“Hi Jan- it’s your sister Sal”

She’s going to want to get off the phone-

So I rush into my brief share- before

Like catching a firefly-

I let her go-

Back into her TVed nursing home-room

Where she is holding her own

Like a gruff ship’s captain

As I coo into her ear- for one more second.

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

So many things have become clear

How she kept me from living the life she led

Because she took it on- (for me.)

I salute you Jan

As you steer your ship into safe harbor

Full to the brim of your great strength

And perseverance-my big sister!

Oh my heart

Cutest being – ever

The small black bear

On his own-

Who ate the single strawberry

By my kitchen window.

Nature provides these visitations

Giving a spiritual confirmation

A kiss ,a wave- an acknowledgement

For our connective roles

Even the ones we wish were not ours.

Can I just be a warm body too

A heart – with

No thoughts necessary

No stories to anchor reality…

A constant thread of misdirection-

The ever active mind.

But Oh No- now I will have to feel

The heart of the great mother

Weeping..

all the held in check tears

of what I have been circumnavigating

Thinking the mind was a safer bet

But at what a cost?

I’ve heard that the reason we are feeling tired

Is that we are changing from a 3 d world to a 5 d- and

It is a good time to allow – old patterns to change.

Those self concepts that are like a tight leash around the neck.

One of mine changed from listening to a monk

Lobsang Phuntsok-

A darling human- whose face tells it all-

The long journey of forgiveness

And the flowering of unconditioanl love-

But hard won

He had to pull on the roots of what he calls

His lack of feeling loved- illness-

It didn’t want to budge-but

He wanted the fullness of his life to be his

And eventually he saw that he was loved ( enough)

Just not in the way he said love would look& feel.

I sat on the studio floor

Allowing the paint to find where it needed to go

… teaching me in it’s wake – the same…that

Something other than me- knows the way… and

What happens when I move forward

Having seen the futility of resisting

The pull of the tide

The force of how much I love.

I

I made a zine- a tiny folded form of story telling

Very handy for when the heart is over flowing

And it reguires a form of conveyance

To complete it’s rotation.

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

I made a zine to give to my friend’s son

A leprechaun of a fellow- in a jaunty hat

He is going bald

( like his dad)- our friend- 10 years older-

Who had recently slipped to the other side.

But my heart needed to make a personal marker

Hense the zine-

Which tells of a faithful stop watch-

The same watch that his son says he now has

As he too had wanted to time his wifes contractions-

Thus confirming once again- spirit is here

Winking and giggling- whispering “do you get it”?

Early start – up to Mitchell Lake

Banks is full of zest – curious about each new thing

Me too-

Open hearted we take to the path

Tails wagging.

Simple joy is best.

I compliment him often- so kindly

Looking back over his shoulder

To see that I don’t misstep

As I hop over a log.

We are off trail- following the river

Rushing us onward- toward even

More love.

Chicory flowers bloom for just one day

By evening there is not a bit of blue in sight

But come morning- we are fully gifted

Once again with the magic of blue.

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

Our inner solutions are within reach

Recently I set a question in motion-

And was gifted a super comsic insight.

Spirit conspired to help me see

My next evolutionary step…

From a horse whisperer-

I will now be able to learn

To ask – instead of tell.

To invite connection- (not as a requirement)

But as a true meeting.

As I walked on the path through the woods

My youngest self sneaked back in

That pensive child with head tipped away

I let go of the other

No need for performance- a nasty habit

I picked up along the way.

And just let myself drift and be there-

Finding bits of treasure

A perfect pinecone, a chuck of quartz

A twisted piece of wood.

Terry said that his visitations would be obvious

Like the swallows this morning- looping over the field

Their outrageous joy at summer’s food- abundant in the air

And then there was the- Heron-

Huge wings making her landing in low

Onto the the dead branch

Where all the birds of spirit sit.

It’s too early for me to know how to sift

Through all the heart’s content

That his death has brought to my shore.

I am thankful for this quiet day-

For any ability I have gained

For staying with the moment

With the unknown – knowing- it contains.

Or as my mom loved to say- ” The Mystery”