River Teva’s worn through

Trips down the Grand Canyon and the Yampa.

It’s strap broke on a hike with my 18 year old grandson

Rowing his own boat down the Yampa.

Fifty years since my first river trip

When John was my new man

And I was first filled with the wonder of the West.

The rough and ready life of a river

In Canyon Country.

Fifty years later

Filled with images of the many fine people

I’ve been out there with…..

Ginning wildly as a wave in Warm Springs

Reminds me that I am- eternally young.

That adventure truly does await

Around the next bend

The roar of the rapid.

We neighbor ladies were chatting…

Sitting by the river,

Watching the handsome boatman paddle by

When the mom of the two year old

Wandered up, Haven on her hip

And told us the inside story, a preamble

About the Big White Dog death.

She said that she’d noticed the week before

That he was not himself

Sort of pulled back in

And she had felt a readiness in him

To go on, his service complete.

The misjudged rattlesnake was the vehicle

The Gift, the Liberation , the Way

The White Dog’s Spark

Went Home.

In the father and son activity,

Known as Indian Guides ( this is the 50’s)

John and his dad would head down to the basement

To drum in a circle,

The fathers altered, suit coats gone…

( this was probably their wife’s idea)

Shirts off- feathered headbands

On each lad’s fair head.

Such a sweet effort, to instill good values.

John remembers liking being called a Brave.

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It is no longer PC to be Indian Guides

(It’s been changed to Adventure Guides)

But something wonderful, like really being an Indian,

Has been lost…

The removal of the shirts, the drumming

The feathers on your head

And your dad sitting bare chested on the floor

Next to you on a school night.

Yesterday our neighbors large white dog,

I dog I always said hello to- a kind dog-

Died from a rattlesnake bite.

Protecting her people

Or Haven, the two year old

Who lives in a tiny home with his mom

On the same property.

Or, me…..who walks the road.

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Is death just our fate-

One day it is simply upon us and off we go

A unsuspected surprise

(In a good way.)

I do know the tunnel is filled with light

I have seen it- white.

Can I see my part in the story?

Can I name the grubby little worm

Taking a bite out of someone ( that I love).

Judgment is not invisible

The other person can feel it….

But more importantly- I’m no longer free.

When I cast the stone

Then I am buried by stone.

The universe wants us to get this.

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I think that I judge

Because the past is bugging me….

Some undigested shame

But what if…

I do not let the past define who I am-

I define who I am

Stoking the paw of the bear

Friends with myself.

I fought with my father

Even though he was pretty cosmic

He thought it best to limit me

( they all did- the culture of the 50’s)

Enter Here

Into the jaws of the heart

I married a man

Whose father died before he could fight with him

And lots of stirred up and unresolved energy

Has accompanied his life, but now

There is a new level of awareness

And the fight has a hopeful possibility

Of opening the molecules that require light…

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The true father wants to give it all to you

Even if you have to wrestle his ass to the floor.

Enter Here

Best Beloved.

Aren’t we beautiful?

This is us- human beings – Being

So very beautiful and this week

I had an inner experience of this shared field…

The field that is always present

But is not always felt.

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A new friend came over and wondered where John was

And I told her that he was at Dialog…

And she wanted to know what “Dialog” was

So I said ” it’s you and I

sitting across from each other

and a third chair, pointing vaguely to the right….

And at that moment

the space opened into a kind circular field,

A cosmic peripheral vision

of love so complete I sobbed

My heart was full,

Hers too.

https://www.podbean.com/media/share/pb-bwcqy-140985c

Eulogy for Ann Ripley. 

Sniff the air ….and

Maybe there is a treat nearby….

Left behind from yesterday’s compost pail.

Delighting in her own totemic being,

She is a representative of the goddess

Bringing forth her Earth-body

From the spinning void.

Bestowing fertility on field and womb.

Nurturing the arts and

Protecting the home.

And with a happy twist of her tail

Pig leads us to set loves mysteries in play

With her astonishing joyous intensity.

Singing “La la La La”_ It’s May!

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“The imaginal realm is real

And through it you will never be separated

From any one or anything

You have ever loved

For Love is the ground

In which you live

And move and have your being”

I gave this painting

To a friend for her birthday

She has a young child and a poetic soul

And doesn’t like Christianity much..

She didn’t know about Mary’s significance….

She’s a master

Equal in love’s wisdom to her partner

And mother of his child.

My friend took note that in the painting

The mother is anonymous ( no eyes)

( she loved that)

But also available to everyone( no eyes)

( I loved that)

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