River

"The river itself is nothing but movement, 

flowing like time in the only direction it can go."

And that direction is onward. 

I would add that movement is not nothing, nor is river.

"It moves without volition, without resistance..."

Gravity, Earth topography and fluid mechanics

 move the river, which means to me, river

moves in relationship to place, to Earth...

in what I'll call a communion with

the living world she touches.

"Take your pick, Your options are to stay

safe and dry on the shore or slip into the current

and be carried away."

I've come to think of River as alive

especially after reading MacFarlane's treatise on the matter.

S/he is a vital part of the ecosystem with

an essential influence on our environment and our planet.

We are wise to attend carefully to every aspect of her presence.

In the interest of "being like River", I stumble on 

"without volition and without resistance."

What if, in some as yet unknown dimension,

rivers do move with volition and resistance?

How many times have humans attempted to

control rivers and failed?

Doesn't that indicate resistance?

Doesn't it imply a volition to be what river is meant to be

without the imposition of someone else's will? 

Tyrants cannot contain rivers!

I'm grateful you are here.

 

Spinning

When this poem came by for a visit, I wanted to share it with you.

"You do not need to spin in ever increasing circles

in fear you might miss something."

How many of us grow up afraid we might miss something,

and do something wrong?  I know this fear well.

It stalks me like a jealous, jilted paramour. 

I'm getting over it.  

". . .you decide on the cargo. So lighten, lighten the load

with shrugs, not sighs."

I'm practicing the shrug; I've got sighs honed to perfection.

"You are free to love and forgive yourself for love

that hits the mark left of centre."

A clever way to say "I muddled that up nicely."

"Those who need you may never be able

to acknowledge the gift you bring..."

Something to remember when feeling unappreciated.  

It helps in continuing to put your

best broken foot forward, anyway.

There's a good possibility I'm the one

who doesn't acknowledge and appreciate

the gift of love someone brings.

It's why I love Rosemerry W. Trommer's invitation

to translate everything someone says or does, 

no matter how inept, into a gesture of love and caring.

PS: This does not include acts of violence.   She's referring to the 

insensitive things people say and do  when

 someone has experienced a profound loss."

Thank you for being you and for being here.

We're in this together.

 

Questions For Winter

This entire poem is a poignant song of longing 

for becoming who I want to be.

How timely its directed to winter. 

"Burrowing into the den of my heart" and meeting

the "feral creatures of rage, grief and shame 

with reverence for their wildness"? 

That is a journey asking for more courage than I can muster

 however, I long for the capability to 

become intimately acquainted with them without

turning away, silencing them or acting out in violence.

I'm not adept at allowing growling and howling...

(I'm afraid they'll hurt someone and its my job to prevent that)

yet, I trust I can learn to feed them with compassion.

We are sorely in need of compassion these days. 

"Can you show me how to bear the frost of my fear

with grace, how to let my misgivings melt?"

Fear is like a terrified toddler at the mercy of

big people looming over them, needing to learn

it has power of its own and how to use it wisely.

I must not let it paralyze me.

"Can you show me how to bear the heaviness of all the lonely years

on my body like patient soil beneath firm feet of snow?

She moves from one potent topic to another

 with remarkable precision, doesn't she?

"Would you reveal how to be present to my body

with the gentleness of bird wings

fluttering open to yet another dawn?

A deep, deep sigh, with a fervent yes.

"Will you show me how to be open to love

the way the clouded sky is open 

to thousands of tender snowflakes

falling through it?

I bow in humble gratitude to Elyza-Breath Blooming/E.B.B. 

for giving us these word images in honor of winter.

 

In Broad Daylight

"I take my rage to the river."

I am grateful to have Cartoogecheye Creek 

to carry my rage to. It is faithful and loyal

in its presence, acceptance, and comfort.

". . .not to rid myself of rage

but to become a clearer channel 

to meet the chest-scouring,

scab-clawing, cell-screaming,

throat-burning fury of rage

and remind my heart I can

know all this rage, can be

feral with rage and still

keep on loving the world."

