Friday, December 18, 2015

faith



In the midst of moving and packing and deep yellow

there is, 

in being 
alone,

a silence, 

a meeting.

this is always waiting for me 
to stop.

more is not needed
rather less
and less.

breath moves deeper into the body,
cultivating my faith in stillness;
tending to winter's dark blossoming;
room is made to feel its arrival.

Tuesday, November 24, 2015

giving thanks

Sometimes I feel I have lost contact with that voice that was rising, 
active in words
Or with that feeling that was rising,
active in color.
I hear other’s voices saying what I am saying
I read passages of wisdom and remember the views I held to be so true.


The expressive nature of the creative has a rhythm.
Rather than doubting its presence,
Now I move with it.

I wake early these days.
I saw the light appear in the dark sky this morning
soon the sun shining on the far mountains, through the trees,
and I was so surprised,
delighted,
to be awake to this day’s beginning.

There are practical things that need to be done
Each move toward them ensures a completion of the task.
I can be practical, too.

I remember walking into a day 
months ago
Feeling the unknown
as formidable. 
Feeling the ever so slight fear of life
And stepping into that day,
Like a doorway it was,
And knowing I had felt courage, too.

There were moments before that, 
Feelings of a shattering of a sort,
The weight of not knowing,
Before it was known as freedom,
of dying while being reborn.

I planted a garden 
And tended it
Slowly at first
Realizing how deeply nourishing that was
To putter in the dirt, to weed,
Just to be there,
Seeing what could be done.
I returned day after day.

the garden grew 
and I tasted freshness again.


I asked myself 
in 2006
…...like yesterday 
it always feels just like yesterday…..
I asked myself

When did being here now begin?

So many fine and awkward movements have spilled me deeper into this life current.

A slight movement 
In any direction

And it’s as if I was always here.

Tuesday, November 17, 2015

the crone

recognize the crone 
she has been holding this treasure
of herself 
as life
waiting to share it 
with you
in her quiet moving
day by day

night through night.

Wednesday, October 28, 2015

full moon




the full moon was invisible
cloud covered
i stayed awake and warm

Friday, October 23, 2015

revelation wave

ok, let's ride this wave further
where it takes us is always here
but the way changes.
someone else makes my morning coffee now
he's gotten it right, his way
mine was unpredictable
his way is made for me.
there is no deserving love.
deserving is an impossibility,
a misconception,
a lie.
who could have caused this by doing?
the mirror has simply been cleaned,
and well polished.
just look,
you
revealed
reveling
you are a revelation of love in every form.

Thursday, October 15, 2015

yes, i can hear



yes, I can hear
love was known and passed down along
in so many ways

i'd been in the oak tree,
hidden away
unbelieving
waiting
at times frantic in the silence.
what a mystery
to be called and to hear
to be peeled away from the noise
to be held closer than close
in this quiet glory
this problemlessness.
i feel like leaping
as a fire's flame out of the oven
every moment this is possible
every moment there is more levo ! lvoe! love!
issuing from this point of me
of you.
where did i go to let this glory be?
body is glad for the leave taking
it can breathe now
undulate, spin, wiggle, stomp
embraced by quiet glory, 
the body smiles
and continues to express
Like a mountain
like a woman
like an eternal flame
someone's devotional gesture is who i am now.

photo credit: towardtheone.tumblr artist Anahata Katkin's (of PAPAYA) 

Monday, October 12, 2015

i saw an opening



i saw an opening
a doorway 
revealing 
glowing light
within 

from here I will be led
deeper into the Heart
of life
of the world
of joy

it is here 
beyond the need to understand
why how or who
that the gardener's response is tended.

Tuesday, September 22, 2015

cold frame

Something new is occurring here
It is calling me into daylight and fresh air

A call to be as near as is possible, 
with all my attention, 
to what is 
here
now.

There is a man in my life
Outside my window
Building a cold frame for our winter salads
In the sun
In the fall wind

Far from what I fear or doubt
I’m called from inside to meet outside
inside is outside
This is the new world
The gold purse is mine.

The sound of the saw is piercing the air.

There is honey in a man moving in the morning sun.

Friday, September 18, 2015

an invitation



surrender
is invited in this moment
and the next

my heart breaks
to be given over
endlessly
how
ever

through laughter
and precious awareness
of love's gift.

Tuesday, September 15, 2015

the wave

the wave
i feel the wave
wanting its full cresting

the wave is wanting to crest fully

we move in her

He sets mouse traps and takes them away if they work.
He brought me a shovel for my garden, long handled with a small sharp blade.
He does our dishes.
Watching him make my morning coffee endears me to his attentiveness and care.

On the shifting scale of a moments vast embrace
We play
in love 
in life 
and in dying.

