morning message

bring your lips
to this rimless cup
(of You)
and drink.

Christ is a mirror.

morning ritual

When taking your morning shower,
what you are cleansing for
you cannot know.

What will arrive today
sensing the cleanliness
of your heart,
of your readiness?

Whatever it is
you will know when it arrives.

For in that moment
you will feel prepared
and somehow sacred.


christmas eve
2014

solstice 2014

in the depth of silence
I don't need to know anything.

stillness turns
toward this magnetic center
my ritual
this devotion,
my plumb line
into the darkness.

there is a moment
when the dark celebrates her light
becoming the way
the truth
and the light
 of Being.

a feathered moment

I am the body of the cardinal
and the branch she alighted on
and flew from.

where ever this attention rests
I am.

a woman's promise

as i listen to  your words
I'm knitting
with midnight blue angora
a shawl
in my favorite pattern.

the first day i had the thought
i'm not being attentive

but today
i feel your heart words and our circle
entering the softness
of this handwork.

warmth, of the temple
beauty, of the temple
dark, of the temple

a holy shared care
for expressing as only women can,
our promise.



written to my writing raw circle
October 2014

take care

the form of woman


the form of a flower


the form of a prayer

hold this life tenderly


see its beauty through your fingers


breathe its fragrance through your thighs

care for and protect Her.

on being encompassed by nothing more or less

written while sittin'

there is no one who waits.

the one who waited
never was
content to assent
to what is.

nothing more than this exists

it is pro found
and humorous
kind.

no argument for or against rises,
the wave tosses the driftwood.

12.15.2014

tiferet: the reconciliation of opposites

 Illusion serves reality.
and I am grateful for the dream.

Without illusion we could not see reality as being literally beyond imagination.
In this way imagination serves what is real.

So too, judgement is a servant of what is true and longing to take form.
It holds back the bearing of fruit until the time is ripe.

Rules are servants to the movement of spontaneous living.
Fences to be leapt over when the true being takes flight.

Separation serves the wonder of two.
For without such an edge,
 your own center could not be known so radically,
nor gifted so openly.

And commitment is the servant of true freedom.

Be found by commitment
and know the truth of your being.

In the story of The Frog Prince,
the transformation of the prince and princess occurred through the heart that saw the truth of what is.

This served the breaking of the three bands around Heinrich’s heart.

Three bands, three hearts.

Our practice does have merit for all sentient beings.
Together we realize liberation.

 The Frog Prince

oil on panel

16x20

2011

BH 

a series of paintings and this poem was inspired by a camelia I found on a rain soaked road. as i walked closer, reality revealed a rain soaked and tire squashed green frog, blooming pink and white from its center.

no resistance

nothing
I say
can encompass
everything

but the smile
curving my lips
can't resist
taking form.

burning bright

You’ve a center


that is unshakably sweet -


that has infinite energy


to weave turmoil


into wine.


Guthema Roba

the snow carpet lays me down


the threads arrive


from here and there


i am the center of the see saw


churning into sweet butter


all that comes 

from right and left.

i offer myself


on the altar of truth


easing easy


into ghee


burning bright


less smoke


less and less smoke........

bh

soul traces

the truth of my soul
celebrates creation and my joining to life.
the gesture of my joining
is invisible,
yet there are traces
to be seen.

she'll find a way

she's lit my fire

i'm steeping in passion

may it take form as truth

even as it breaks my heart

i don't care how it looks.


i have lips 
i have skin

i have eyes and hands and feet.

she'll find a way to break through me.

the woman I am

from a deeper quiet pool
having retrieved the golden ball more than once,
my mind babble
has babbled itself away.

I feel like the woman I am
laced with girl threads
that indeed,
make me the woman I am.

white kitten

i dreamed of a white kitten,

so near me
feeling
pins and needles
teeth and claws
fine bones
and soft fur.

then she tumbled into a nap
and I understood play.






