Having been lulled by the river
I rock in a constancy,
the heart rhythm, ancient.
I grow horns, smooth and sharp.
Being on the Yampa River again and again
I am tuned to the deepest pattern, the Nous
The presence of all,
the body permeable.
The mind empty
the community not mine but all.
There and now,
see through me – you can.
My lost shirt is the forest or the water
I’m already a ghost,
spirit bound as much as flesh.
I am the canyon wall, the water moving,
bird and bush.
Just call me Big Horn Sal!
Tomorrow is the official start of the Sixth Sun
after thousands of years of the Toltec Fifth Sun
My guess is that we are in for a higher frequency
and more fun.
This will be an adjustment…..
sometimes when I look at my hand
it’s curled into a fist,
like I’m ready to fight….
for the rights of women, stolen and borrowed.
But on this eve of a new sun
I’m investigating what is truer then conflict,
and I suspect it’s some wild intergradation
of the fractious parts in myself.
The eye of the heart blinks open
and stays open.
Hold onto your hat!
As the song from Camelot goes
“It’s the Lusty month of May”
When everything goes Astray …..
It’s time to do a Wicked thing or two”
as we dance with our skirts flying.
I loved musicals as a kid….
and I love presents.
It’s almost my birthday
and Willow told me….
“Oh your love language is Presents”
Come May my Mom would say….
“Let’s go buy you something new for you to wear”
So, in this spirit, I went to a fancy 2d hand shop
to purchase many happy new clothes
a spirit gift from my mom
lounging in love language
dandelions in my hair.
How many times has Jean Pierre
hooked and brought to the surface
a glimpse of the divine
in her form as a Fish.
Shouting, “Nowma Come Quick”
and me running upstream on old legs
to witness the miracle,
of a Rainbow or a Brown
alive and wise in the ways of water.
But today after the spill
their influence in our lives
is a hollow echo.
Their brightness, their intelligence,
and the dreams we share
The river is devoid of fish,
all dead from the gasoline in the water.
A tanker took a full load too fast on a curve
and now I stand with Jean Pierre
and feel a loss that is planetary.
Can we breath
if the fish can’t…
as they leapt toward land
anything to escape the poison.
Sweet cousins of the water,
we miss you with all our hearts.
I’m so sorry.
I haven’t been sleeping well
and John suggested that before I go to sleep
I celebrate today’s catch……
what was gathered throughout the day
this vignette, who I fed or spoke with
what was said
created, dug or planted.
To spend some time sorting through
admiring this and tossing that.
I’ve been unconscious of my negative stance
So last night I sipped tea in the dark
and treasured the shiny brightness
of my efforts to be a human
who loves well enough!
At breakfast, Emily Brontë fed
bits of bacon and beef to
the merlin she rescued. The heart,
like the sharp-shinned hawk,
if a little
Consider its range
of alarm calls
by Jane Satterfield
Poetry points to the other spaces.
Getting us unstuck for just a moment,
thereby loosing my tight grip
with which I try to limit
my infinite love!
I have a bunch of gnarly inner work to do.
I still want to project my pain
blaming You of course…
You, who conveniently always do something wrong…
or I could get somewhere for a change…
I could just stay present to the pain
and burn in the slow fire
of what hurts….
what scares me( your death)
and my total lack of control
in all these matters.
Sometimes you will come upon her,
the Keeper of the Labyrinth,
a tall woman with pinned grey hair
and colorful clothing.
She’s an artist friend,
the steward of this place.
It’s her anonymous gift
where people find solace with their pain
and joy too.
I saw an arty guy there one day
with a contented smile upon his face
with the realization that
he’s not alone on a alien planet, after all.
There are twelve paintings at Red Cloud Indian School
of The Stations of the Cross
the twelve times when Jesus paused, that fateful day,
on the path
to his temporary death.
The artist understood,
the equality of the man and the woman.
They are dressed in the same fabric and color.
he would not be able to stabilize the energy
for such a big project.
It takes two.
Accomplishing a miracle
Not easy, very holy and completely imperative.
can i be really small and jump into your pocket
and travel about with you
as you blossom into your next iteration?
(like a stone person, winking at you.)
Gerald One Feather
once pulled from his pocket,
a stone person who winked at me.
You can imagine my surprise?
Nothing has been the same since!