The cooling image of the sailboat on the water

Was a photo of blue I snapped

From the inside of my grubby trash can….

Happiness is Blue

As we still recover from snake bite

I notice that I get these days in between

Where I have let go and

The “All Knowing Rest” comes in,

No more struggle

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Snake bite has pried me open

I can’t hold onto the small….

The constant love we have received has been over the top

All the people we have ever known

Want to weigh in and let us know.

It’s like being dead

Swirling upside down in a vortex of love

Watch out dear ones, rattle rattle-

The poison is the nectar.

I

In my dream

I’d had a baby but due to a difficult birth

I was dis-associated from it

I’d walked away

But when I heard the baby cry

I found myself, as if in a trace,

Picking her up……and

Putting her to my breast

Her small mouth -the latch.

The profound wonder of it.

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Sometimes parts of ourselves miraculously return.

A cellular change

I feel different, more calm.

She and I are connected.

Right before John’s run in with the snake

I started a morning tea and mediation practice

Each day, our faithful sun brings light to the garden

As my own heart echo’s in response.

Remembering the truth of the whole thing

To laugh and delight and be amazed

At the beauty in a human soul

Transmuting the poison into nectar.

The great green heart alchemy.

“Swing low sweet chariot – coming for to carry me home”

Banks nudges the door open with his nose because

John is blowing cottonwood seed from the deck

From his wheel- chair.

In an Odyssey of our own

Mythology came to bite us

Not a lethal doze

But way more then I would of asked for

If I lament too much I will be lost so instead

I will show you things I like

The bird at the feeder, the flowers in the vase- Banks asleep in the sun

The bird sounds- even the sharp ones

Dead flies on the sill, sunlight

My old hands, that I am writing

That the day is mine, that I can rest if I want to.

Catapulted into spirit

On this day of the Lunar standstill

Our Sun most North and our Moon most South

In Chaco Canyon, The Dagger of Light

Pierces the spiral petroglyph

Made a 1000 years ago and

If you pause a moment you can feel it

A call to go deep and be.

To standstill with our sister the moon

Lunar- ly – I lean with risk toward you….

Always there is the possibility of snake bite.

Sometimes life sweeps us up when

Someone we love has been injured

And needs our full time support and care.

This has been my fate of late

And as an advocate for his medical care

I found myself fully lost in Duality

Kind of a terrible place to be

But now that he is on the mend

I savor my return to personal expression

In writing to you, I exist.

This is how I know myself.

It’s a full moon solstice today

So full- so complete- growing is constant.

At my neighbor girl’s graduation party

Her breasts, lively in her small bathing suit

Announcing that she is ready…

Enviably ready- as I drag my feet

On what is changing in my my own life.

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Changes that are asking for more of me

To emerge from the thicket.

Like the three young deer I saw this morning

Come down off the back hill with a trot

Crossing the green field

Then the river -in single file.

One before the other.

All of it symbolic- a call to

Invest again in my own life- it’s specificity.

Fulfilling the desires of my inner child

That deep place of spark and purpose.

She and I do a pretty good job but

It’s in the naming of a disruptive feeling

That the release comes.

Crossing the river to the other side.

John has been a proponent of hiking with a light pack,

Hence “Super Light” has become a metaphor.

I think that I write in this way too-

Limiting the use of my words

( I often subtract any that aren’t strictly needed)

But as it turns out

At the risk of not being understood.

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A friend of mine had to check on me

As a result of my last blog post ( Venus)

In which I thought I as waxing eloquent

About our creative potential

To create the world a- new-today and everyday

( I ‘m a bit of an ecstatic).

And I was raised by drunken sailors

With their jaunty language and a wild turn of phrase.

I didn’t mean to worry her….

I just get carried away.

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Communication is a wild endeavor.

How many ways it can go wrong?

It makes me wonder….can I try harder to be clear

Or maybe it’s just impossible.

As an artist – I play around with paint and words

And it eases my heart…

Transforming pain into nectar.

Art heals me.

Thank you for being part of this flow,

We do this together for better or for worse.

The frequency of love is now established

Post Patriarchy (official last day was May 15th)

It’s time to get creative.

No more bitching….

What was no longer matters.

““““““““““““““““““““““

As in a dream- now shall we dream a- new.

The love channel is oceanic

Sweeping the beach clean…

Feeling a pulse that is not mine alone.

We are all in the same womb….

Splashing about…..What a Day.

Very oceanic

So many things wish to strip us of our innate knowing,

Like waiting for test results….

Weird dominate medical authority trip.

Let’s question everything- shall we?

No more pacing in our cell blocks.

We humans have fairy wings

But it requires a fierceness to use them…

To overcome the cultural trace of our conditioning.

But we have the capacity to out- shine the shadows.

Be Gandalf at the bridge.