Nov 13, 2014

taboo

taboo

i found a taboo
against taking
against taking inspiration and running with it
to see where it would take me.

others' words woven so skillfully
- the official writer's words
sacrosanct -
were given a new life
in a writing raw circle.

they were taken
and taken in.

how silly to fear inspiration,
that it could be likened to plagiarism,
the great writer's offense.

imagine receiving Hafiz' kiss
or sharing his glass of wine
and keeping my mouth shut
and my eyes closed
so no one could know
it lived in me,
blooming,
or in you, too.

paused

paused
the gentle wind of breath
enters my body
and stirs me to recognize
the quiet entry
the easy opening.

there are other winds, in mind
stirring me to a stress filled action
taking me for a ride.

the wind that blew in with the rain today
blew through me
clearing my vision
to feel the oncoming shift
from warm sun
to falling rain.

something is stirred in me
all these changes
day after day
after day
of diving deep and strong
prompted by the gentlest sound
of a woman's sob
of a woman's poetry
of my own words
rising
again and again
from the ever clearing unfolding.


inspired by words of Cecil Collins
"it is the most gentle wind that stirs the deepest feeling."

writing raw

this poem slipped out
in between the gentle wind
and the moon light.

writing raw
is like a plumb line
a fishing line
down into my pool
not seeking but being
the open hand receives
the golden ball.

breaking the surface
the words,
carrying their images
from the rich silt of the deep bottom,
rise for air
for voice
for breath
to be heard.

moon sense

moon sense

I can see the women
connected beyond a doubt
in love
nothing missing
fullness
more than enough
for the daughters
for the sons
for the men
what would it take to see it again
now, here
in this place?

women have to have their own place
to remember
to release
to receive
to remember
to receive.

women's depth is lit by the moon
her day lit by the sun.
in the depth she finds the wholeness
to bring forth
what women would do
if they never doubted where the moon lay
before receiving and reflecting the light of the sun.

inspired by Julie M Daley's guiding moon speak
and the full moon in taurus kissed by venus
november 7 2014

moon-shined and belly laughing

I feel I can be heard underwater
my wild heart language
rises from under the sea
reverberating like sonar
its powerful song.

this never before heard
powerfilled
lovefilled
no doubt about it
woman's voice
picks up the beat of the forever song
of all women.

what a woman feels must be heard
sooner
rather than later.

now is a good place to begin, singing
singing the soul of woman
divine
dark
raw
awakening
moon-shined and belly laughing.


inspired by words of Dr. Clarissa Pinkola Estes

i save the blackend berries

i save the blackened berries

the dark walnut
transmuted by spirit
its essence distilled with spices and ginger
is fragrant
and black.

a compact seed
holds the memory of the reddest of red berries.
impossibly red and full
once.

do you remember
or do i for you?

making a place of honor at the table
to the aged ones
as their spirited dance goes on.

reading the leaves

Reading the leaves
(inspired by words of another poet, Cecil Collins)

everything is speaking
to one another
grasses listening
clouds reading the leaves
it's a joy filled tone poem.

I can feel it, too
my words are taking on the form
all this has given and received
for ever and ever.

bones hear the wind
on its way down the hollow
to read the leaves
to dance their message
through our hearts.

my heart bursts to hear the color of this language.
what a song!

love notes

my husband taught me to write love notes
but they were all on paper
too much love or longing to bear
we couldn't share
enough

so we gave ourselves this distance
necessary to come closer to love
to be touched by the flame illness carries
to breathe clay open.

we meet somewhere called the heart
a landscape
crossed by three roads
3 sons
young men
learning to love
without needing to rely on notes
left on the kitchen table
to be read,
alone.

they are learning to bear the heat
of love's flame, too.
three
four
five made a loving family
wild with creativity.

there is no right way
to write
or live
love notes.

breathing the clay open
being breathed, open.




inspired by John O'Donohue's poem "love notes"
(c) Barbara Heile

inside the inside

it is dusk
the lights of the world soften
the door to the temple closes behind me
its quiet envelopes me.

not distracted by the imagery others express
I can see what I see
I can see what I feel
I can hear what I hear.

in the stillness of the dark interior
my own body alights
the strings of my own lights begin to flicker
they are real to me
I become real to me
I am the great poem
that I am.

I smile at you from this place
where I stand
in love.

dakini force

Fury is boiling in me
The wrathful dakinis are downloading
into my blood stream.

