notes from the dark moon

notes from the Dark Moon

just follow the simple directions
leave the Beauty to me.

you are wearing yourself out
doing a job that has been
done.

bring your Desire forward
and I will create with it.

the crone and the king

as I am grown

into crone
I find a new conversation beginning 

with the shadow king.

he likes days that are up right.
I like days that can be downright weird.

he likes up and shining
and I like sometimes to not move
and just appreciate the warmth of my morning bed,
my dreams,
a book,
a pen,
and an open, unplanned day.

Family

The love I feel for my sons
Stops me in my tracks
There is nothing but the unknown and familiar
Streaming from their eyes.

The wide and vast
The tender and questioning
The sure and true.

They are more real than anything I ever created.

I cannot hang them on a wall and say,
I can’t really price this, either,
because it is my life
It is everything I could never ever speak
I could only know this life in myself
through paint,
through sons.

Life
Like this
is not for the weak at heart.

These sons
Carry all my trust
And love.
And theirs.
And his.

I trusted one man, finally, kind of.

Beyond awesome.

Something only we can know.
This love is our secret.
This love is the life we lived
Alone
With our selves
As we all grew up
Together.

I call it Family.

the button shopper

here's a funny thing

well, it seems funny to me,

the kind of funny that is the sweet spot 

of the cosmic joke

like when you begin something,

and you are so into it, 

like it is the most wonderful thing EVER

and......

like buying those buttons in that 250 year old button shop in Salzburg. 

(you know the one)

buying those buttons, choosing them from all those other beautiful buttons, 

and having support to do it, 

with the dear woman behind the counter........

for a sweater that never made it,

for a sweater that never appeared, 

despite my best knitting efforts.

kind of like so many other things....

what's so funny, you ask?

this blind love for the moment

this love of exchange

the beauty of it

the taste of it,

just for that.

it's a funny thing,

this kind of love.

 it never doubts that the project will not come to fruition.....

that it still lives me 

insistently

like it always did

from the beginning of time....

it's a love I can't do anything to stop.....

i won't go so far as to make it seem like 

Rumi 

left without Shams

but,

what to do with all this love?

well, finishing anything 

is beyond me now......

it is finishing me off.

it is no secret,

the joke's on me.

holy ordinary

delusions of grandeur
were once seeded
 blamelessly
out of illusions
of small, other and not enough.

When the King dies, so must the Queen.
Long live Truth.
She reigns Absolute.
 
holy ordinary
gifts
glimpses
of truth.

Surprised at first,
you might be blown away,
humbled
by the very fact
That you are That.

You might be convinced
never again to lie
(and you probably will…..)

about who you are,
about who “they” are.

seeing from the heart
      the really obvious presence in that tree
      is beyond anything you could make up.

holy resides in this form
And that form
And that one, too.…


The ground of body
Supporting breath
Is holy ordinary.

Feel the support.
Always.
All ways.
Every cell
Is held in this moment
Breathing with you...

The most natural movement
is to bow
in gratitude for the glimpse,
for the felt sense of belonging
In such a kingdom.

taking form

Losing one’s mind 

One finds oneself 

unseparated, undifferentiated,

Awareness itself.

Thinking, 

more than once,

that the forms created by mind 

were Everything and True.

Awareness watches

As mind hits the wall

Screaming for proof of its rule.

Thrown by whom?

The truth

~ princess or prince ~

appears.

Delighting in the stillness,

Pervasive, palpable and playful.

This way of knowing is full of peace.

I have faith in this knowing

this intimate glimpse, 

shared with itself.

Nothing, 

not one bead of dew,

not one note of birdcall, 

Is overlooked

Every form is pervaded by love of form.

This is all a play on words

I write for the fun of it.
I, too, am how love takes form.

As are you.

as a leaf on the Fuschl See

inevitable change, inevitable intimacy

I woke up this morning and knew I am going to write about my time in the cabin.

I trust I will meet all manner of critics on my way to the end of this assignment.

this is what I have to do next.

Easel painting has not been calling me the same way it used to. 

For over forty years it was my way to express my love, to be in love.

I was painting a sycamore from my window, last week, from life. 

It felt like we were letting go of one another, painting and me. 

I was saying thank you for how it has held me so long, it has given me a way to be. 

It may not be enough, I am growing.

I didn't want to grow like this, out of the familiar way of being myself.

when I write, someone is listening.

when I paint, it is just me seeing, listening.

It almost feels unbearable to paint right now, to feel this change in me. 

This was my experience painting the sycamore last week.

Maybe they are the same in the end, painting and writing, so intimate and communicative, too.

I don't know.

but I am called to write now, about intimacy.

I'm calling the proposed book, or will it be one long prose poem.... "time out."

The form it takes will definitely be new for me.

it is so weird, my camera takes a picture, I think it will upload and it disappears. 

Technology is helping me to let go.

