Our small dog rests with ease, legs open in the sun

Such utter repose.  I feel it myself,

After a restorative yoga class,  only four poses in an hour;

My nervous system is at rest

Sitting here, next to the dog in the late sun,

I gaze at the light on the water,  the edges blur

The day and the moment are mysteriously functioning  without me

My people, living and dead are curiously peaceful.

I am restored.

This is me and Charlie

My people have big challenges,

Sometimes I lay on the earth to  be healed,

Or me and Anne, my neighbor in her 90’s

A writer and a reader and it is getting hard for her to see.

But when she saw John today, she said to me

“Sally I hope you appreciate John’s  shoulders!”

We, old ladies ,can get away with murder.

( Anne Ripley  writes murder mysteries)

Nothing can be said

No explanations please

The female experience

The Father, Her Mystery, My walk as Spirit in form as earth

Yellow leaves enter the door

Her broom, My hand,

The inexplicable mystery.

The woman is the door, wait there a moment before you hurry on

And you just might catch her

Holding her skirt above her head,

Laughing, leaves in her hair.

Remember?

Nancy Wilson is a 60 plus rocker who  does justice to her song ” Love Hurts” on You Tube.

Check her out, black lace dress, old woman arms, all bad ass.

“Love hurts”  as my  unacknowledged  grief  doubles back on me,

Distractions, like  ranting at my husband, will not save me.

It is pure madness to roam too far from the pain

Much better to belt it out with Nancy—  Love Hurts.

I say out loud,

“Here I am Lord! Hineni! Send me!”

You do so much for me, such risks you take on my behalf,

Even today.

Here I am, send me.

We painted the teepee poles blue

And soon, they will go skyward in a circle

to form a spirit house, a place for Jesus to stop by

When he is in the neighborhood

Or my sister Anne or my mom with her adorable smile

Or Leonard Little Finger or Gerald One Feather

Tetsuko of Cold Mountain.

Bright beings on the other side rooting for us,

encouraging a softer gaze, a broader perceptive

an exploration of  feelings without  story

They take us in every night

Housing the spirit.

It’s Lady Godiva Day, Day of harvest, Lammas.

The Divine Feminine rides naked on a horse

And so do we.  Love Sally

And  a small pink,  hand knitted, hat

was on the cover of time magazine.

We are called to mother a nation,

By actively loving

In the places we find ourselves.

Or as Cortney E. Martin wrote,

“Just as our mothers have, from time immemorial,

Loved without condition, we must now love this nation like mothers

We  must parent it into a new maturity

We must not give up on it, no matter what.

We must be prepared to be surprised at how beautiful it will be.

We must do all this without knowing what form it will take

But knowing that whatever it becomes will be rewarding

If it is shaped by fierce, unending, active love.

    This is my  mother and I .  I have this photo up in my studio as a reference point of my beginnings  but this morning with the ornate frost pattern above our heads I can  see that we are  the holy mother and child Madonna.

Rumi wrote,

Before these possessions you love

slip away, say what Mary said

when she was surprised by Gabriel .” I’ll hide inside God”

Naked in her room

she saw a form of beauty

that could give her new life.

Like the sun coming up

or a rose as it opens

she leaped, as her habit  was,

out of herself into presence.

There was a fire in the channel of her breath

Light and majesty came.

I am smoke  from that fire

and proof of its existence

more then any external form.

love Sally Dec 2016