The truth is a dangerous thing, he said.
Oh hell, she said
Let’s be generous!

the fury of a dakini
is fire
and it burns through what is clouded
to clear seeing
and joy

and oh,
such a force in the being
when such energy is free
to be
and to move.

new moon musing in scorpio

I exercised the okayness last night
Joining a spiritedly masked community
in fields of rolling hills
And sinuous stone walls
flanked by long lavender mountains,
1000 faces,
All blessed by the sliver of new moon.

A bonfire
A play
The Trickster was jolly and redeeming
And Venus was soaking into our cells.

Coyote and Caroline called down the wonder
Into our melting pot
Melting fear, judgement, ignorance, martyrdom
Ladling out their opposites
Surprise, playfulness, windows and open doors
Making the connections needed to repair
Or simply make new
What seems beyond repair.

Connections with the wolves
And true leadership
Calling down the wonder
Saying yes to our part to change,
Capricorn’s old man released to the bon fire.

In the dark
Old wounds were seen wholed, healed.
In the dark
How near the holy is felt
In 1000 faces.

time out

ripe with joy
to feel the paradox
the doorway itself
writing about writing
writing about not writing
this is writing
ripping holes in the night of not yet,
of not enough,
of doubt.

my sun
my life
living experience
celebrating the path
writing now of then is no longer a caution sign,
entering through that moment
to reveal this one
to revel in this one
not separate
then or now.

write as it comes
just begin
it's time
it's time to express the gift of time out.



october 23, 2014
new moon in scorpio

inspired by life and some potent words in Rita Mae Brown's poem, Muse.

inside out

with "just" a few sentences
Neruda turned me inside out,

shining from deep within
the heart's fire blazes in the center

cooly reflected on the windows of my moon eyes,
the night's moisture rests on my dewy lips.

retreat

the women retreat so deep within themselves
that their gaze itself is the path you wish to follow,
back to your true self, as man.

through woman again you will arrive in the world anew.
woman's gaze from within her center
is a golden pathway to what is real and true -
beyond the news of the world's play and warfare and latest sale.

take this path, woman, let the papers bleach on the doorstep.
find your way home so they can find theirs.

oh, who could have guessed what your gaze promised,
who could have guessed?














thanks to Sally Croft for the inspiring prompt of 'newspapers bleaching on the doorstep.'

eagle's path

I could be wrong.
How would you prove it, arriving at the edge of my bed with your expectations?

But it feels different from my side.
It feels watchful, this silence.
It feels gentle and trusting........to wait.

I'd rather not worry that I'm wrong to be warm and quiet,
observing quietly my inner spaces,
spaces so deep that images from last night's dreaming remain out of focus, unnecessary, only slightly tasted as an eagle’s path.

If I could put all this into a new form that I could see and know, I would. 
My creative life is changing the form it takes.

quiet under the covers,
feeling reconnection slow and sure.
trusting I'm not wrong.

leaf or butterfly?

in awe
to be the steady pulse,
the ache,
and the wonder.

is that a leaf
or a butterfly?
a shard
or an angel fish?

intuition
or
imagination.
one leads me on
one lands me here.

memo 3

It’s evening, and I’m standing at the doorway to the temple again,
I can’t stay away.

I stepped into society tonight and reeled back into this space, needing it like water in the desert of social activity and banter, all good natured, but not landing not nourishing. afraid of the emptiness on the edges of my skirt, concerned I won’t be able to hide the unruly disappearing nature of my old self.

Everyone has a life that moves them here and there, they seem to be thriving or not, it doesn’t even matter, just that we are kind as we meet, friendly, finding some meeting point.

Am I becoming too sensitive? Have I been alone in the mystery too long?
I speak and don’t recognize my voice, as I tell a listening crone,
"I don’t know who I am….. I don’t know who I am any more."

I am not engaged the way I used to be in the art world, still a painter but no longer a believer.
I am a little afraid to continue this diving…...
and yet, I am called deeper and deeper.
Diving is what I love to do.
Writing, painting, mothering,
all done as introspectively as possible for an Aquarian with Leo rising.

My body says stay close to home, keep painting, keep writing, it’s enough.
What I have to say can only be said intimately, what really matters seems to be pillow heart talk.
Lay down next to me and I’ll fall silent and be happy for the nearness of another.

