a very good day to die

A most exquisite morning started a little bit late. The sun was already shining and the crystals which covered the grass blades were thawing. Not yet ready to abandon their posts, they sparkled with prismatic color as the sun kissed each one of them.

"a million blades
a billion lights
envelop my soul
what a glorious sight"

Having gone out expecting a colder morning I was wearing too many layers, leaving me a little bit heated. I contemplated removing my outer shirt but was quickly distracted by what lay before me. Just the most beautiful shady area covered in fallen golden leaves. We quickly descended the hill and reveled in the coolness of the shade as we crunched through the bed of leaves. It was too beautiful.

Of course I got lost in it and found myself thinking about my "burning bowl." Tonight is the night where we put our pasts behind us and forge ahead into something more positive. I thought about what I might cremate and well, unfortunately several things came to mind. I laughed at myself because it didn't even matter to me that I had work to do. There I stood, a person who is so much wiser, stronger and more beautiful than ever before, and yet so imperfect. What in the world would I ever do with myself if there wasn't something to work on? I'm just so grateful for the ability to heal and still enjoy in spite of my shortcomings. Life is so very good.

A sudden breeze rattled the branches above me and I was showered with golden drops. Drops reminiscent of greener, warmer days. Drops which were now more beautiful as they danced then bowed to their new existence. Even my pups stood in silent awe of this magnificent show.

So I guess that in spite of my lost chances at love, almost losing my daughter, and being a little too sick- the celebration of this past year lies in the joyful souvenirs it has all left me. It's almost too much...

thank you!

.

sadness SUCKS

I could not hold
The load alone
You rubbed the sticks
I set the stones

We gathered scraps to
Feed the flames
Which jumped and rolled
And skyward aimed

We drew our breath
Then fanned the fire
Two separate hearts
One burning desire

But then you went
Away so quickly
My heart left wrecked
My stomach sickly

Alone I wait
And time keeps turning
Just me alone, yet
My heart's still burning
.

Carnivorous

Prowling the hills
solitary we hunt
for sustenance
we scour the earth

Finding the kill
that pertinent fill
but rooting for pain
we’re just hungry again

Rip it to shreds
mouth dripping with blood
Coming up for air
we have nothing to fear

Can you survive the stream
Of the blood that flows
Can you rip it to shreds
Will you break bread with me

Will you wear the warm pelt
As we worship the sun
And peacefully slumber
Once the feasting is done

Can the warmth of our flesh
thaw the raw of our souls
Can the depth of our truths
quench us, hungry carnivores

As they lay in the dirt
our hearts beating aloud
They poke and they laugh
The finger pointing crowd

Can you swim up the stream
Of the blood that flows
Can you rip it to shreds
Won't you break bread with me
.

just one look

The direction of my gaze abruptly pivoted skyward
As I remembered to look for a shooting star

As if there was a sale on sky lights
Heaven displayed its abundance of wealth and wonder

My eyes scanned the vast canvas
But were drawn to the line of mountains

Which cut the sky as waking cuts through dreams
As if kissed by g~d I longed to see the shooting once again

ummmm... dry spell

Here are some pics from December nights:

I grieve...

Last night I set out for a walk when the streets had already quieted and people were nestling, snuggled in their beds. The moon was ripe with light, surrounded by an abundance of clouds that looked like they had been canvas textured in my Photoshop. Perhaps it was because of the saturated cloud diffusion but the light was almost too bright. All of that reflection just bouncing around, from white to white, almost blinded me.

I've been walking alongside my sadness. I know better than to run from it, and I certainly know that it needs to be honored. But the time had come to accept it. This is the hardest part of grieving because you're letting go of what you grasped so tightly. I let my anger flow and right on its tail came the tears. There was just no escaping last night's reflection. Transformed, my tears became daggers of light which ripped their way down my face before leaping from my chin, on their journey to quench the dry earth beneath me.

Unfair. Fair is an idea that perhaps should be removed from our consciousness. Isn't it just a self-imposed concept that we conveniently paste on whatever we choose to either embrace or deny? It certainly isn't fair that she died. It isn't fair that she suffered the way that she did. It isn't fair when life hands us an unbearable load, takes our love, or burns our house down. Fair is irrelevant. People get sick, people are unkind, people are selfish and we suffer. We ache. We die.

I'm not sure how long I walked or cried, but my eyes were starting to run dry. When I looked up at the moon I noticed that it had burned a big hole in the clouds. Now I could see it so clearly as it waited, alone in its halo of clarity. I thought about Dawn and wondered about so many things... things I'll never know. There are no answers to most of our questions. And that is what makes acceptance so difficult. What we have left is our own manufactured resolution. This is what fills in the holes, and allows us to fill up the well again. Perhaps this emotional caulking is a simple practice in delusion, but what other choice do we have? Wallowing is a waste of precious time and energy.