It has something to do with the new settings…….

yes, Time Out.

as usual, I am fascinated by change.

and love.

near sighted

There is a benefit of being near sighted.
I stay close to home, even when I am traveling afar.
I need eye to eye contact,
and that in itself requires a certain physical distance.
I am leaning way into my nearsighted life these days.


more thoughts on this will take form
there are no mistakes.

breathing, it bears repeating

Life
gifts me with breath.
All I have to do is allow it in.
I have been holding my breath long enough,
afraid of life itself...

the pink castle

I wake up and keep my eyes closed

Trolling the space I have left behind in sleep

For dream fragments.

Sometimes I can only find one picture

And I feel the expectation I carry

that anything I find will 

be a key

To the question who am I?

What am I doing here?

The fragment for me is a link I think I need 

to a homeland I have forgotten.

In the past if I couldn’t find anything

It would be one of those days when I got up on the wrong side of the bed,

Disturbed.

I can see now that is a good set up for a “bad day.”

This morning

No clear piece came from dream land.

Though what surprised me was an image from the past.

Dream like, the image rose up 

A girl’s drawing of a pink castle 

I had found her drawing on a rainy walk in Freilassing.

I brought it back to my studio and saved it, laid it out to dry.

I could relate.

When the image came to me this morning my heart was heavy.

They say a man’s home is his castle

But I feel a woman’s home is so very often deeply connected to her life.

Is this true for you?

When life circumstances invite a woman to let that home go

Quite a journey begins.

This morning I am inspired to ponder letting go of my castle,

The land and home on Keyser Run.

Five acres of woods and hills and fields and gardens and paths.

The place a family grew up

The place I was carried through my own initiation as a mother

And wife.

I will take myself through the rooms of that castle in the next days

To find my way home, again.

I have lived in many houses. 

I begin to feel the threads of every home I created.

Whether it was the room of a girl created with the help of my mother's sewing skills 

or the house of a woman or the woodland Hütte of a wild woman on the brink of herself.

Did I ever let them go?

Was I told to let them go?

Do I need to let them go?

In one of the first moves of our Navy family, my Dad said he was proud that I could let go of a pet. He had chosen a career that called for moving, of course he would want this letting go to be learned at an early age. How could he know what else was always working in me if I could not show my feelings?

Now is the time for tears,

they are allowed when they rise. 

I understand them to be signs that something or someone has been loved,

even if it was "just a dream".

I have loved.

This is what matters more than anything, ever. 

In acknowledging these changes and the loss woven into them,

I can acknowledge a love of self and what I have created 

as the expression of home, 

in all the phases of my life. 

And in this silence I can find the key 

that opens the door 

to what lives always already before my ever changing sense of self, 

as girl or woman.

sharing the woods

I am sharing the woods with a hunter.

Taking my walk as the day came to its close

I noticed the path I have made was disturbed.

Seeing a tuft of deer fur in a tree to my left

I see another piece to my right.

they hung, stuck on small branches

by their once moist flesh.

I thought, 

what ?

It looks like a marker of sorts.

I peeled them off and tossed them into the woods.

Yes, this might annoy him,

and he is sure to explain their use.

(I have already unintentionally disturbed one shot.

Now I know the truck on the driveway means he is there.)

He has clomped through an otherwise quiet path.

We've meet and he is a careful and skilled man.

A hunter is sharing the woods with me.

eat pray love letter to Suzy

I am not sure that I did ever read the book !

I am now,

and I like it.

her spirituality did not come through to me through the actress.

or maybe I had just forgotten my own.

it all being a projection, this is likely.
I had definitely misplaced my sense of humor.

I wanted to stay in italy 

I wanted to stay in the ashram 

and I sure wanted to stay in that handsome man's arms..........

I watched the film when I was in Germany.

it was during the week when he was getting desperate to please me,

to acknowledge that he did want me to be there. 

so he took me out to a movie.

he was surprised that he enjoyed the film, too.

I remember that part.

today I begin the next steps of my journey with ALisa and Adyashanti.

I woke up this morning with a new sense of the silence in me 

in relation to the words and their power that I am able to feel when I write.

I feel relationship in a new way, there is a depth to the fact that I am writing to you right now and that I am taking the time to be as clear as I can about where I am.

my mother told me yesterday that she had read the poem I wrote about the path and the way. she always admired my writing since high school. and then, I could not receive her support, it did not mean anything at the time. and she said that my paintings were gorgeous yesterday, too.  I had never heard her say something like this either.  she is passing something on to me. I feel it. her speech is labored but she said it does not tire her to speak.. yesterday I could feel her love energy in her communication with me.  I am aware of something alive, that I was not able to be aware of before, when I was in so much pain.  maybe that is all that has happened, the pain of being so confused if I am good or bad has lessened...

what I see is  beautiful. I am not motivated to paint it like I used to . I am motivated to write about the fact that I can see this beauty and it is nearly indescribable. I sense that the paintings will come again on their own, that door is always open. the paint is always here when needed.

I am slowing down

and feeling potency in me.

the potency is in the silence

that every word can carry

and that I can trust it to carry

when I bring it forth.

I am returning somehow to my beginning

it is interesting to notice,

Rilke is by my side again, the paint colors are near by

and I have something to write with,

and of course, a cup of coffee.