I’m being called into this silence.
I want to find out who I am.

memo 2

entering the temple.
writing from the erotic of the erotic.
raw
without judging
letting the pen move

i have few references, this is completely my journey.
i've felt the power that lies in my sensual nature when i dance, alone, freely expressing in this body, my joy of life, the weight of my sorrows, my longings - is this the idea to write it into life?

directly tapping into the movement of the invisible and fanning it with encouragement to take form in words.
words that celebrate woman and encourage her to come out to play, or to take charge.

the one i'd been looking for is me, and yet my distraction lives so strongly, following the others' movements, the movement of Her as an other.
then the frustration comes, the inner conflict, the leaving of me.
this is the passageway i have to travel to my erotic wholeness,
to leave these habits of attention outwardly directed, to dive in - into this woman.

and there i meet the judges of threshold 2.
they're there as i watch the diving of the other women in the world, telling their truth, knowing and saying what they know..
Because i haven't owned what i know, i'm distracted by the feel of the power i sense in others.

so this is sacred work, to dive in to meet my life force.
to hear the voice of my soul, a woman's soul.
a haphazard entry will leave me empty handed - or worse - returning with rechurned and stale self expressions.
I've been diving a long time haphazardly, without a full awareness of the source i'm tapping into.
what i could connect with, would be beyond my imagination, if i grew into my calling, if i grew towards what calls to me.

as i feel this sacred moment,  knowing is deeply residing in the body.
this landscape is soft, fluid, the breath moves from the vulva to the breast, to the neck through the arm to the pen in hand.
 it dances through me in waves.
yes, like the ocean waves, breath moves through my flesh and bones, between all the cells.
the breath is the pathway itself, attention follows it.

i love what just happened.
i wrote myself into the temple.
from thought into a landscape of the body.

easy, just feeling the waves rising and falling within.
it's hard to tell what isn't ocean, when my eyes close.
when my eyes open, i see my world and know i love it.

i'm not a bystander.
i am life itself,
engaged
in creation.

a memo

rapidly drawing lines
stepping away
stepping in with two feet
stepping aside with one heart.

take that path again
through the open heart
down into the pelvic bowl

what awaits me there?
my hand touched my cheek just now
and stroked my cool nose
and my mind went completely still
no ideas

does this simple touch activate the tap root
like the breath, yes, this pulse flows in and out and around inside
and a restfulness, an ease, blossoms
rising to the surface.

our business

the needs of others,
the invitations to help,
arrive at my doorstep (the one with the bleached newspapers!)

but You,
You send me silent invitations to join You
to dance to paint to write to create
Your invitation expands me,
the way is clear
the dance floor opens
and my body feels the simple yes.

Their invitations to help,
their needs, I understand
and I also feel the duty arise,
the "I should help",
the work of working for others.
I imagine the job that I would be so well suited for
if i was interested
in making someone else's business my own.

My business is becoming Your business
You've made it clear that I am Yours
Your fire burned me into this living peace,
into this enough
You didn't leave me once in the flames, alone.

I'm not saving my energy for later
but spending it now
celebrating, dressed in drying seed heads
the color of autumn in my silver hair

breathing the cycles
the wheel moves forward
butterflies release themselves into a clear sky.

teaching touch

broadening, widening, melting
my body like honey

under the warmth
in response

to my care
my caring hand
my caring heart

easing into this responsiveness
yielding receiving opening
curling up
in the nest I've made for my rest.

a new feeling is recognized
satisfaction.

a day well lived,
in response to everything and every one
who touched me,
oh~
who's touching who?

the rain has begun tonight
i sense the ground,
the earth
how she opens to the touch of the falling rain.

my teacher.

here

yes, it is like that
when stillness arrives
soaking
merging into my trunk
it is like it has found me
it's a joyful reunion
always a surprise!

it can happen stepping into the woods
it can happen sitting on the root above the stream
it can happen in the parking lot or the grocery store
here is where it always happens

here
we all are this "here"
we are this hereing

this hearing being listening rejoicing
it's a ripple response a ripple effect
tickling the heart awake to each tree each branch
each other.

it is how we know we're here.
where ever we are
where ever here is
freed in the stillness, to fly,
one heart to another.



inspired by a poem by David Whyte

a call to temple

yes, i carry it with me
this temple I Am
like a pup tent I carry in my pocket
the call to temple
can be received at any time!

the earth - the wooded forest - the mountain alm
always ready for the temple bell,
for the tent to be set.

it is the nature of women to understand this,
and men,
like John Muir.




inspired by the pup tent temple in a poem by amy ozarow oscar

i'm giving in

what i love is pulling my hair
in the most delightful ways.

i'm giving in
to my love.

a joyful service

i've never been in a writing circle. It is wonderful.
I thank Julie Daley for the inspiration
and for her leadership in creating this space of Writing Raw.


relationship in a writing circle
 is listening and being listened to,
a seeding place,
nurtured by listening and being listened to.