As I headed toward the last hill that would lead me home I remembered that I could wish. I wished and hoped. I hoped that the last time she spent with her children, that they laughed. Then I wished that they will find that laughter again.

Ring the bell that still can ring
Forget your perfect offering
There is a crack in everything
That’s how the light gets in.

- Leonard Cohen

only the best for you...

.
When I put my hand to my heart today
The flood of hopes and thoughts might say
That I wish for you, my friend this day
The peace you seek, so love you may


When I open my heart to your secrets so dear
I see your hurt, your confusion, your fears
Then I wish for you compassion so clear
That your peace and hope will soon draw near
.

Unrest

wake up you sleepy bear

wake up the morning’s here

the light shines through

that cracked old door

and sprays across the dusty floor

wake up Rumplestiltskin

wake up- the day is new

the coffee’s on

the eggs are done

the table waits for you

wake up, sleepy head

wake up before it's night

the sun is warm

outside we’ll run

wake up and feel the light

more than this

.
I knew that the trail would be fun this morning as everything was a little different. The coolness of the moist air... well that is my tequila! It always makes me feel so very good. It was a little bit colder than I thought it would be. Fortunately there was a scarf sitting on the front seat of the car, so I wrapped myself up.

Yesterday morning found me so awakened. I seem to be in one of those states where all of my thoughts and actions are connecting with things that I hear, read, or see. Perhaps it's the sadness of this past week that has heightened my sensitivity, or maybe my fear of stagnancy. The one thing that I have come to know and trust, is that I must keep the vibration going. So when my trek was stifled by the rushing river which I had dreamed of in my waking, I did not pause. I enjoyed the novelty of this road block. I heard its sweet rushing song and reveled in its energy. There was nothing else to do but honor it and find a new path.

There was no rushing river this morning. Yesterday's delightful barrier was today's patterned canvas of sediment and color. The forceful stream was now just a memory that I could no longer touch. But in its place, lived something equally beautiful. It's funny how we are so affected by the storm, and don't spend as much time honoring its aftermath. What is left once the deluge subsides is what remains to be honored, and must be because it is reality's leftovers.

There was so much to think about this morning. And there was so much to see... autumn's splendor, a convention of cawing crows, Poochi bouncing through the weeds, trees- their silhouettes against the gray sky, the dead owl that remains untouched on the hillside, a new pile of carefully stacked totem rocks, and me.

My heart has been heavy with sadness, grief, fear and disappointment this week. My rushing river had kept me from going where I needed to be. But maybe that space I was lost in, was where I needed to be. It's time to take a look inside and find a way through the rushing. That river- both a gift and a barrier, can either carry me away, or take me where I need to be.

There was no dust today as I trampled over the hills. The earth now quenched, offered me surer footing, deeper colors, and a path decked with new wonders.

In spite of what happens to hurt or heal me I am grateful for my constants. They may look or feel a little different once the river stops rushing, but there is no denying their newer depth (a greater well) or their heightened intensity.

Thank you!

She's got the whole world...

Before it was a river
Laid a dry and barren plain
Beneath the mountains’ towering
Slides to flash the falling rain

Before there was a mountain
Breathed land above the silent plates
Soon to erupt within the molten core
Unaware of its magnificent fate

Before it was a spinning earth
A mass of unfathomable light
Forced to be this world we see
Our pleasure, not our right

Before it was my light, my love
My name was always this
Conceived by the rain and cosmic pain
Life bore me, its daughter, BLISS

The Invitation

TOO GOOD (had to share)!

The Invitation
by Oriah

It doesn’t interest me
what you do for a living.
I want to know
what you ache for
and if you dare to dream
of meeting your heart's longing.

It doesn’t interest me
how old you are.
I want to know
if you will risk
looking like a fool
for love
for your dream
for the adventure of being alive.

It doesn’t interest me
what planets are
squaring your moon...
I want to know
if you have touched
the center of your own sorrow
if you have been opened
by life’s betrayals
or have become shriveled and closed
from fear of further pain.

I want to know
if you can sit with pain
mine or your own
without moving to hide it
or fade it
or fix it.

I want to know
if you can be with joy
mine or your own
if you can dance with wildness
and let the ecstasy fill you
to the tips of your fingers and toes
without cautioning us
to be careful
to be realistic
to remember the limitations
of being human.

It doesn’t interest me
if the story you are telling me
is true.
I want to know if you can
disappoint another
to be true to yourself.
If you can bear
the accusation of betrayal
and not betray your own soul.
If you can be faithless
and therefore trustworthy.

