Now that my mother has passed, I find myself not eating sugar
(Perhaps this not eating sugar is her doing)
They say that all addiction is ego
( that lovely part of ourselves that says
It will deliver our happiness but never does)
So here I am, without my mother and without sugar,
Two forms of sweetness-gone
But both needed to go and both were ready.

I find myself without context, without habit
No shoring up, no boost of sudden energy
I’m boring and more tired
But more reliably true, becoming daily
A big barefooted Grandmother.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

How do geese know when to fly to the sun?

Who tells them the seasons?

How do we humans, know when it is time to move on?

As with migrant birds, there is a voice within,

If only we would listen to it,

That tells us so certainly when to go forth into the unknown.

Art by Betty White,  Words by  Elizabeth Kubler-Ross

Fertile  May  is here,

(you are most fertile  within one year of giving birth)

Let’s give birth, it’s the mad month of May when everything goes a stay !

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

My mother loved poetry
It talks to the heart
and can offer the ephemeral insight that the moment requires.
a poem for you by Maria Eugenia Baz Ferreira

To all that is brief and fragile
superficial, unstable,
To all that lacks foundation
argument or principles;
To all that is light,
fleeting, changing, finite
To smoke spirals,
wand roses,
To sea foam
and mists of oblivion…
To all that is light in weight
for itinerants
on this transient earth
Somber, raving
with transitory words
and vaporous bubbly wines
I toast
in breakable glasses.

Now you will feel no rain
For each of us will be shelter for the other
Now we will feel no cold
for each of us will be warmth for the other
Now there will be no more loneliness
for each of us will be companion to the other
There is only one life before us
and our seasons will be long and good.

Love Sally an Apache Blessing

Gran Dama Rio with your big blue skirt
Thank you for making love with the soil
Lead me to the river beneath the river
Because like you I must flow outward and continuously
On my own creative path.

Dearest Mother Mine, as you journey beyond me
I promise to stay true. I love you with all my heart.
And it’s International Women’s Day
We are the ones, no more waiting, bring it through.
I love you, Sally

Oh Nobel One,
You have become lazy, drawn to the dull light.
Lucky for you a fierce angel
Has come to guide you to the very bright light.
( from the Tibetan Book of the Dead)

So while we are living.
Let us become acquainted  with these fierce agents of change and goodwill
Frightening us to our core.

This is good practice

In the dream, in the dream, in the dream

 

We are not alone on our unwanted Journey,
Look who is holding you!

Resupplying  the infinite, the basket is full.

Hello 2016  xxxxoooo Sally

Waiting on the Lord

Doesn’t mean five minutes,

The moss grows on my legs

and a goat hair  grows so long , it becomes a ladder

Down to the sea.

Perhaps the Lord will climb up

And share his bucket of oysters and beer.

Waiting on the Lord

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The birthing / slaying feminine face of God

reminds us to breath into the “what is”

Relaxing against her ample breast

Whispering,I love you too.