I acknowledge my widening,
listening to and feeling others,
but not losing myself.

like breathing this is,
this writing together is like breathing.
we've created a space to breathe and be breathed in.
I feel us as our words form on the exhale, our listening a deep inhale, deeper and deeper, expanding exhaling into the world again.

yes, it's loving what we're doing, loving ourselves this way, and expressing that which speaks as love from the temple center.
the woman's temple doors are open to us, to write, to breathe freely, to create.

dare i say, for Her sake? for her joy?
i sense the opening occurring as service.......a joyful service,
 to write, to create,
to be woman
in a circle.

a becoming

my life was a mine field.
i was blind and numb.
i gave what i needed,
to get through.

it took one more step
toward what i desired,
to be blown to smithereens.

the shattering
woke me up
to see the light.

in the dark,
I found a self
esteemed to be me.


Mandorla
oil on panel 24x24
Barbara Heile

falling

everything changes,
for us.

i holds on
why wouldn't i hold on ?
to summer
cool in the shade
making little trips to the garden
for sun drenched cherry tomatoes
The sound of boys playing
Always hungry for more..........

i who fears change,
must grasp and grasp
until
the message gets through,
It’s ok, it’s meant to be this way.

each cell
tenderized
shimmering
receiving
the wondrous play
Of the open hand.

a pale yellow iris unfurls one more surprise blossom
an odd color in the company of falling leaves and ripening seed pods.

fallen chestnuts are bursting their seams.
the mauve field grasses are weighed down by last night's rain.
and the native persimmon is sweet.

the seasonal pull is felt
I’m falling,
down to earth.

october musing

i'm learning how closely
letting go and forgiving
dance,
how they breathe together.

the heart widens
in and as what is.

compassionately
we are moved on.

beached

another wave closer
to love

being

the ocean itself.

he's still here........

this is a detail of a process painting I began of myself last month,
I wondered if my mother would arrive again,
but this time my ex showed up.

this painting took me on quite a journey.
first, it brought many good feelings and much care
for him and our marriage and for the family we created together.

secondly, it brought my mind into a fit or two.......like if I feel this way, why am I divorced from him? What's my problem? What's going on here? Am I supposed to remarry him now?

It touched a lot of places in me.
We hadn't had that kind of time together, just the two of us, for a long time.

It was uncanny how it ended up taking form.

Like each painting, life and relationship is a journey, and it is a conversation.
My feelings changed a lot during the course of this conversation.

My mind worked hard to hold some meaning. Or to avoid the meaning it created. And I kept painting.

Later in the process, I began to feel a discomfort with the painting, with him being there....I didn't like it.
Again, it's messy......all these feelings.
And yes, I also had to add another piece of paper to the bottom to hold it all!

But when I addressed this block that I was feeling, to him being in my painting, in my life, even in my feeling life.......this is what i found.

I asked myself, what would I paint if I was not afraid ...... of love.
Of loving him.
Of feeling his love for me.
In spite of the way our lives have changed, what could I dare to face if I was not afraid?

so, my stomach turned.
and I knew I had to feel this and discover if it was going to hurt or bind me or what.

so, it moved, from him into me,  this love took the form of a red band of color. from his heart to my heart
this love moved.
then more and more
and it danced.

my whole being was being penetrated by love
it no longer was his love,
it was no longer my love.
there was no protection
the process lead me to feel the truth of love, of my connection to him, just as it is.

and if - as in a dream - each aspect of the painting is myself,
then love met me through my willingness to know love.

the waves

i'm starting to notice the waves
it is good, i think,
that they come faster and i feel so much and it changes so quickly
this way
i can see
that it changes.

and i tell you,
what does not change,
and what is present
is exquisite to behold,
to be,
to be held by.

i'm falling in love with myself yet again
another wave closer
to love being
the ocean itself.

beyond the idea of beauty

i'm continually floored by process painting
it gives me a direct way of feeling engaged
of feeling in relationship to life
to see what veils of belief I am ready to walk through.

words cannot describe the beauty
beyond the idea of beauty.
of course,
I try to put it into words

i'm just amazed.…


process
life
is shivashakti
is consciousness and everything else.

