Point of Ripening, The Loba at Turning
Honoring the poet, Diane di Prima,
I share her words with you.
“Is there a myth for the female
middle aged
Hermes
large breasted not
quick footed
But
winged.
That rich time when the harvest
is not yourself
You no longer need
to claim it.
“I have come to know myself
I have gathered
myself
from everywhere”
“I am you, I must become you
I have been you, I am always you
I must become you.”
My friend Winnie receives her hay in a mesh bag.
She has to tug small nibbles at a time.
I helped her sneak bigger bites …..
it feels so good to have a full tummy!
We have been surrounded by wild fires
and my nervous system was wound tight
but listening to Winnie’s steady chewing was so peaceful,
her deep contented inhale, horse breath
her warm breath felt on my neck.
I begun to yawn and yawn, letting go.
It’s how we animals regulate.
How we get back into out bodies
after a fight, flight or freeze situation.
Ingest, digest, yawn, breathe.
John will from time to time
recite with joy, a line from Conan the Destroyer, saying
“What is Best in Life”?
I wish you could hear him,
pure Conan the barbarian.
( this painted rock is for his 72d birthday next month)
I find myself returning to earlier times
when I used to make things
when all gifts were homemade.
In need of renewal and connection
I offer to Nandi, the sacred cow,
a stem from the last of the marigolds.
Spirit has been trying to get my attention for days.
A wooden box fell from a high shelf
and splintered at my feet.
It contained my grandmother’s birth certificate,
Oct 9th 1893 and her baptism.
My grandmother reminds me of Nandi,
round and soft and worn.
Today’s puja, the ritual of placing a flower
is for my grandmother and
the soft receptive qualities of the feminine
needed now, in all her forms.
The heavy hand of illusion
presses hard on the breath of the nation.
In the game of tug of war
I want to pull you over the line
until we all fall down, laughing.
Time magazine referred to our current President
as The Disruptor
and Joe Biden as The Challenger.
The blessed neutrality of architypes,
the timeless nature of storytelling
honoring each role in the play of Lela.
Beloveds all, Place your Vote!
With my fists up by my face,
ready to take you out with a punch,
addicted to being mad,
I sold my soul to the devil
and I didn’t even blink.
At my age and in these times,
can old habits at least be seen?
But this is still safe territory,
what if I burn the book of your transgressions?
Then What?????
Will my soft round animal body be ok?
Will it flourish?
Will it laugh out loud?
Delighting in your smile
and seeing all manner of things reinvented.
Fighting is not winning,
What story do I want to tell?
Breathing Blue by Anish Kapoor, 1954
Lazy mind
lets me disappear.
Reminding me that
I was never really here.
Miss Mouse comes out faithfully every night
when I am watering the garden,
making sure that I see her
as she walks up the same garlic stalk
night and night!
It’s been a loaded summer,
our intoxicating attachment to “story”
mine , yours and everyone’s.
But nature insists that we learn
the most basic of truths
and most of us do it the hard way.
They say that you’re not ready to change
until you “bottom out”.
I like the word “bottom”.
“Sandy Bottoms” is a place my dad
used to grab a beer and a gruber sandwich.
The medicine of mouse
is to pay attention to details
but not to forget the whole.
Our journey is a circle,
no beginning or end
but we sure do make a lot out of it!
“When might I abide in such a place
A place unclaimed and ownerless,
That’s wide and unconfined,
a place where where I might stay
At liberty, without attachment”
A passage from The Way of the Bodhisattva,
composed by Shantideva in the 14th century.
I have been working with this material for many months
illustrating one passage at a time.
1. The drifting old couple
still water fishing.
She will catch his eye
wearing that red shirt
the color of the boat they love.
2. I suggested that we sleep outside
to catch the shooting stars of mid August.
Feeling our years,
we grumble as we drag out mattresses,
he refusing an extra blanket
and did get cold like I knew he would.
But those stars welded their magic
and this morning my smile has softened
I’m such a tough old nut!