The air cools as fall arrives.

In my heart was the key 
to see 
it’s here.

I wanted everything.
World without end.



On the shifting scale of a moments vast embrace
We play
in love 
in life 
and in dying.

The air cools as fall arrives.



I tell the truth 
again and again.
even when I can't make sense of what it is,
he listens.



we carry the seeds for everything that is wanted.
she She me you You
beloved Beloved
sister. brother.
precious life.

we move in Her.

Friday, August 28, 2015

the pathless path

awakened by an inner movement
is it morning
or middle of the night?
the Jakob's Weg
the Camino Real
slipped off the map
at the turn of my hip
they slid down my leg
into this silence
beyond words and ways.

Friday, August 21, 2015

this is it



THIS is it 
ALL of it.

living dying loving wondering gardening 
you understand.......

this is it.
all of it.

Friday, August 7, 2015

the fire within has a language of its own



I just spilled over the edge of who I held myself to be,
again.
Now, it doesn’t matter what I think.
again.
I stopped ignoring what I didn’t like to do and realized I had changed,
again.
I was googling me from the inside.
The knife wanted to cut.
I let it feel like cutting.
But I couldn’t cut what I loved any longer
His (this) skin is too thin
His (this) heart too tender
His (this) love too wild and true.
So I put down the knife
and used my hand.
My hands love the body of life
My hands love to support the body of life
My hands love to bring oil to the dry places
And they needed no imagery to do so.
I feel like I just climbed Mount Everest
I am nearly breathless
The air quality here is pure
And I am loosened by the only means I have at my fingertips:
Touch.
I had to get closer 
to feel the touch of myself,
for direct contact with me.
My fingertips and the palm of my hand felt the paint moving with me
Gliding, scratching, slower and more slowly
I listened to the feel of it
this pulse of my life
Living.
Sensual.
Free of the rules I had mistaken for truth
I was listening
and became silent
being the silence
for one pulse.
and another.
Saturated
Red
Permanent rose
Flaming cadmium yellow engulfed a red birch
The black charred trunk remains
Able to hold the glow 
Of the fire that burns in me
Of the fire that moves me out of the old rooms of this house.
All I want to do is follow this thread
It has a language of my own making.
It is in my hands.

Thursday, July 30, 2015

who am i?



I’m in the kitchen
Making love
I’m at the keyboard
Making love
I’m a thought
Making love
I’m a mother
Making love

I’m a woman,
A votive candle 
lit daily by the sun.


Tuesday, July 7, 2015

our love


the gift

croning woman
falls in love.
agape flowers
from beyond
within.
the expression
as outflow
is
as endless
as the unfathomable depth
of the inside
of the inside.

space laced




hell no longer breaks loose here
though heaven is blowing all asunder
leaving me feeling fully saturated 
by space
laced in loving.

Monday, July 6, 2015

hanging out

when i hang out with writers
i write
when i hang out with painters
i paint
when i hang out in the woods
i breathe with the trees
when i hang out with the masculine
my feminine deepens, gladly.
when i am alone
i seem to float
quiet or not
breathing
in and out
and gladly.

Wednesday, July 1, 2015

spirit nourishment

It is the silence in everything that feeds my spirit.
This silence has so many qualities and always the same quality of depth.
When a tree stands before me, feeding me with the spirit of branch and root, trunk and presence, the silence is the container for this nourishment.
When a spring flower opens before me, the delicacy of its spirit often belies its own fine rooted system of being grounded and nourished through the soil.
When my Friend looks into my eyes, all the ages are held in his gaze, feeding my spirit through his loving eyes.
Those who have read my words feed my spirit in their open response of hearing and reception.
My family feeds my spirit. In their blood knowing of me I am unconditionally being embraced.


published in wild woman rising

the benefics

the Blessing Giver joined the Queen of Heaven
again
their visit caught the eye of many
who may not have been star gazers
till now.

two bright ones
the benefics
near and conjunct
for us all.

love and beauty expands
for now
and from now on.

Monday, June 29, 2015

lost in love

woman
happy to be
painting
woman
happy to be
musing


the brush and knife lay still
the colors find their way
to be seen

as the canvas
as the tall grasses moving in the breeze
sun shined
cooking a birthday celebration
of me and you

Sunday, June 21, 2015

summer solstice 2015


we needed such a long day 
for this moment

Wednesday, June 17, 2015

double expresso vibration


what i found in Writing Raw
- to write on that path inward -
is holding me through what comes next.

right now
aware of so much heart space 
the challenging pieces of life have more room to resound
loudly.

the jar of rose petals has been offered 
all in one outpouring.


i can feel the rush of my own expression
allowed
given space
met
inside
and out.