They meet in me
and leave their mark
in color
on paper.

snakes in the ground of my being

Full screen
Just me and this white rectangle
And a keyboard supported by computer technology.

Process
That is my key word
That is the word that alerts me to life
Not what I want life to be
But what it is.
The heart of the matter is change held in something that never changes.
Process is development, life and death.
Process painting is undoing in the guise of doing.
Life is slippery for the mind to grasp.
That is its power and gift.


So, I already corrected something
And I am now stumped.
Brought into a thinking place, to get it right.
The word "process" alerts me again and again
To the flow of life,
To my place in relation to life
And to the joy that comes in letting go to its course, to its wisdom course.

No room here for blame
Let it go.
Process is kind and loving and fierce.
Like reality.

During one of my first process paintings
I was letting the color flow.
Letting images take form,
I had no plan.
It felt like pure response.
I was feeling something new: joy.
I could feel the snake wanting to appear,
and there was a familiar mistrust.
I hesitated,
fearful that a snake would bring something into being
that I did not ask for and was not wanting to feel or face.
The evil dark…. the threat of evil, the past.

But curiosity had its way with me and I chose a color for the snake
My brush touched the paper,
Gliding green,
a snake took form.

A past memory was touched,
of the green garter snake
in my father’s hand.

The neighborhood boys had been chasing me with a snake
and I was scared.
I ran to my father who was kneeling in the garden,
And as luck would have it
there, too, was a snake,
a thin, green, garter snake.
He showed it to me, wanting to allay my fears of the snake.
Maybe it helped.
Being with him helped.
By the age of seven I was already well challenged by the dance of boys in the natural world.
Whether I was ready to fully trust it or not,
I received what my father could give to me.
The teaching settled into my body through the love I felt for and from my father.

So, bringing my attention back to the painting,
this green snake appeared with such a surprising quality
Joyfully slender.
Playful.
Emerald green.
And more snakes took form.
They wrapped themselves up along the stems of the wild flowers that bloomed in this new garden before my eyes.
I was filled from the inside with a new found joy for life, space had been made for this joy to be felt.


This was one of the first times I experienced letting the process lead me from within.
My teacher speaks of process painting as a conversation.
Experience has lead me to understand that to have a conversation one has to feel one’s ground and be the openness of listening. To be willing to trust what is unknown and beyond my control sets the stage for a good conversation.

Intuitively, I have spent my life developing trust in the ground of my own being.
Painting and meditation came together to meet me as I began my path of higher education. They are the sails of my boat.
Life tests me to develop skillful means to see clearly and to feel fully.
Drenched in intuition and obeying my depth, I am following the direction of true north.

not another sheet of paper!

ok,
I get it
I'm going to write from here, from my experience, because that's what I've got to work with.

I'm in process.
and loving it.
and hating it!

like this:
I began to paint myself about three weeks ago.
I needed to add another sheet of paper to give myself room to be a full standing figure.
Imagine that, life needs more space to show up!
22x40 just isn't enough, right now.


So, I began another.
and try as I might, to fit the painting onto a full sheet,
I needed more space, again.

I hate to have to keep adding paper to my paintings to give them the room they need!
I don't like folding them up to lay on the growing pile of finished paintings.
I'd rather have this all neat and tidy.

so, that's process painting.
and that's life.
I'm not in control.
I may not always like it, that's no longer the point.

In fact, I am beginning to develop an awareness that holds the whole, as the painting holds the whole; the doubt, the discomfort, the pleasure, the interest, the fascination, the judgement all have room to come, be felt and pass...

