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.

I haven’t been at my best

Picking fights and taking no prisoners

I didn’t know what had me- What Demon?

Turns out it’s ” My Place in the World ( demon)”

Something I usually steer away from

But I’ve invited the world in- hosting

An Open Studio in October.

Me – my right to be here, expressing

and making things, I am the world

The world is me.

I took my germ ridden body- up hill

Banks and I enjoy an outing in nature

So off we went early, coffee in hand

Right before the big show shuts down

It’s the color of happiness in the high country

Driving with care to dodge the squirrels-

Busy creatures this time of year

And in the woods,

Dropping pinecone missiles

That would hurt…

One young squirrel let us get up close

His tail wrapped over his head, munching

I was sorry we disturbed him.

His gnomic world – short, succinct, crisp, and economic.

He turned quick when he finally saw us

While I held Banks leach tight.

It’s hard to turn back towards home

Something so vital in the woods.