I am motivated to communicate

to share living in every way that moves me

and to simply be this living. 

the leaves of the sycamore are flying in the wind

the sky is pure endless blue
the trees

have absorbed summer's sun

taking it deep inside

they will offer the most beautiful soft magenta hues 

in the dead of the winter

!

I am inspired by my own life again.

it's getting better all the time
wisps of cloud have joined the clear blue.

I woke me up to something beautiful this morning, Suzy.

my life.

my life was in relationship 

I did not have to name to what, 

to know to what.

in moments like this I know the Beloved is near.

it was good to talk with you yesterday.

to share our bafflement and wonder

at the ebb and flow of this creation,

making our lives new and ever more useful.

useful as in of service.

this is a joyful moment in my life.

I feel glad to share it with you.

always already...

it always already is what it is
we are just catching up.

"always already" were master da free john's favorite descriptive adjectives
for this 
.......

he touched me out of the blue 
and lead my heart on this crazy wisdom path
without ever meeting
face to face.

To give everything would have been premature......
I had to create what I needed before I could lose it
and then receive it anew....

ah........
now
is
the
time
to celebrate the loss
of everything that was only a thought.

only what is real remains.

I love to make dinner for my sons.

the path and the way

The path and the way

The ways the deer take are so clear and quiet feeling.

That’s the way I go.

I aimed for the river, 

Found the way,

Hearing the water.

Now to back track and make a path out of this experience,

Discovering how a path makes itself known.

Up the hill I discover this huge stone under the leaves

My path goes around it

Fallen trees help guide the way.

A root seat waited along the high banked stream

My feet rest on the large stone

 the water moves across.

Clean water from the earth

is a wonder.

One day I found a Virginia version of the Steintheater in Hellbrun

A silent place for worship not entertainment.

The old wire fence line is down 

It crosses my path and makes a great jumping point.

Delighting the kid in me,

It always makes me smile.

Each day I go a little further

Or I just retrace the steps from the day before.

I love how I forget and remember and discover my way.

An orange hat is probably a good idea, or my red-orange scarf.

 I really don’t want to be mistaken for a deer. 

It is hunting season.

I am hunting my path but with a different kind of aim,

The hunted deer gifted itself to the Indian hunter.

The hunter always said thank you.

A path through the woods to the river

and everything that comes and goes on the way

Are what I am gifted with.

I cannot stop saying thank you.

a path into the woods

a path into the woods

the desire to make a path I can follow
begins to take its form.
I am in no rush to reach the river.

the Virginia woods have a lightness in them
the Indians were here
and the wildlife still lives
and moves among
and flies above
these trees.

the fairy tale woods of Germany were luscious and dark and so appealing,
I have come to know them,
intimately.

there is a lightness
beginning to appear
everywhere.

even negative thinking is welcomed and given room
and then, excuse me
I just don't have time for it,

the quiet in my heart is becoming more attractive.

all-y all-y in come free

in relation to the creative force that lives in me
is this fear or excitement ?

no rush no rush
right on time

being in relation to this creative force
pushes all my buttons
and puts me in my place
a place where awe and responsibility
invite me in.

noch einmal treffe ich diese Ehrfurcht
ich sage Ja.
Ich werde diese Faden folgen.

I will follow this thread 
all the way.
It is absurd to think I have a choice in the matter.
I deny this and live half a life
or I say yes
and live fully
in creative relationship
to what ever draws me 
in or out.

I like staying home on rainy days
with plenty to do,
calling out to all the trees,
all-y all-y in come free.

an image

When the soul wants something to be known,
she throws out an image in front of her
and steps into it.

Meister Eckhart


just like that
this image appeared
and I stepped into it.

effort and right effort

the attempt to create
creates exhaustion.

today I drew from the model again.
I brought an idea with me
which invited judgement
and comparing.

what I wanted to draw 
and what I drew 
were two different things,
and the split created exhaustion.

Last week, fresh from silent retreat
I just drew.
There is a big difference in the two kinds of activity.

One is receptive, the other active.
When I ponder what I have done in my life in terms of painting and living
the most successful
meaning enjoyable and full of learning
were done receptively.
the action was supported by a listening within for the path the action would take.

The Feminine Nature has been active in me longer than I have been aware of.

life drawing

Life Drawing.
well, it is always life drawing....
but to draw again from a model.....
well, that is something.

she too, was the tree, 
held by the space around her.

Her Body,
all ways.

change is in the air!

shit!
she has flipped my pancake over!
wow!

my heart is raging anew
with a fire
that is pushing me off my ass

moving me from the old conditioned responses

into this new moment!

I woke with the dream~poem~sense
to expand my awareness
and hold my focus
in care for this new unnameable emptiness presiding in my heart.

and then boom
everything seems to have changed.

my garden was nourished yesterday by horse manure and a new fence
my classes are sleeping
I am being left alone as all one
and the door she holds for me is
OPEN.

I have bowed my head off,
now I lay my body
belly down
in the garden.