I want to know if you can see Beauty
even when it is not pretty
every day.
And if you can source your own life
from its presence.

I want to know
if you can live with failure
yours and mine
and still stand at the edge of the lake
and shout to the silver of the full moon,
“Yes.”

It doesn’t interest me
to know where you live
or how much money you have.
I want to know if you can get up
after the night of grief and despair
weary and bruised to the bone
and do what needs to be done
to feed the children.

It doesn’t interest me
who you know
or how you came to be here.
I want to know if you will stand
in the centre of the fire
with me
and not shrink back.

It doesn’t interest me
where or what or with whom
you have studied.
I want to know
what sustains you
from the inside
when all else falls away.

I want to know
if you can be alone
with yourself
and if you truly like
the company you keep
in the empty moments.

by Oriah from her book THE INVITATION (c) 1999. Published by HarperONE, San Francisco. All rights reserved. Presented with permission of the author. www.oriah.org

The turtle is splitting hairs

.
Today I am grateful to know that life is not made up of what we know through our intellect or the trophies we have gathered. It is made of the love and compassion we experience in our hearts.

See? Nice guys really do finish first... don't give up.
.

Thank YOU

.

It is only in the light of our grateful hearts that we can truly live.

So it is that time of year when we are reminded to be thankful. This is like making wishes on your birthday or committing to resolutions for the new year… personal indulgences that are sometimes a little too rare.

Gratefulness is as important to me as oxygen, laughter, thought or love. I am not sure that I would enjoy any of the latter elements quite so much, if it weren’t for the former. Each one of us has traveled a unique path which has landed us where we are right now. I know that if I had not known love, its loss or its want, I would not possess the love that I do today. If I had not fallen so hard or often, I would not have learned the art of picking myself up. If I had not had compassion for my own flaws, I would not hear or understand your heart.

Within the differences between us lies in waiting, an appreciation of that which is not of me. And in this disparity awaits my greatest opportunities- the chance to learn something new, and then honor the divine within you.

When we embrace the stillness that lies between the raindrops, or between the molecules of water within those drops; we breathe beauty beyond measure. When we can see beyond the hurt that has been inflicted on us, to the pain of our perpetrators; we know peace. When we feel grateful for the loss of our weaknesses (and maybe even laugh at ourselves), we know wisdom. When we lay naked, hopeful and trusting, we know love.

In this time that we are encouraged to be thankful I find myself most grateful that I am able to revel in your goodness. I honor that which you have to teach me. I crave that which you have to offer, and I wait for that which you will share with me. It is the giving and receiving of our true selves that liberates us to new heights of beauty, wisdom, peace and love. These are the things that I am thankful for- every minute of every day.

Perhaps gratefulness IS my oxygen, thoughts, laughter and love...

Namaste,
Laura

a new moon

Prancing down a darkened trail

lights have all gone out

The sun has settled in to rest as

creeping critters greet the night

Whispers from the hidden eyes

which never see the light

follow me to another world

where they can be so bright

I cannot see the moon tonight

It hides its face from me

But in its place I see the stars

The ones you picked for me

Inside the dark and frigid night

I watch with wonderment

As stars propelled by magic's spell

Race quickly across the heavens

I cannot see the moon tonight

It hides its light from me

But in its place within the dark

Shines splendor in a new me

The night guard watches, waiting

As the new moon hides its face

The owl cuts loose and rises

Giving dark's stars quite the chase

The cold but silent chill I feel

Brings shivers from within

But oh the stars that light the sky

Make quite the raucous din

I cannot feel the moon tonight

It hides its pull from me

But in its place the stars whisper

Their quiet secrets to me

.

The thumping against the house stirred my curiosity. I put on my black plaid jacket and headed outside. The night's blackness kidnapped my sight as the wind played with my hair and tickled my face. The cold slithered up my back as I was lost and alive all at the same time. Feeling naked in the power of its strong arms, I willingly submitted to its lure.

Starting slowly down the hill I ambled in search of some light. My steps were slow and deliberate as I couldn't see where my feet were landing. The wind was like a tireless toddler who could not get enough of my laughter. I found a glowing spot beneath a yellow street lamp. There I stood listening to the coyotes' shrieking howls as the cold relentlessly nipped me. Even the reach of light seemed affected by this wind as its field of energy was diminished, and it failed to touch me.

The dark seems somehow more soothing.

A deep breath and a resurgence into the night found me in a new place, wondering if anyone else is being touched by the same breeze that is touching me. As it rushes across my face and down my neck, my fingers push the hair from my eyes... but I could only feel, not see this ecstasy.

The wind always changes things.