I'm slowly coming to know the truth of this.

To know I can be feral with rage and

still love this gorgeous mess of a world.

May you find your place for channeling

the rage that comes from loving this world.

Namaste

 

The Channeling

"We might as well be divine."

Because I get a little wary of words that carry a scent of church,

I had to stop a minute with this sentence.

When I looked divine to verify its definition I found excellent; delightful.

With that, I was released from my hesitation.

"As masked agents arrive with guns, curses and brutal disrespect,

we might as well be divine."

Talk about HARD. 

 I am nowhere near divine or excellent or delightful watching from the comfort

of my home, at a distance, on the screen, hurling my own curses and disrespect. 

It takes every ounce of concentration to feel the rage without releasing it with violence.

Makes me wonder just how deeply my divine is buried .

"As rivers shrink and sinkholes appear and

we face water bankruptcy world wide,

On the other side of the in-our-face madness,

lies this tragic truth and lays me lower than low.

we might as well share what is not ours to own.

 I draw this close to my very heavy heart. 

And be kind to each other. And praise what good we find." 

And vow to focus every fiber of my being to metabolizing the rage,

 and fear and grief into kindness and finding the goodness.

To be reverent in my thoughts and words and actions;

and forgiving and merciful when I'm not.

To be grateful for everything that comes my way

knowing even the most horrific can become a path to goodness.

(While at the same time fervently hoping I can skirt the worst of it.)

I am thankful you are here.  We're in this together.

May we all find our divine.

Namaste

 

How Can We Not?

"I want to scream so loud the whole world is shaken awake."

I want to scream myself awake.

Watching Women's March Nonviolent Action Training

jostled my shoulder enough to disturb my slumber.

"a scream that screams through every fake and plastic thing."

It's daunting to realize how much of this exists...

Is AI fake?  That's a question for the ages.

(An aside note: I just posed the question to AI. If you are curious to hear the response, let me know.

I won't go any further into it except to share this tidbit: "The more useful question might be:

When humans use AI, are they being real?")

"I want to scream until only kindness makes sense."

From everything I've read, Alex Pretti was the epitome of kindness.

An ICU nurse caring for our veterans?  How much more kind can one get?

Is it possible his death is the scream that wakes everybody up?

How can we make art when the world has gone mad?

I've asked myself this question over and over and over

as things have unraveled over the past year.

It's been a mighty wrestling match on the inner field of my being.

"How can we not?"

Here's what comes up for me at this question?

Make whatever I'm doing art.

Isn't anything we do with reverence art?

Revere the art of brushing my teeth;

the art of drinking coffee or tea;

the art of tending to your friends and loved ones;

the art of learning more about our world;

the art of planting seeds and growing sustenance and beauty;

the art of walking, running, paddling, cooking, cleaning, laundry, caring.

The list goes on and on.

We can do this!  I'm grateful you are here.

Namaste

 

Unremembered Peace

"How quickly we forget the bliss, much less the simple okay-ness,

when the awful comes to call."

The simple okay-ness is where I find my bliss, these days.

"smashing our peace into, well, pieces. . .

like a wicked virus unwilling to leave,

determined, it seems, to take us down, down, down."

We're all exquisitely familiar with this dynamic, aren't we?

Yet, we're even more determined not to be taken down.

Each horrific cruelty adds to our determination.

"But just over the shoulder, if we look, 

we see forgotten joy waving its little snapshots at us."

Little snapshots that we can magnify to bolster our resolve.

"May we pick up joy’s snapshots,

tucking them into the photo albums of our hearts, 

helping us hold others with great tenderness."

I love the phrase, "tucking them into the photo album of our hearts."

Think of all the photos on our phone.  Aren't most of them

moments of joy, surprise, awe, wonder, and/or love?

Let's visit them often and keep them close to

help us remember the true goodness of who we are.

Namaste