Sunday, June 14, 2015

star sister



she writes back
mirroring the sun and the stars
words that carry the intimacy of insight
sharing a vision
brightened by the heart of all time and space


as a balm 
they are received
as a forever touch

such a companion as she
i would wish for you.
reading this map that we are
here, to the point
through multiple lenses

the seer sees
the star council 
she translates

rough waves




unsettling
inner weather patterns
passing 
through me
i grasp for a hold
and there is none.

breathing 
deeper
where is the still point?
deeper
below the waves

now, 
dive
now.


Thursday, June 4, 2015

Her Feet



my hands touched Her Feet
and my womb
felt the beat 
of the ancient heart, 
the Song of Her Universe.

Saturday, May 30, 2015

i don't know what to name this.........

playing in the waves
rolling in the surf
resting on the beach
with salt on our lips.

Tuesday, May 12, 2015

new flowering


some of my friends are dead
and my awareness 
of
how they live near me
is 
blossoming into 
a truly new variety of flower
never before seen
never to be seen
unless your sight 
is 
like theirs is now

Sunday, May 3, 2015

rest in natural great peace



rest in natural great peace
this exhausted mind
beaten helplessly by
karma and neurotic thoughts
like the relentless fury
of the pounding waves
in the infinite ocean
of samsara
rest in natural great peace
~nyoshul khenpo rinpoche


photo collage compassion by jennifer prugh

Saturday, May 2, 2015

pondering life gifting through death



morning ponder
on life and death and life
the day is so bright
and humans so dear.........
when one of us dies,
i got this sense that everything they have worked out in their lives,
all the challenges brought through to love in their very own hearts,
all this resolution redemption is gifted to everyone they have ever touched and cared for
if even for a moment.
if that is even a bit true
imagine what we are living and breathing
today
the ones who have died before their bodily death
do this with every action they make.
it is all a gift
life giving itself
endlessly for our and its own sake.

Friday, May 1, 2015

identity is no longer in crisis


  I love to write (and paint) myself in and out of identity,
  In doing so, I move ever closer to the true nature of the artist,
  of the Feminine Herself.

the artist's statement


I have always preferred to work in oil.
I am a simple painter and an actively deep muser.
I keep my method and tools simple to alleviate noise as I plumb the depths of my creative process, following the ever changing thread of color.
Intuition leads my paintings into form.
It is my nature to listen and to be led from within.


For the past 15 years I have worked with the painting knife; a simple tool that enables me to express through many layers of color and have the color remain clean and pure.
I scribe into the layers when I find myself in that space beyond words but still drawn to make a point.
There is always this urge to express.
The surface holds my love of color and my joy for the sensual and palpable richness of the paint.


After many years of full spectrum plein air painting, my interest in the painting by and for itself developed and I was drawn back into the studio. I am following my muse ever deeper into my inner process. The process of self expression is my primary interest though the paintings continue to hold reference to the nature of the landscape that surrounds me.
In the larger floral pieces I am working on now, I am using the brush and the knife, as the softening of the liquid oil was necessary to bring this petaled blooming more fully into palpable form.
I am softening and my medium is flowing in response to my own awakening in the body of a woman.

Saturday, April 25, 2015

carry me

carry me 
as i carry you.
 
don't be afraid to be seen
it is me they see in you.

 
you serve me in your shine and smile
trust me


this is sacred activism to let me be seen in you

 
the body is love and beloved.
this is my world and you walk in me.

moonspeak musing




being fed by moon light
my life reflects her wonder
rolling through the night sky
seen and unseen
self illuminating bodies still exist in the world
they shine through the branches
under the canopy
below the radar of those who sleep
speaking a light language
which would you choose?
words fail in the brilliance of love's true voice.

Thursday, April 23, 2015

petal magic



People long for the petal magic of springtime
For their own softness to come back to life
I’m drinking violet petaled water today
And remembering to say thank you.

Wednesday, April 22, 2015

spring morning

i woke up early this morning
the birds and the green grass
are singing
the buds of the lilies of the valley
are swelling.

Monday, April 6, 2015

for giving we receive

in forgiving, I receive.
in wanting more than what is,
I feel empty.

when forgiving occurs
by grace,
I receive.
there are no words for what is received.

I feel the hollow hallowed reed space of this body,
being breathed
into the song of myself.




dear Walt, these last words came naturally out of myself which is also you.

So U Write


Love is the proof
The litmus test.

I didn’t remember its feel.
I looked out there,
Searching to touch it.

According to the map that I carried
nothing matched,
the location couldn’t be found or fixed.

She caught me in her dark embrace
And held me till I could see the light
to trust 
not outside, not wavering
But through and through
From the center point of myself.