Although it is my custom to move quickly down this road, I continue on slowly. Eventually I arrive home. Feeling my way through the door I stand silent in the dark kitchen. The coffee maker's green glow attempts to fill the room. The glider is still thumping against the house. The cowbell beneath the lemon tree cannot stop clanging. I wonder if anyone else hears it.

Hope.full.y

Hope is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul,
And sings the tune without the words,
And never stops at all...
-Ms. Emily Dickinson

Green lights all the way today!

You know, life can be so hard and so unfair. Sometimes it's impossible to see past the mountain that is shading you. But when you get farther down the road, that mountain looks a whole lot smaller. Hope is that guide that holds your hand as you walk slowly around the mountain which you can not jump over. Hope is that thing that reminds you that even when your mouth is so dry, things will taste good again. Hope holds our hands as we run down that road; and holds our hearts when we look back at that diminishing mountain. Hope is that drug that kisses our fears away. Maybe it's just a grand delusion... what do I know anyway?

Hope is the food that feeds me
when the cupboards all run bare
It warms my tummy with thoughts so yummy
and never skips a dare

When flirting with a thought so lovely
hope lingers longingly
It flails its passionate storm above me
as its dreams consume and woo me

May hope not be this dreamer's dream,
but a prelude to enliven
And ready I will always be
when hope's surprise will rise then
-ME

the beckoned call

The cold shock to my skin told me to skip this morning's shady warm-up path, in exchange for the warmth of the sunny hills. You know that indescribable force which taps your etheric shoulder, and makes you turn your head? It's as if something beckoned you, and without thought, you heed the call.

I looked up to see the blackness of his beauty as he flapped his wings against the sumptuous blue sky which was adorned with fine, delicate, white lace. The power of his wings' effort, could only be outdone by the beauty of his glide as he dipped and rolled. " Ahhh..." she thought before taking flight into her own mind's playground.

Sitting here, replaying that beautiful scene as the coolness of my skin and the warmth of my home find a middle ground, I wonder... does He ever see how beautiful I am?

It is

Saturday morning, 9:42: It is coming.

It is in the long shadows within the shade
it waits for me til I call its name

It is grimmest gray as it hugs yearning earth
dowsing parched, withered greens, quenching their thirst

It is explosive light trapped in a singular cloud
unabashedly longing to be bursting out

It is the dark within a dreary, cold night
that reaches for more, as it craves warmth and light

It is rising sun's splendor kissing ocean's still plane
til its rushing and swelling spawns joy's crashing wave

It is spilling your soul into hands cupped with care
that hold it so dear, just let go - and you're there

It is in the long shadows within the shade
I dance madly, gladly, calling its name



It is what it is, nothing more, nothing less
cuz you get what you chase when you follow your bliss


it was a beautiful morning- thank you

You get what you need

Today was a typical medley of good and bad, happiness and disappointment, dark and light. The morning's sunrise, in spite of the early darkness, eventually found me. By the time I was out the door and on my way, the scales tipped toward good.

I think it was sometime in the the middle of the morning when I got the unexpected ovation which should have sent me reeling. I suppose the shock was numbing, because all that I felt was the loneliness in the reality that I had no one to tell. No confidence wanting to witness the unearthing of my vulnerability. How dare I not be grateful or elated? How dare I, the one who revels in all things beautiful and sweet, wallow in this mud?

There were attempts to snap myself out of it throughout the day, but they were obligatory at best. The day could not end fast enough. Bursting through the door, the flood gates gave way. I quickly ran upstairs to the balcony, grabbed my cozy brown blanket and melted into the cushioned glider. I don't know how long I was crying before Frank showed up and was sitting next to me. I might not have noticed him if it weren't for the squealing, screeching noise that the damn door makes every time you close it. It's hard to pretend you're not upset when your eyes are swollen, your nose is red and your shirt is sopping from the tears. There's no magical recovery from that point, that can fool someone into thinking "it's nothing." It wasn't really anything, either, and he seemed to understand.

He would not leave, however, until he fixed my door. He worked at it for a short while before his sweet, happy face beamed with pride. He asked me if I was cold. "Yes." He disappeared. Kate came floating in within a few minutes, with a bag in her hand. "Happy Friday," was the excuse for her offering. Beneath the wads of pretty red paper was a gem encrusted owl key chain from Brighton. Too sweet. A couple of weeks ago she told me that I was going to get everything I deserved; that all of the love and caring I had dispensed over the years, was coming back to me. What she didn't see, was that it had.

