this or not that

News flash from the non dualist in me,
(Oh these words really are beginning to amuse me, do I really know what they mean....)

I am a bad person. 
I mean, if I thought he was that bad, oh, my ………..

I am not a bad person. 
That, too. 
Been there and done that 
so many times.

Are there really two of me?
The one thinks she is so good,
the other one knows she is bad,
but rarely ever releases this information.

This is so good.
Can I really, compassionately, embrace this situation I am in ?

This information was released on the porch tonight.
The spirits applauded my performance,
Once again.

They are such an admiring audience!
The award was handed to me by the master of ceremonies!
They see right through the act,
And my endless attempt
to be
this
or
not that.

Perennial Visitors

I take my walk in a field the past two days to visit with the spiraling ladies tresses. Having seen them in a book years ago, now I live near a field they call home. 

Answers from the Elements

A whole afternoon field inside me from one stem of reed.

The messenger comes running toward me, irritated:

Why be so hard to find?

Last night I asked the moon about the Moon, my one question for the visible world, Where is God?

The moon says, I am dust stirred up

when he passed by. The sun, My face is pale yellow from just now seeing him. Water: I slide on my head and face like a snake, from a spell he said. Fire: His lightening, I want to be that restless. Wind, why so light? I would burn if I had the choice. Earth, quiet and thoughtful? Inside me I have a garden and an underground spring.

The world hurts my head with its answers,

wine filling my hand, not my glass.

If I could wake completely, I would say without speaking

why I'm ashamed of using words.

Rumi

Dark Rye

I am the one who invites the whiskey to do its magic,

for you.

I am the one who chooses the corpse pose over sitting upright,

for you.

I am the one no one can pinpoint

And the one everything points to.

I am the one who calls from deep inside your body

Asking for a touch as yet unknown to you

A touch

A thread

Tied to an anchor

I am the depth that calls that anchor

Down 

Down

Down

Your depth is already magnetized.

I am the one who calls you home.

Your body is our home, Sister.

And it is good.

I'm back, for you.

Lilith

The Dark One

woman's work

A quiet lives in the ordinary. 
A woman's work very often lives out of the ordinary. 
I have been nervous about this woman's silence that is calling me back home.

My mom made this quilt for me. I suggested the dark border for the colors of the triangles and she liked this idea. She was in fact, thrilled to use the dark border.

Yeah, so symbolic.
The flying geese are the forward flying solid triangle.
Turned upside down they become the ancient womb symbol of Woman.

Many of my mom's quilts are carefully stored in boxes. This one was my favorite and was used and washed many times. Some of the triangles were made of fabric that was very old, and in the washing and wearing have worn through. 

I am in the process of appliqueing new triangles onto the quilt. 
And this brings me into the silence of women's hand work.


I often call my mom on the phone while I patch one of the triangles.
As her voice strengthens so does mine,
As I sit in a deeper silence with her, I can hear and receive the love I nearly missed.
I have the chance to call in some ancestors, too.

I am so grateful for the gifts of this well loved quilt.







Flying Geese quilted by Jane Heile

she let go

Having let go is an unmistakeable feeling.
It is predicated on a choice.

I sense I will have many more opportunities 
to practice this freeing choice
all the way to the last moment
and then, as now,
the choice is to surrender.

Letting go sounds like surrender from this place I sit today,
it is an intelligent choice.








the frog prince(cess) 
pen and watercolor

Desire

She is desire itself
the force of life
to be
Her end point cannot be found
Her path is endless movement and becoming.

No sooner does she bud
she blossoms
the season ends
and another face appears.

To know her is to live as life and death
The coming and going
The giving and receiving
The winnowing and the shedding
The blossoming 
and the fruit.

daily life - the holy ordinary

This is what it looks like 

when there is nothing more to do 

than to do what I do, 

and nothing more to be than this, living.

No one has asked me to do anything differently,

So I watch eat pray love, have a wonderful meal and enjoy being here now.

That’s it.

Memory of being in Italy, voraciously

Memory of being in love

Memory of the challenge of his frustrations and moods.

What a quiet night,

Frogs alone now.

The Cicadas have hummed their own lives into silence.