And did I mention I am learning kindness through this process?

like there is no tomorrow

a little thought trail

an inquiry woke up with me this morning
on the meaning of the phrase
"like there is no tomorrow"

i feel full
and saturated
with now

doing anything like there is no tomorrow
is doing anything
or simply
being,
fully
completely.

like a morning breeze
after it touches my morning skin,
we were all made for one another.

trust settles in me

so,
the invitation to write has arrived at my fingertips again.
i asked for support and this was what was shown to me.

you might think i've been doing this all along.
i am looking over my blog posts
and see
yes,
i have been writing,
expressing in a particular way that takes form in words.

now,
what if i wrote
with self discipline
as the listener,
as the student,
in cooperation with the voice that wants to express this life?

i'm sensing a yes
a consent,
to write
about this life.

i'm glad to have painted.
the silent speech of color
will show me the way
to write with devotion
to the pauses.

there is pleasure in this work,
that's the key.

as the words take form
i feel the weaving of the whole taking place, right here.
and i feel confidence
(momentarily)
or is it longing
to follow this thread all the way.........

trust settles in me.


tonight the taste of pesto
lingers in my mouth.
and the memory of his voice
passes like music
through my whole body.

nested like this

Busloads of children are arriving on the borders of the country I live in.

A wren’s nest
holds a few barely visible eggs
in the potted begonia on the porch.
They nestle in the cave she and he made
of moss and dry field grasses.

Deep inside the nest of myself
is a fullness
That holds the complexity of life.

Grace takes my mind aside
Enveloping it completely in her nest.

Home.
Like this.

Trusting the nest maker within.
To celebrate.
To care for.
To create and express.
To share in the wonder of all conditions.

Like this.

learning to crochet

Someone like me
Is really good for nothing.

If you understand this,
You might appreciate me all the more.

If you don’t,
You might believe me.

Looking at Trees

"The body is a sensing instrument of consciousness. Without the body and the mind, the trees couldn't see themselves.

Usually we think that we are looking at a tree, but the tree is looking at itself through us. Without this instrument, the tree doesn't get to see itself.
We are sensing instruments of the Divine."

from The Impact of Awakening
Adyashanti


Ma
pen and ink
BH

like a glove

You can’t know what it is…
until it takes your form.
then,
it will fit like a glove.

desire

the old in me is dead
pure desire is left.

i cannot live without it.

the wheel is in my own hands
i see where desire has taken me

there is no map
but there is always a sense
of the right direction.

oh, yes.

now
i am turning it inward.

i trust it to lead me home,
continually,
without end.

does the doe taste the dew?

Here is how it begins
The voices in my head get too loud.

I sense that someone is listening now.
And if I write,
what needs to speak
can be heard.
And a mysterious conversation begins
That fills me with delight.

I’m here.
You’ve shown me,
Not how to be human,
But that I am.

Five senses and more
Actively participate
In the dynamic of giving and receiving.

So, where does this conditioning reside?
It seems to be the guest in the house,
who comes looking for a bed (again!) for the night
Or a cup of tea.

Conditioning wants to be re-membered, re-united.
Not feared, blamed or exalted.
It doesn’t need healing, but holding.
Loved,
it comes to rest.

Conditioning is not creative
It repeats itself.

Everything keeps changing
and it doesn’t.
At some point this becomes very obvious.

We are compelled
Out of love,
to stop this suffering.
There is no rush,
But we use every means we can.
And then, there is love,
As it was in the beginning.


To see what is happening,
live alone.
Or live with another who is as committed as you are,
not to leave you alone.
Children and siblings can support you in this
they carry an unspoken commitment
made before you can remember.

The buck simply stops here,
Where you are.
And the does continue to graze into the moonlit night,
Tasting the dew.

a powerful deal

Surrender is not a path or practice.

But it takes practice to
Bring yourself to the doorway
Of your longing,
Of your suffering.

Practice to stay
hovering in the heat,
On the edge
of what is unresolved,
In the hope
of one more stone to turn over.

By allowing the mind to
have its way with you,
suffering arises.

The search to understand,
To resolve
simply becomes intolerable and unnecessary
In the face of what is whole and true.

When you surrender to what is
You don’t lose your mana.
It is, in fact, all you are left with.

It’s yours
To hold
But not to keep.

Family inheritances are ended.

Gratitude begins to give it away,
for free.

What a great deal !

It is an act of profound kindness
Wisely facilitated by the soul
through karma,
Lovingly embraced by the Heart
As its freedom.


Turn radically within,
Surrender to your longing
Find what you long for
And be found by what longs for you.

