In a semi state of ever repeating karma

friendly and  familiar,  in a well knit cocoon, we drift

Like the matrix but the thing is…..

Right before it all begins again

We can choose our narrative

the sand in my mouth has become a pearl.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

John told me about a  TV show about a wealthy man

Who adopts six odd children with super powers

The children grow up, the man dies

And they need to find ways to work together

to save the world (of course)

Then John quietly added, “They have to try,

Like us, despite their dysfunction, they have to try”

Fists unfurled, we have to try.

The odds are great and ego( separated mind) is strong so just bring it along for the ride.

 

 

The sweater that was meant to keep me warm
is tattered, no longer functional, I shiver
Thoughts like missiles, hurl you away from me
I  am causal and blind  to it
Preferring my perfect incriminations,
Who doesn’t love being “right”
Useless pile of yarn, useless sacrifice
I shiver.
Maybe I can take up knitting
a woven pattern of darks and lights

unraveling what  has been excluded.

Will you remind me if I forget?

We  women ( and everyone) are handless in a new way

The men aren’t “taking care of us”, we make our own money.

But our hands hold a ghost, a phone

A screen, a scroll  (as if we are “doing” something)

While our creativity waits, impatiently

For us to put down the devise, but do we?

Ghosts with no poems to our name, disappearing

Belittled, shrunken and denied

by the wizard of technology, the big kid on the block.

It’s a subtle form of diminishment, feminists unite!

 

In the tale of the Handless Maiden

The devil temps her father by  mechanizing his mill for greater profits.

But you don’t get something for nothing

The devil gets the daughter’s hands( her creativity)

The feminine suffers ( but it has a happy ending)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Kitty o is super ill and headed into spirit

I contacted an animal intuitive

Who told me how much our cat has enjoyed her life

And isn’t that what we all want to hear,

That those in our care have had a good run, that we pulled it off,

She is an  independent cat, we haven’t been coddlers

More like two old lady poets, watching the birds.

I am going to write about her  life, the story of the owl and her courage during  the flood

and read it to her while we share a meal,  the ritual of love.

Suffering will crack open the heart ( but I love him)

Defensive strategies will fail ( ouch)

Only Truth exits, after my constructions tumble ( thank goodness)

because blessedly,  “I AM NOT RIGHT” ( absolutely true)

“But aren’t I suppose to share my feelings”  ( No)

Hold your baby self and parent what you feel ( humming soft and sweet)

You are the only one who can. ( Yay you)

 

 

 

 

Michelle called, asking to speak with Anne’s sister, requesting that I visit her.

She is a wild angel, injured, bad, on a motorcycle, 20 years ago.

She lives in the nursing home

Where my sister lived before she died.

She sits in the dining hall, always in the same seat

And you can ask her where someone is and she will tell you.

She is the gatekeeper of Mesa Vista!

My visits with her are always brief.

She wants to know if I am coming to her birthday party ( it’s in September)

And we talk about the painting I made of her which hangs behind where she sits.

Then she tells me she loves me

And I tell her I love you Michelle.

Music actually happens in the space between the notes.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The way you can go isn’t the real way.

The name you can say isn’t the real name.

Heaven and earth begin in the unnamed:

(name’s the mother of the ten thousand things.)

So the unwanting soul sees what’s hidden,

and the ever-wanting soul sees only what it wants.

Mystery of all mysteries!

The door to the hidden.

There is no “other”

 

I count the winters like a Lakota,

An annual image of the year  2018

“Lucien sets the star and Jean Pierre hangs by his knees.

While Willow attempts to quiet their glee, “Shhhhhh”

 

Everything matters and everything is personal.

A Lakota grandmother would of sent us out the door for the day

With this instruction, ” Watch and take note of everything you see,

the animal that crosses your path or a bird,

“What direction did it fly”?

All is a communication to the Self, an inter-face between worlds.

Like that hawk you saw  sitting in the tree,

Pay attention, Little Lakota.  Messages abound!

 

 

 

 

 

 

Hitting Bottom,

Midwifing

The self is a sneak  through a narrow gate.

Ignore the skull and cross bones

And enter the place where you’ve got no answers

You have no way to make things better,

You have come to an end.

You see that your mind is insane.

And this is the good news,

For now you might reach out and ask for a miracle

Not one that you make but one you finally know to ask for.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Trust me,

Your  first moment of connection to the sustaining love, to faith

That you do not control.

Then the request for the miracle that you do not create