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

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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