a timeless poem of leaving and loving

so
in love with my wild wild self
the embrace of the earth shoots up my legs
tendrils growing through the mass of my feet

i hug myself and worlds contract within this warmth.

my own heart leaps in the face of extreme human suffering
the girl strung out in relationship with meth
the man with codine and self hatred
loud with the voices of wanting, of desperation
calling out for something to ease the pain of inner turmoil

to make everything alright. just alright. like in the hug of mama’s embrace.

my own heart leaps God’s love toward them on the path of life
until we all know that we are good enough
children of God’s own creation, sprung out of the earth
like the feet and mouths of the earth eating itself

the time is now, brother sister,

the veils all drop down. we know ourselves as spirit-earth-walkers
embedded in the mass of time, materialized like the oak leaf
in the sands of time, walking, what is the cause of our being here

one friend leaves his body,
“do not call it a suicide,” he writes in his last note
“instead, know that I have continued on my journey into the
realm of spirit; man-walking without a body.”

and, “perhaps now i will be your guardian angel.”

what is the cause of his self-killing? the recent scorpio new moon
paired with the eclipses? we are living in extreme times
yet, perhaps we are just seeing through the veil

Time becomes constant; i mean: there is no time
the only time we have is no time and the veil of the ancient temple is rent

there are no priests and priestesses besides ourselves.

and, i mean,

I am you and you are me, are we ……… and God is among us
there is no future salvation or damnation or eternal elation

it is all here in your smile, and mine. in your hug. in this embrace.

and in the dance of hearts with babies being born and friends leaving the body
i see with clear eyes the dance of human life
how short of time there is here

beneath this blue blue sky
upon this good green earth.

earth-child-woman-lover

I am not Navaho. Duh, anyone can see that. I am white. And what is my inheritance? Is it being able to read the wind in the trees? Knowing I sprung from the earth like so many mushrooms?

My plight is not the plight of so many Navahos today. Rich dad poor dad, learn the rules of the game. How to win. From birth, given the rich white mindset of entitlement, of the oppressor. I am given inherent privilege that cannot be won, lost or stolen and taught independence and one up manship. My inheritance says, Always go into business alone. You can’t trust people. Those streets aren’t safe. It isn’t safe to be a woman. God only thinks its cool if men lead and speak in church, and are heads of the households. Those people are poor because they are lazy.

And, to top off all of these shenanigans, This is just the way all these things are.

But I want the inheritance of understanding the wind, reading a rock, presence, intimacy with the external world instead of domination over it. The wind in my hair, the earth in my toes, my heart open, understanding of oneness. I do not want to be Navaho, but I do want to be earth-child-woman-lover.

So I went out and got myself a turtle rainbow family. I learned to trust people and absorbed the old wisdoms that people who live close to the earth and store potatoes know.

Now I am earth bridge spirit walker. Like all of us could be, sprung from this same earth like so many mushrooms. Human at last. My inheritance formidable.

the way home

We are maybe not as firm or as steadfast as we thought we were. We are more porous. Leaky. Searching.

We are so full! Ever-wafting the breezes of the night watchmen. How old do you think I am? I am as old as the cypress trees. I smell it coming every time it rains.

We have to bring back our animal. Shake off the colonization. Take off that old pelt; frisk yourselves and each other of it. Know yourself as spirit animal. Reach deeply into your own core and come out throbbing.

There is no future. There is no past. Speak! for the infathomable and glowing now. Let it haunt you on your day breaks. Carry it with you as an old friend. Caress it as it beseeches you for its favorite food. Concede. Continue.

We are all pressed by our souls to do these things. What my animal wants may not be what yours has a tongue for. But they all love the open air. Let it out to breathe. Bark. Whisper. Feel the moon press upon your ancient forbidden crown. Feel your eternality grow in the space between breaths. Press the middle of your ribcage between your breasts. This is where magic happens. This is what we live for. Let this ripen and fruit and fall from your tree in a myriad of successions.

Be poor if you will, yet hone this. Do not forget though your oppressor calls you in to punch the clock. This land is your land. There is no time. Be like the root in the ground that no one sees or assumes is breathing. Breathe still. Know the vibrancy you carry may be buried in the ground and keep rowing anyway. Your root will find you. Watch as it beckons your strange animal. There is nothing to fear. You are your own best friend. Your animal, piqued, will always lead the way home.

moon poem…

And then the moon rose over the canyon rim
It was like a silver sliver of pear floating there
reclining in the cleft where two ridges converge
Its rays extending and contracting into the sleep of my midnight eyes each time I blinked

evolution and our part in it: a dream & reflection

woke up last night as i slept out in open air, grateful for another night to be sleeping there, so raw and pure beneath the stars. what has started as a temporary travel has morphed into this life style that i love … not sure if i could sleep as comfortably inside of doors anymore .. at least for now..

when i awoke, wow it’s only 11:45PM, it’s not even tomorrow yet! i was invigorated with thought streams i’d like to share from the following dream line…

“we evolved around my footsteps for a while”

They are Shooting film, there are footprints in the sand…
As an actress/explorer finds out certain truths, she says as if impersonally, “we evolved around my footsteps for a while.” We witness.

~~~~~~~~~~

Each of us is , at times, pushing the edge of our collective envelope and as we do so, in our own ways, the collective can witness us and so evolve.

There are many of us from arts and sciences, the humanities, agriculture, healing modalities, etc who are pushing the edge of this envelope. We each do our part for evolvement is not limited to any genre. Therefore we understand we work together something like a family unit, each with our individual roles that help move us along.

What we do, then, is ultimately for the collective, that our species can evolve.

That’s one facet of our mission here.

bats at dusk

bats at dusk, rio grande

bats at dusk, rio grande

The bats at dusk glide and dip
As if drunk
Yet, actually, are guided by infinitesimal
Sensors, down to a hairline fracture, on their journey to what they seek

If we didn’t know we may think bats were lost, inebriated, or, worse, incapacitated
And unable to fend for themselves
(though they go on making bat families)

Perhaps we should rethink the term “batty”
Wild kook? Or incredibly honed, following some inner radar we can’t detect?

Open the gates of perception
Allow what is “different” or “other than”
It may just be that he or she
Is simply attuned to something
You can’t see