I wandered downstairs to find something to eat and there was a fire crackling away. After my snack I laid down on a couch to enjoy the warmth. I laid there with my eyes closed and felt him putting a blanket over my feet, and tucking me in.

the eighth wonder

Mouth wide open
I stare
In disbelief
This beautiful thing
This element stricken
Monument of intoxication,
A certain rise, this my heart’s elation

Invisible my
Wide-eyed watch spies
Unspeakable awe in
This world’s new wonder
This resurgence
Of power and might,
A force so lovely, so damn right

Hand outstretched
I reach
Hope-filled to touch
This masterpiece
This ethereal dream
Built by wind, heat and rain
Which forsakes for beauty, the damning pain

etch-a-sketch

Home, Sweet Home

crawling across the jagged carpets

blood seeping from the walls

ceilings swallow the animals running

down the flooded halls

refrigerator is baking

moldy ice cream cones

dishwasher splatters psychedelic mud

on the siren piercing phone

Ring… ring…

Hello?

(Shhhh… don’t let them hear you in here)

tree crashes through the window

bathtub fills with rain

buckle up, we should probably go

car's driving up the drain

alarm clock sings a lullaby

she eats the cotton candy floor

the roof falls down and crushes that lamp

there's no answer at the door

Ding…dong….

Hello… can you hear me?

...

Thank you fur lettin me be mice elf, again...

...

Let not my heart be weighted

Nor my love be blind or shaded

If my light be sadly faded

When love comes once again fated,

Knocking at my door

May two fiery souls’ union

Come to me none too soon then

With a blessed and warm reunion

Of souls' unabashed communion,

Oh love, come call on me

...

Bruises are purple, right?

Grated expectations

Yesterday was a triumph!

Growing bored with safe, flat paths which ensured me minimal pain, I opted to climb a hill. It wasn't even that difficult. I walked for a while along the mesa, fueled by the excitement of this accomplishment. Filled with gratefulness for the barely-there abdominal pain, it took a while to acknowledge the pain in my heel. A rock maybe? Once I started feeling fatigued I turned around and headed back to the trail head. As I neared the welcoming tree I spied three crows in the bare, upper branches, watching me. In unison their caws cheered out, "Yay!" I knew their enthusiasm was just for me.

What I really wanted to do this morning, I knew that I could not, as I watched my beautiful son breathing deeply in his peaceful sleep. Being here for him was most important today. There could be no better consolation prize, than to hit that trail again. I would be back before his first thought of chocolate chip pancakes awoke.

Today it was even easier to climb that hill than it was yesterday. When I came back down and embarked upon the curvy trail, there was that piercing little pain in my heel again. Several long and uncomfortable minutes passed as I reasoned with myself that the pain would subside, so I should just ignore it and keep on going. Sometimes, I'm just too stupid. I found a rock to lean against and emptied my shoe. What do you know? When I got back to the trail head I was feeling great and decided to keep going down another path.

Why is it that I always continue to forge ahead no matter what rocks are irritating me? Why do I keep walking feeling sand grating into my skin when all I need to do, is take off the damn sandals? How far can you travel or how well can you live, with a knife hanging from your broken-heart chest? I seem to be the champion who endures in spite of the storms that drench me. It's no secret to anyone who knows me, that I am no stranger to misfortune or pain. Some people call me strong because I have survived so much. There is some truth in that, but my deeper truth is that I have been hovering in an emotional purgatory where I will not be swallowed by doom, but neither will I let go of its hand.

My recent medical adventure left me unable to care for myself or my family. Laying wounded, I had to rely on people to tend to my needs. It was such a foreign concept for me- relying on anyone else, being comfortable with it, and having faith in those people to get the job done. So many people showed up to help- every one of them happy to do it, with hearts filled with love and kindness. Some of these people were barely strangers before I openly received their generosity. Before long, I started to count on it, and it felt like a new home.

Maybe the reason that I have never really had someone to count on, who would love me and take care of me the way I thought I wanted, was because I did not actually expect that it would come. Maybe I was so accustomed to pain and disappointment, that it felt like my home. I never would have imagined, prior to the surgery, that I would have been down for so long. There were extenuating circumstances and post-op complications that tried even my ability to withstand. It was only in that weakness that I realized how exhausting pain really is.

My expectations have certainly evolved over the years. I still dream in the fantastic colors of cartoons and I still want to be loved- but otherwise, the view is much changed. Every time we fall in love, our definition of love changes and every time we lose love, we are never the same. Some of my friends tell me that what I am looking for is not real. They are wrong. It is in me, so it is real. It has no face, no shape, no name and no rules, but it is truly beautiful. It is a great expectation.

Be still

Silently I watched as this fog crept through the crevices of the trees' valleys. A slow but determined force followed, engulfing the landscape.

Watching that mist trekking across the hills that I longed to trek through, my soul was stirred as it reveled in the marvel that spilled out before me.

Can I be still and still be me?

