My brother and his wife watched the debate

Neither sleep that night

Deeply rattled by the play of Lela

The cast of characters so clearly delineated…

Oscar the Groch in his trash can…

Reminding me that when I was little

I had a monster living under my bed

So that I had to make a quick leap into bed,

Ah, the adventure of incarnating.

“““““““““““““““““““““““““`

My friend Priscilla who is on the other side

Painted -My Tree -it was a favorite of hers-

This buddhist concept of

Unconditional Friendliness Towards Onself.

Which restores the balance

Althought you might not think it was so.

So be careful out there

Your peace belongs to you, its unconditional.

Death is only a somewhat managable conversation

For the old….. as we leave a plan

With our Directives.

Mine differ from John’s.

( and we had to fight our way out of that paper bag)

…..I want no more extra minutes

Calling the last breath- good.

It’s emotional- this end of life stuff

Big feelings come up ( which I want more of anyway)

““““““““““““““““““““““

A call to love

To burn with it while I’m here.

Any reservation was just a bit of fluff.

“She’s got the whole world in her hands

She’s got the whole world -in her- hands..

She’s got you and me sister- in her hands…

She’s got the whole world in her hands.”

And of late….

I’ve come to rely on HER more and more

Because the human lives that crowd my heart

With their vast and complicated details

Must be released back to the wild….

To “She” who so easily looks after what I love.

I told a young friend that ” yes”

In fact we must sign up for full heartbreak

But if we don’t, we just sit on the fense

And what fun is there in that.

I’m letting my hair grow out

It’s a messy mullet – tossed at sea-

Caught in a storm….

And isn’t that exactely what this summer has been?

I won’t go into details

But I have been severely stretched-

So many significant changes.

But with a tiny nod to myself –

I seem to be ok.

Having made strides in the recent year-

Knowing that it’s my job

To be there for myself- tracking and loving

This whole complex deal called my life.

The grace of acceptance, not easily won

But so noticable when it has kicked in.

It’s been a week since Jean Pierre and I

Drove out the Lamar valley- thrilled by

Huge herds of buffalo

Some rolling in the dust.. In Yellowstone

The wonders of the earth unfold

Before our awaking spirit,

Each wonder – an ancient key.

Muddy waves sloshing in the dragons breath cave

An earth pluse- a remembering

That the earth is alive.

Jean Pierre started calling me Nowmeee

The grandmother- praying to see his small boat

Come into sight – on the now empty beach

“Where is he?”

We risk our heart – everyday

That’s just how it is here

And we woudn’t have it any other way.

As I pack my duffle

The call of the open road awaits

Jean Pierre ( 16) and I ( 74)

Leave early tomorrow for the Wind Rivers.

He’s a fisherman

And we are taking an infatable boat

To paddle out onto Colter Bay

And Yellowstone lake at sunset

My adventures of late

Have been interpersonal

And it’s just time for a little less of that.

that are out there

Aging is an island ( adventure?)

But we didn’t pack much

For our extended stay and there is

The surprised feeling of being unprepared…..

Like how did we get here?

“““““““““““““““““““““`

My neighbor and I

Sat at the beach as the sun went down…

That day , they’d been told that her husband

That he’d had two strokes

Which would explain his memory loss.

” Remember our wedding vows” she said

“In sickness and in health”

And it’s true we do motor on

With our injured partner beside us

Answering the same question for the seventh time.

““““““““““““““““““““““““““““`

I vowed at my wedding to be true to myself

( Walt Whitman’s Song to Myself)

Somehow I knew even then,

That life was a big ask and it is.

When Ann Sullivan finally gets through

To Helen Keller, signing water

While putting her hand in the water

Signing water, again and again

And Helen’s incredible joy

When she understands

Essentially that there is a place for her….

“““““““““““““““““““`

My friends son is struggling badly

His sense of place is missing

And she/he needs a miracle.

An opening in what feels closed

A sense of self to emerge in him.

This film came to mind and if you watch it

The black and white version is really wild….

Breakthroughs exit, let’s not give up

Universal consciousness is on the way- stay.

While sitting in tea cup meditation- early

Soft grey clouds at last

No more fire.

I observed this morning’s spirit animal

It was a Willow, walking barefoot with coffee

Wearing white like the cosmos flower.

Nature provides wonder in her many forms

The Willow form like the deer yesterday

Directs my gaze

And I remember how- she only wanted to nurse

Food was not to her liking-

She just wanted breast milk.

I hope to this day that I didn’t break her heart

When we had to stop…

Maybe it was my heart that was broken.

““““““““““““““““““““““““““““`

The Alabaster Sculpture of Willow

Was carved by our Thorn Lake neighbor,

Michael Reardon, many years ago.

No turmoil in retreat…

Tenderness in these tight places.

We’ve been running a refugee encampment

Neighbors displaced from the fire

And their cats

And a few traveler’s too.

Food dishes piled high.

The dishwasher a constant.

Long ago I made a painting

Called The Happy Kitchen where

Every surface has a tipped bowl

or a broken egg, a delightful tribute to chaos

Babies and dogs under foot.

And there I sit,

Over in the corner by myself

At my own, neatly organized table.

““““““““““““““““`

In the coming times

It might not hurt for each of us to increase our awareness

of how we grapple with chaos because…..

More is coming.