And she says to me in a low rumble

“All my living I have been an old woman

In the woods alone

I do what I like:

I muddy & sweep my hut

Carry myself into the sky&

Listen to what it says,

I gather mushrooms

Terrorize foxes & men

With my friendly claws &gait,

Laugh a long time into a bucket

Until it laughs back with spit

Breathe as a stone at the bottom of a creek-&

Many other things I do not say.

But none of it is done from fearing.

Poke at the fear as into the dying fire in yr hearth:

Which way do the sparks go,

How does the fire hiss?

If you choose my life- know you are choosing it,

Not hiding in the woods.”

““““““““““““““““

From Ask Baba Yaga by Taisia Kitaiskaia

The water boils, cooking squash

Bank’s dinner-staple- orange and yummy.

And I get to cook it.

Something homey to do on a Monday.

Warm and friendly pumpkin in the pot.

I sit…. wandering and wondering …how

Can we find neutrality with our enemies

(Neutrality….not helping either side- impartiality)

Usually lost in perception- and interpretation we are lost…

“The world can teach no images of you

unless you want to learn them”

Tomorrow we commit your body to the fire

Where it now must go

We are mortal

Our bones have other commitments

Cremation is our final act

Seeing you released from form

A body you no longer wear

Free to be the star that fell just before dawn

The odd balance of weight and wonder.

“““““““““““““““““““““““““““““““`

Charged as I am to see you off

My unenthusiastic feet will lumber there I know

But not without a cost

Stretched in two directions

A cracked- pot- literally.

Like one of your pots sent into the fire- we go

You do not go alone, it’s not possible.

The drum speaks of allowing yourself

To be supported by Mother Earth’s heartbeat.

That is to say, your mind

May be outdistancing what your body can handle,

If this applies,

You are missing a beat

Slow down and rediscover

The heartbeat of your true Mother.

Rhythm is key and

Each of us has a personal sacred space-

Not pushing the body to be

Or do certain things any longer.

The body resides in it’s own rhythm

And I am home-this really matters.

“““““““““““““““““““““““““`

Inspired by Jamie Sams

Sacred Path Cards

I

It’s quiet at Priscilla’s

She’s not there – having died 10 days ago

But it’s been easy to find her- she’s with me right now

Fast ( and loose)- pals –

We’d been practicing these moves all year

With her questionable treatment- keeping us on our toes

or flat out ( but she never complained)

So we’ve got it down- we exist in the two planes

Like we’ve been doing all along… yesterday

I snuck into her studio

And found on the bottom shelf the pinch pots

I’d made last summer

Which she’d managed to glaze

And leave them there for me to find.

Cosmic examples of love- truly.

Dia de los Muertos- I want to sing to you

Strumming on a small guitar

About our love so true

Even the grave has no hold.

Sugar skulls and crepe paper decor

A rose in my hair- in our hair

I am the one left on this side

I will wear the rose for us

And march in the parade

The procession of infinite love

My face wet with tears..

This is it- this is what it’s all about.

““““““

Priscilla died on Oct 16th

An artist, whose super power was friendship.

So many of us will enormously miss her,

We are better people because of knowing her.

https://www.podbean.com/media/share/pb-4u7e5-14cf7d0

My mother and I wear blue robes- cozy in winter.

I remember watching her feel her way- holding onto the bed

Smiling as she cornered her way around it- so old – so happy.

I am she. Old now myself…

Cornering my way back in the darkened room-

Where one leaves off the other begins.

I am she

It’s my grandmother’s birthday today

She died on Willow’s 20th birthday at the age of 100.

And when she died the coroner called my mother

To share the wonder of my grandmother’s

Joyous expression – I am she.

There is snow in the high country

Banks and I wandered off trail as is our new habit,

To have the place to ourselves

No fellow hikers.

My inner being stretches and breaths

I’ve been holding my breath for days

My friend is ill and I am in “resist mode”

But as I lay on a log in the empty forest

Opening my chest- sending her love.

All is well.

Love is a vibration- timeless and true.

And as we retrace our steps

Banks…. alert to every nuance

Leads the way

Stopping to look for his shoulder

To see how I’m doing

And isn’t this all we ever really wanted.

Our old neighbor

(who now lives on the big Island

and wants us to visit ( would we?)

Sat under the thinned and pruned locust trees

Forest bathing as directed by John.

That far field belongs to the fairies

Thorny trees and the towering hemlock.

But be careful,

You might be put to sleep for 100 years

Or relax for 15 minutes- younger.

Our forest bather reported on meeting the angel

That resides there

Like the third chair- the creational aspect

Of we earthlings and the land.