I would rather be g~d's breath

crawling across the earth

or the place of fruitful death

resigned to new day's birth

where fences are mended

and tatters un-torn

where wounds come unwrapped

as wisdom is born

where fear is unwelcome

and love is life's toy

where the feast is not crumbs

but a platter of joy


Be still and know that I am...

New moon

Little bits at a time, I'm feeling my light sparkle again. This has been so much longer and harder than I had anticipated. It's coming. THANK YOU for all of the love, support, gifts and caring. I never realized just how lucky I am. I am.

Latitude adjustment

...

7:02 pm The light has been changing. A new angle wraps deeper hues of rosy pinks across Mt. Gower, highlighted with the brightness of waning light. As if it were afraid to die, it burns with an intensity not to be forgotten. The hill beneath it, which corners Gunn Stage and San Vicente, sits in a darkness, untouched by the light.

7:05 pm A thick cloud layer hovers over the Cuyamacas, showcasing unprecedented shades of gray, brushed ever so lightly by a purple feather.

7:09 pm The moon’s non-committed face seems to be in the foreground of the smattered clouds which smear the sky. (How can that be?) The swelling canopy of clouds is growing- both larger and more purple.

7:27 pm Barely a glowing of light’s remnant memory accentuates the white stucco on the hillside as the hills’ sleepy eyes grow heavy.

Those hills- I have climbed and played in them, been sung to by them, loved in them, daydreamed about them, watched them burn, and run from them. Tonight I breathed in unison with them, as they anesthetized my weariness.

When I was little I thought that if I jumped high enough, I could suspend myself long enough to be able to land in a different spot.

The earth is moving.

The light is changing.

Zing dong

...

What a week!

If it weren’t enough to be in more pain than I’d anticipated, there were the added bonuses of my heart crapping out during surgery and my kidneys shutting down after the fact. When I finally got out of bed at the hospital to walk around I had to tote a “Kool Aid piñata” attached to my IV pole. Internal bleeding- but not much to worry about because it’s normal after you’ve lost an organ and had your innards re-arranged. Besides- they’ll fix that this coming week, with a quick, additional surgery (if necessary). The pain is excruciating. I can’t do anything for myself. Even sitting here, typing, is taxing me.

This was my ~12^th surgery that I recall having. I usually go into these things with an “oh well” attitude, because I know that as everything does, this will also pass, and I’ll be better when it’s done. It’s getting harder and harder to sell that to myself as the pain has been intensifying instead of subsiding. (WTF?)

What I miss more than anything right now, is my ability to transcend, to meditate, to openly communicate with the universe. I’m not sure if it’s the narcotics or the pain that are interfering, or if I’m just too weak. Since I couldn’t generate this ethereal state for myself I picked up a book that I had acquired at a sidewalk sale, and read a few pages. The first meditation talked about being still and listening. Okay, ZING! I get it. The last one was about pain. Pain- that ill that infects and drains us, pain that will not heal. Pain, which needs to be accepted, and we must live in spite of. Pain, which we must not hide from, but must let mold us so that we can improve. Sometimes we must be the victims- but only if we do not dwell in the ick of it all; only if we accept these limitations and work with them. Life is a divine gift, in every form.

ZING!

Check out time

"Be with me... I know you'll be with me."

So life deals you a hand and strangely, it's easier to fold than to play. The only outcome in folding, is losing. Work with the cards. You never know! (Don't give up)

A wound that will not heal just can't get licked enough. Maybe you can find an alternate means of survival. If you lose a leg you can sit there and moan and groan, or you can learn to hop, roll, crawl... but you need to want to. I think that there's nothing more difficult than digging through your emotional rubble, accepting your flaws, and being brave enough to live out loud, as your true and original self. You are a beautiful light within your own darkness.

Radio silence- communication breakdown. I'm sorry. I needed a little space to re-fuel and prepare. Thank you for hanging- for caring, for hovering, for loving my strength in spite of my weakness. I'm a little scared, but comforted knowing that you are there waiting. Love is an amazing salve and it will get me through this. (Well... love, some sedatives, an incredibly wonderful posse of friends, and a few tubes of Percocet!)

Thank you!

Conflicting Resolutions

You have your answer!
Now you need to find your true question.

So it's here- finally! I'm like that magical little ballerina in the musical jewelry box who popped up into perfect form as soon as you lifted the lid. I never grew tired of watching her spinning. Never. How many times did I try to see how far I could close the box without shutting off the music?

The treasure is right there in front of you. Dig it up, pull it out, crank it up and turn it on. Fall on your face or don't. Break the glass and run barefoot through it.

.....

The color is about to change

The ambience

is waning

The sun-drenched, moisture-parched,

Crown of color

fading

Silvery sparkles

Now covering

what once

I took for granted

The wisdom of time well spent

Trumps youth’s rich

colors planted

It’s time… to dye… my hair

Taste not, want not

Hue move me

.....