You have the power to transform
Everything.

cutting to the chase, whatever that means

what if we dared cut straight to the chase
and let life be our teacher?

life doesn't care for my preferences
there's no teacher like life to shred the beautiful veil
to the holy of holies
to what is real
to the only choice
to love.

thunder rolls through the heart
as a prelude for the deluge
of this gift.

mind grapples all the way
to its eventual surrender
and I am left
breathing
and grateful
without knowing why.

nourishing above and below

she lies on the earth
naked
with her ear to the ground
listening.

the sun is on her back
shining.
the moon in its fullness
lies below the surface
reflecting.

imagine,
if you will,
a seed growing fine white roots,
and a sprout begins to grow
up into her ear.

the new enters her body
from below.

she will be woven and dressed
by a filigree of white roots,
winding stems,
leaves,
blossoms and fruits.

her body will be used to nourish what she came to be.

i never know

i never know
i only ever describe.

some loud voice keeps reprimanding me that
i thought
i knew
any thing.

and tonight,
well, you know the drill...
STOP!
i replied.

i have been in relationship
to every thing
for ever.

i have created and destroyed
i have given away and sold what i love
i have been madder than hell
and madder than a hatter, too.

I am the one who still cares.
and I am the one who gives herself the space needed to rediscover care.

waking up to the sweetness

i had sight of a memory this morning
one that used to cause me such pain
to remember

one that was birthed out of an earlier time
in order to see exactly what I was thinking
and how i created my experience,
then, then
and now.

in shock, left out, not chosen

this time i could feel laughter rising
of having put myself in this absurdly painful situation
and how every one else played their parts
so perfectly.

waking up to the sweetness
of the honey
dripping
into the fire.

she done undone me

I give thanks to Her
Who took so much away
that I could finally feel
undone
undone
to such a degree
that putting it back together again
was so beyond me
that all I can do is fall at Her Feet,
in Her Hands.

She did what no lover could do.

I dare to imagine
that my next lover will meet Her,
through me.

tender superpower

watch out world
one more heart
knows how to love

her spirit lives
in the innocence
of the heart
and in the certainty
that knows how to protect it.

this is the nature of the mature feminine.

gratitude to Awakening Women Institute for the mirror.

fungi

let me be so devoured, 
as a fungi devours the wood, 
making such beauty of my cells.

a rose colored intention

this early morning 
my sankalpa came 
on a rose colored cloud...


Surrender fearful planning 
and "not doing enough" 

to spontaneous presence.

be fully capable 
of response and receptivity.

Peony Practice 101

 

womb feels drenched
filling with blood
(and I am way beyond my bleeding years.....)
softening.

The practice
is to bring attention to the inside
as the breath.

may I be one with the breath
without expectation
may I feel what is there
where breath touches.

 I feel ready 
to find my way
 in.

I follow the sound of hreem
through the dark
seeing women's faces 
saturated in a hunger that has turned to ugliness
feeling ages of wombs 
being used from the outside.


Breath touches the womb 
of a 6 year old, 
of a mother of three 
of a sensual woman.

Longing for more of Her Touch.

Patient Peony Practice.....
patiently practicing being peony



all the kitchen drawers and cabinet doors are hanging open, 
a sure sign I am softening 
keeping constant order seems not to matter any longer. 


Peony Practice is a practice re-created and shared by Chameli Ardagh, www.awakeningwomen.com

the heart of the flower

oh, She was playing with me big time.
practically, really practically
and as always
 with an eye for Beauty and Wonder.

She moved me through the house.
cleaning and making space.

I take a dahlia off the altar 
 strewing its petals on the porch
and I see, 
beneath all those multitude of petals,
are more.

petals that held the petals

it is like a whole other flower
once the petals
fall.

and,

of course I am moved to share this picture with you
and since I dropped my camera, the focus no longer works
and since I bought a new one, maybe too fast without getting a feel for it in my hands, 
I am avoiding learning to use it.

I try
and it slips in my hands,
my fingers push buttons that I don't even know what they mean,
and I am still in my pajamas
and and and

it seems to me that she is saying 
it is time to learn this new camera.


The Beauty and Order of the Inside has been revealed through the heart of the Dahlia.

I will follow her lead
I want to go to bliss
and she wants to take me,
 practically,
 into focus.