflection of myself.

Readjusting constantly to the steady flow of disruption….

The eagle left- who knows what actually happened?

```````````````````````

I am interested in my not knowing.

In this field of “I’m right and you are wrong”

We have to work with broader truths…..

Even as the mind screams it’s rightness.

Surrendering to spirit- spirit it there

A true friend.

```````````````````````

Happy Imbolic-

First glimpse that spring is on her way.

On this cold Saturday

The faithful of Lyons show up to protest.

I lent my scarf to a hatless comrad

Holding our signs high.. we are

Neighbors in RESISTANCE

And as Sam says, ITS OUR DUTY.

( our democracy is compromised)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I wandered over to a low fire

Coals heated by a propane tank

Guarded by a wolf.

( It felt like a homeless camp-

Sharing with each other what we had)

…and so

I asked the wolf for a story,

(He was a young guy but it made a go of it.)

“Just back from Minnesota, visiting family

Where is was 20 below-

Amazed that my car started.”

There were three us at the fire

A strumming guitar player and I- who

As we stood there together- felt the deeper truth…

Community is sustainable.

So don’t be fooled into thinking

That we are not connected.

~~~~~~~~~~~

So in these days of extreme strife…

Let’s tell each other things…

Letting our chest be like drums

Where the words reverberate

Melting the ice.

Astonished once again

As the sun clears the cliff edge

A single tree- is lite with such light

As to make one laugh out loud-

With a- How can it be- feeling of wonder.

It’s our very own Burning Bush ….and it is

Time to set out on an “exodus”

Having recognized that the slavery of our past

No longer serves-the collective.

“““““““““““““““““““““`

I love the image of HER as a burning bush

Brightening the horizon

On Martin Luther King Jr Day.

I’m listening.

Minnesota- land of ten thousand lakes

The Ojibwe The Lakota

Let the rising smoke of the smudge be

Held North East- to Minnesota.

Spirit rattle- calling on the strength in the land

To support the people who call this place home.

The front of the storm has come to your shores

For now… you do this work for us…

Whistling beside a machine gun.

In the face of danger

Offering assistance to your neighbor-

Saying to us all-

This is what we do- this is who we are.

The dark forces pay a full time staff

A big salary just to create scary messaging

That we will fall for….

And then those who don’t agree

Are repeating the madness…

spreading the germs

by repeating it again.

What are we messaging to those we meet

What it is we would like them to believe…

Which god- because the golden calf is out there.

Breathing slowly through the heart

Calling on Higher Power

The First Step of the 12 steps….

As we stumble around inebriated on media..

I called for help today

And it’s wild how quick I got it.

How can this be?

““““““““““““““““““““““`

I had gotten thrown off course

By the storm that is America

Or what is left of her.

But I am obligated as an elder

To set the fear aside- consciously.

““““““““““““““““““““““““`

Breathing with the heart

Slow and easy.

It’s called SHOLDER- space holders.