The moisture rich mornings always seem to be the ones that move me, and this morning was both cool and foggy. As I untangled the dogs’ leashes I heard that bird call again- the one that I have not been able to erase from my memory. The sound was so rich, trill and happy- like laughter. I heard it again and again. The dogs were busy sniffing the scents of the trailhead, while my eyes stayed glued to the top of the welcoming tree to see if I could get a glimpse of the bird. It did not take long to realize that the sounds were coming from more than one tree- there was another tree down the flat path which also harbored these melodious birds. There was so much frolicking amidst the leaves as I stood watching and smiling.

Two of them shot out of the tree in sync and flew almost directly overhead. They were green- bright green. Parrots!?!? Wild parrots in Ramona? It had never occurred to me that parrots flew free in the wild. Don’t they belong in pet stores and cages? With clipped wings? I giggled- at myself for being so narrow-minded and silly, and at the little gift that I was just given.

How is it that you can pass something by time and time again, and never really see it?

A bush!

A bush with hues of orange and maroon so rich, that it had extracted my deepest breath. I forgot to breathe. Unprecedented in intensity this indescribable hue of autumn, encapsulated within one mind’s lens, is beauty for the taking.

That feeling is like a bow striking the deepest groan from the strings of a sweetly played cello. Shivers ripple down my spine as my soul quivers. Beauty cannot be owned, but revered.

And beauty is not a need but an ecstasy.
It is not a mouth thirsting nor an empty hand stretched forth,
But rather a heart enflamed and a soul enchanted.

It is not the image you would see nor the song you would hear,
But rather an image you see though you close your eyes

and a song you hear though you shut your ears. - Khalil Gibran

.....

The Gimpy Gull

...
In celebration of my last beach day of this vacation, I intentionally arrived at Torrey Pines well before my friends. Just had to have that blissful fix before the chatter started. I headed straight for the north end because I knew I'd find solace and serenity there.

Everything- the chair, the un-assembled umbrella, cooler, bag loaded with oil, bbq chips (the must-have,staple beach food), book, music and extra clothes- all hit the sand at once, with an emphatic thud. Whipping off my clothes, my gaze fell immediately to the horizon, the line that borders excitement and uncertainty. I breathed deeply for several minutes before plopping into my colorful chair, then allowed myself the luxury of the question I was to ponder today.

Since I was a child playing at Jones Beach, on the occasions that someone's parents agreed to bring me along, I have loved seagulls. I must have a hundred or more snapshots of them from over the years, either on photo paper, or in my mind. The one who first caught my attention yesterday had an extraordinarily long beak. He seemed to stay in the same spot for quite a while until the remnant of a wave (which was receding faster than it was advancing) urged him to move.

He hobbled away, favoring his stick of a left leg. At first I felt pain thinking that this was a debilitating injury for my little friend (but refrained from crying for once). After an intense couple of minutes of watching and wondering, I grew relieved to see that in spite of his limp his life was a vital, enduring force to be awed- perhaps even more so, than the others'.

Evolutionary Road

We are works of art, and works in progress, if we are to be worth anything at all.

In everything that we do there is always room to grow. Inside every mistake that we realize, is an opportunity to evolve. In every revelation lies a mystery to be absorbed, awed and respected.

They say that when the student is ready, the teacher appears. I have long known that when I am ready and open- I learn. It is the shedding of our consuming ego and pre-conceived notions, which affords us our awakenings. It is the death of our selves that brings us to the light.

the bloom!

The tree

There are no beginnings or ends
just a continuous stream
a force of love and light that make up life
And it shines on new faces
lights up new places
and glows and burns and makes us one

Rhythmic drum beat moves. Slowly dance around the fire. Mellow, haunting strings cut me free. The spiraling smoke drifted upward with a fury that lifted me. Soaring, I jetted past stars. Reaching out, I took and held one in my hand. The mesmerizing glow swallowed me and we coasted lighter than light, laughing as one.

(More later)

...
The air is so thick tonight that I'm surprised by the volume of the frogs' songs. We had the reddest, sweetest watermelon I've ever seen and tasted, for dinner. Laughter so raucous from the kids as the mountains stared down at us. Isn't summer just beautiful?
...

silence

...
harmonizing with the voices in my soul
swaying with the beat from beyond
strumming the chords of life

just singing along...

...

In the Lightness of Love

For the man at the pier

Toasted marshmallows, anyone?

Love is an energy that is neither created or destroyed. It simply transforms itself as it ignites, grows, burns ferociously, quiets, glows as embers, or scatters across the universe as dancing ashes.


