The late sun made the river sparlkle- so

I called to John suggesting he

Lay down beside me and see

The light on the water.

He fell asleep, my hand on his heart

His hands covering mine.

An unusual moment of repose

For we two rough wranglers-who

Sure do know how to “hold their own”

Defenses like fenses build long ago.

But on this sunlight afternoon

I did not stir an inch- listening to him sleep

I savored our love

Our truest truth.

The veil is thin between the worlds….

Am I here-it’s hard to know?

With so much spirit in the air.

The first frost has sent the dry leaves tumbling

To earth, like me one day.

From this dream to the one that follows

The here and the next –

We simultaneously exit in both.

Refected, by our inner DNA Helix

Looping left we experince the 3d dimension

While bending to the right – the 5th.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Time to sit for a minute

Feeling the light run all the way down into

My roots, joining the tangled roots of all.

Metaphysically I am yours

And You are mine.

““““““““““““““`

It’s Halloween!

In turbulant times

A story can sooth the soul.

In a cave, an old woman

Sits weaving the most beautiful garment in the world

She uses her teeth to flatten the porcupine quills,

Worn to nubs, her smile is most effective.

Hers is a perfect creation and as she sets it down

to wander to the back of the cave to where

A huge caldren sits on a fire

It is full of seeds, all the seeds in the world

The forest, the plants, the flowers

And it requiring stirring so that it does not burn.

While she is there

A black dog comes into the cave

Sniffing the garment, it pulls on a thread

Until the whole thing is unwoven.

When the old women returns

She sees the pile of thread

Perhaps she yelled at the dog- I don’t know

But with a wild glimmer in her eye

She begins again

Knowing in herself that the next garment

Will be even more beautiful.

““““““““““““““““`

I heard this story told by Michael Meade

In the early dark

They released the young beaver

Into a pond near Ward

Low in the water

Head up- tail strong….A posture we know…

Willow and Lucien

And all of us- truly

Each in our own way

As we brave new waters

Perhaps even with bright eyes

And small animal smiles.

Breathing into the next unknown.

Cages are meant to be opened.

My friend died this week

A tidy exit, like a well ordered tackle box.

No fuss…. just John

Awaiting his ride home from the hospital.

He’d been released and was going home

Perfect metaphors for what happened next.

His big heart decided to call it quits.

He was alone as fly fisherman often are

When he got the urge to enter the wide river

Casting his perfect line

Into the water to catch a rainbow.

Time to exit, while things looked pretty good.

It’s funny how people touch your soul.

They are so themselves that

They become- part of you.

When too much fear has entered

It’s bascially a hostile take over.

The true self is submerged.. barely breathing.

Having our kid get so sick

Has dislocated us in time and space-

Catapulted into orbiting a distant and cold planet.

My back hurts and my legs buckle

The atmosphere of fear has a ripple effect…

In normal life I question the validity of fear

Knowing her to be the twisted sister that she is

But once she’s gotten the upper hand

It’s time to put in a call

For”HELP”

And then witness the magic of the turning….

A person, a line a book,

My cat coming back after a night out

And he’s from Houston.

In these profound medicine journeys

You have to reach for what sustains you

What surrounds you and holds you

When fear is knocking in your heart.

What is my constant- my safety?

One thing I know is that…

Our travails are not without meaning

The soul has called for a vision

Praying without water on a high hill

We see through the veil

And feel the power in the invisible realm

The power of our love.

A view of art making as soul retrieval,

His and Mine.

Lucien has been sick

Bringer of Light- Lucien

Got his body snatched by the underworld

And we all went with him.

It’s been crowded in there

So many prayers and jugs of bone broth..

But it had gone on too long and we were lossing steam,

So I made art, a mono print

(Which is funny because mono

Was the culprit that started this whole thing.)

I filled the kitchen table with paints

And cut paper to size

And I was gifted by spirit with this image of Lu

His bright and steady nature, seen clearly

And through this process

It was as if I had insisted that the demon

In the underworld who had a hold of him

Let go.

Our ancestors knew of this power

In the cave dreams , we have tools.

Helen read tea leaves-

In the 70’s in Boulder, she was very dear

You’d drink her tea

And then turn your cup upside down

And there would be the mystery of your life

Seen by her inner knowing.

All the questions that lie before us in our youth

And seeing how much has been provided.

The fear and the release from fear

Guided through the storm

Unwavering can be our faith- it’s been proven.

There is that with us that knows the way.

Angels can be felt as points of light

Tiny winged things zooming about

Taking care of the many details

The ones we don’t even know

Need attending to.

Sort of like our bodies-

Behind the scenes wonders that they are.

We count everyday on a million miracles

Like air, sunshine, water, the breath, a kiss

The radius of life itself and the beings

That are looking after us.

Ho oponopono.