Nature rejoices- and all the angels sing-ta la

It’s the wet eve of my birthday

And I said (with astonishment) to my oldest friend

“I made it Anne

All the way through the maze

Of all that was attempting to limit me”

Feeling graditude and wonder

For that which is within me that would not conform.

I was on a coffee high in the rain with my pal….

Two kids in Vermillion Ohio…

Now 75!

A devoted educator – discouarged by what she sees happening now

That which loves us unconditionally….

Sometimes takes form.

For early me ( age 3)

It was kindness itself in the form of a black panther

( in my closet )

And as I leaned into her soft black fur

I felt what I needed to know about this planet

Receiving the cosmic signature that would become my life.

Beyond the through it all

The soft blackness holds us in her hands- this spring day.

I am unseated by spring

Beltaine always rocks me

WIth it’s insistance on something like sex

It demands participation in the

Cacophony of all that lives

You can’t hold back-

When everything is insisting on existance.

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Maiden, Mother , Crone- the dance within each woman

Ever intertwined-

A braided wreath of roses

Singing la la la la la la la

We humans have this huge reach within us

The grubbist of low vibrations

And the most radiant of lovlies one can imagine

( Isn’t Jupiter amazing)

The physics of this is very cosmic

In that I get to pick.

(But only if the ego identiy is not activated)

The cosmic helpers can’t help

If my eyes are rivited as if in a trance

By that which is not me)

And isn’t this the work of everyday?

Take your shoes off if you encounter a sign

Something that can not be accounted for …

But then we might be barefoot all day

As spirit is busy giving us itself – constantly.

The lacey spider web halo- seen in the sun

The brush of the wind- a smile.

This April morning, a birthday for my mom

Who is amazed from her seat on the other side

By what I have gotten up to of late-

THere is so much to let go off –

Limiting ideas and concepts-

Waking up hurts-

Like poking out of an egg

And unfurling our wet wings.

But we do it anyway-because we can.

Lucien spent the week here,

Changing the timing belt in his new truck.

You tube is a big help

But it was Josh over at West Main Auto…

Who lite himself a cigarette before advising

“You’ve got to use the power of the engine

To loosen that bolt

But just the smallest nudge”

A truely bold move but it worked!

Lots of metaphors in this tale…..

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And can I just say how truly blessed I am

To have Lucien in my life.

He’s 20 and I am on the cusp of 75

And we are an easy pair.

Pilgrim Sal- at a musuem in France,

Noticing just now- the shadow of a jar at my feet.

A jar that belongs to Mary Magdalene

( the woman with the alabaster jar)

Mary M- the one who is potently missing

As a direct conduit to that which we are.

Women in partnership- the wife- the lover- lost

But I have journeyed in her name

And She is here.

“Settle down little teapot” the creative is a maelstrom.

I thought I was doing one thing when

They came in to make tea. (I’m like Wendy of Neverland)

Artists with big energy- leaving cups unwashed

And Daniel handing me his phone

An image of his lastest piece- tall sentinals-very

Stern- who guard the feminine.

He’s on a roll now- riffing

About how the men don’t know what to do

Because its up to the women to open the portals.

But having been squashed for centuries- isn’t

It an interesting plot twist that now when

Everything hangs on a tread, it’s up to women

To open the Portal, weaving the new world-thereby

Activating the masculine- to protect

What is opening, the birth – the offspring.

As I said, creativity is a maelstrom

Jumping in you could get wet.

We have a pair of geese

Maybe they will nest on the banks of the river.

But on this first wet morning

They are taking turns eating

The newly green grass.

While one eats the other looks out.

And I know personally

Of this tender exchange of duty…

Having an older mate

I am so much more aware

Of what might befall him.

But is this sense of peril…healthy?

My animal self won’t listen to reason

It’s determined to protect what it loves

Come what may.

The bride of 52 years

Told her truth

Which is how connection really happens- isn’t it?

I have a historic tendency to withhold content

And then a part of the puzzel of partnership is missing.

The not- sharing isn’t generous

Like I think it is.

It’s got a righteousness to it.

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The archetype of the Bride

Means this to me today…..

She is a woman who is one in herself

Who can witness her resistance

To crossing the bridge to the other

But who will do so- anyway.