(There will be no essay about this... yet.)


...

Owl be waiting

take me
shake me
rock me
break me
Be the force that overtakes me

thrill me
till me
hold me
fill me
Be the light that will




?: For as long as I can remember, I have had a kinship with owls. There was a time, as a child, that they visited me nightly. They'd come swooping down at me, sometimes waking me, screaming. As I grew fonder of them, they'd show up each night, in a different color. When I lived in the house on Cherish Way there was a pair of barn owls who would come and circle over head when I sat outside to meditate. When it was time for life to change- I just didn't know where to go next and I was scared. When I checked out this house in which I am now living, I met "B" who is in the picture above. I couldn't believe the beautiful view from the bedroom balcony, and when I saw him sitting in the planter, I knew this view would bring me peace. And it has... Thank you

I was there...

A peaceful walk

in early morning’s darkness

Feet moving slowly

Crunch the earth beneath me

---

Pebbles pierce my soles

---

Cool, green grass

Beckons from ahead

Watching you

Breathing, naked in the darkness

---

Laughter pierces my soul

---

.....

Lazarus

An incredible feeling bubbles up, swells, and then lifts my wings. My heart, soul, mind and fingers gladly follow…

Sometimes I just sit here in front of the keyboard because I know I have something to say, but usually I don’t have a clue what it is… until I start typing (or writing). So I do the deed and then sit and wait for the ecstasy to ensue. It’s an awakening of the etheric sense, of which I think I am no more than a conduit, or perhaps a prism that bends its light. Maybe I’m just a mirror that reflects…

Climbing the stairs with my notebook and pen tucked under my arm and my deliciously aromatic oil already taunting me, I saw it- that beautiful pool and I had it all to myself! No one had been there for days so I quickly scanned the surface and perimeter for dead things. There by the step wall was an enormous dragonfly, just floating. At first I thought he was just resting, but no, he was dead. The flashback was so abrupt that I think I have emotional whiplash!

Three years ago, on a hot summer’s afternoon I climbed my own steps in search of solace and of course, an opportunity to meditate. But there, in the corner of the pool was the smallest lizard I’d ever seen. This creature would have been classified cute by the harshest and coldest of standards with his little stub of a tail, rounded belly and bulbous little head. My heart sank just looking at him. I picked him up with my cupped hands and laid him gently on the warm concrete. His limp and skinny neck offered no resistance as his tiny little head meshed with the ground.

He was dead.

Watching hopefully, I waited to see if he would move, but the only thing that changed was that the puddle which had surrounded him, was now evaporating. The thought of leaving his sweet little body lying there made me cry. Was his mother cognizant of his absence? What about all of the walls he’d never climb? The bugs he’d never taste? The roadrunners he’d never escape?

As I have never been particularly fond of lizards I surprised myself when I reached down and touched him. How silly of me to think that my human touch would bring comfort to a lizard. He opened his eyes- or was I seeing things? I was too excited to take my gaze from him, but I worried that he might panic at my presence. He didn’t seem scared. He simply closed his eyes again. My heart sunk- again.

I cried because this sweet little life was cut too short. The sadder I grew, the more resistant I became to the reality of this situation. I drew in a long, dramatic breath as if I were going to perform CPR on this lost life. As my breath turned to exhalation, an unexpected and determined breeze whipped up the hill shaking the cattails, dancing with the palm trees in a state of wild abandon, and making my new little friend rise to his legs. While my jaw was dropping I watched his belly distend and contract, with deliberated drama. Before I could close my mouth, Lazarus was scampering into the ice plant.

People blindly state that everything happens for a reason. This is yet another concept that I stand back, consider, and then politely nod, in answer to. If everything is pre-determined by an all-knowing God, then how free is our will? Are we just playing pieces in some war game where he tortures us, to teach us lessons?

There is a need to worship God which is sewn through my fabric, and I am not alone. Every time I’ve tried to name this god, I find myself farther away from the truth of who he/she/it is. If we are to believe that someone is pulling these strings through for us, then that just makes God a rather accomplished puppet master. The greatest gift that we can offer or be offered is the gift of ourselves; our admiration, respect, consideration, compassion and vulnerability. These are the raw elements of subservience to beauty, splendor and love- whose crosses I gladly bear and surrender myself to, every chance that I get.

The reason that little Lazarus wound up in the pool was probably because one of my dogs chased him in there. It certainly could not have been God’s choice to drown a baby, any more than God would ever choose to wipe out an entire culture with a tsunami, earthquake or volcano. Maybe it is simply our prerogative to reason through to solution or understanding, and thereby learn and grow.

As my little lizard resurrected herself upon my insistence, I knew that I am god. I am a very small part of the beautiful and incredible force that is life.