All roads lead to and issue from here, now.

Saturday, March 28, 2015

a spring dream waking inside me




the ice on the pond has long melted.
there is an ease in my body
despite the cold wind today.
last night i dreamed that the hills were emerald green.

Thursday, March 19, 2015

close up and personal

She is here, without a doubt
because I am.

 
This is not blasphemy

nor hubris.
 I couldn't see or feel the way I do
without Her.

 
This is divinity, 

close up and personal,
and real as far as I am.

the silver lining


Her mind dropped to the floor
Like an old pair of too tight jeans.

Her mouth quiet
Her body opened
Cellular memory uncapped her skull.
The sky streamed in
On ancient meridian highways
and she drank her own deep.

Stars made love to the Virgin
Full moon
Bright celebrants
Darkness and light.

All through the body of one night
She was danced
Moved from deep within
Every cell
Head to toe
In love, in response.
Her lunar body rotated around the sun of her heart.

There is stardust in her silver hair for a reason
And it is not a sign of old age.

Who she always and already is
Gets bigger with every true and naked meeting.

Lalita's delight

please don't take me, Devi......
too far apart

open my narrows
stretch my fill

but may I remain
as a felt sense,

as myself, to know
Your You

as different from
my me.

may I remain apart
just enough
to feel myself
as Your container.

My devotion is to hold you in the world,
for the world to see,
You,
shining bright in me.


This
I sense
is a shared delight.

lalita devi

the night before sadhana
and all through the house

of myself
is still

of my home
is beautiful

of my heart
is swept clean

to greet Her.

i feel like a young girl
preparing the space of her unknown woman to be lit
by the Devi.

Tuesday, March 17, 2015

being human, writing


The gift of writing,
free from control, meaning or product making,
coincided with life getting the upper hand.

I've learned to surrender to the creative process called life
by practicing doing what I love to do
and being as honest as I can be with myself.

There is no way around the surrendering part.

But finding a kind way to open to the unknown
is the reason for the smile on any creative person's face.

Being human is being creative

and being honest

lights the creative fire.




being human, painting


The gift of painting,
free from control, meaning or product making,
coincided with life getting the upper hand.

I've learned to surrender to the creative process called life
by practicing doing what I love to do
and being as honest as I can be with myself.

There is no way around the surrendering part.

But finding a kind way to open to the unknown
is the reason for the smile on any creative person's face.

Being human is being creative

and being honest

lights the creative fire.

Thursday, March 12, 2015

persephone called to me

Persephone called to me

I’m going down
Voluntarily

Not into the basement
But under the basement
Deeper than the ground
All the way to the origin of source.

There I will be able to hear my own voice,
There I will remember,
bodily,
The silence of my existence.

I searched for a common shared language
And found none other than the silence of the heart

Springtime has not yet sprung
I’m going under the snow
To gather the origin of all beginning in my arms
and bring it back to the surface.

Why not?
This is why the spirit of imagination has been given to us.
I know this terrain well.

Persephone called me to visit her
To feel in my own belly
In the center of the earth,
The origin of spring’s energy.

She said it is so cool
That I will want to experience it
Again and again!

Yes, quickly, I am going under into the dark.
I’ll return again with the crocus and tulips.

Saturday, March 7, 2015

Persephone ruft mich zu

Ich gehe unten
und freiwillig.
Nicht im Kellar
Sondern unten den Kellar
Tiefer als den Boden
Bis zum Urquelle.

Dort werde ich meine eigene Stimme
hören können.
Dort werde ich
körperlich
die Stille meines Daseins
errinnern.

Ich suchte ein gemeinsamer Sprache
Und fand keiner ausserhalb den Stille des Herzens.


Frühling ist noch nicht gesprungen.
Ich gehe unten den Schnee um alle ihre Ursprung
umarmen zu können und oben mitzubringen.

Warum nicht?
deswegen ist der Geist der Fantasie uns gegeben.
Das kann ich, weil der Gegend kenne ich gut.

Persephone ruft mich zum Besuch
Um diese ursprungliche FrühlingsEnergie
im Mitte der Erde
In mein eigenem Bauch zu fuhlen.

Sie sagte es so was tolles ist, dass
Ich immer wieder es erleben werden will!

Ja, schnell gehe ich unten in Dunkelheit.
Ich komme wieder mit den Krokus und Tulipen.

Friday, March 6, 2015

Fresh Pressed


Fresh Pressed

the light of hidden flowers
shines in me
like fresh pressed juice.

I see me, as a lover would.

I move in the kitchen
agitated, drinking coffee,
alone.

I see me move out to feed the birds
glad for the job their hunger gave me.

I love me this way
carrying a hidden light
I can see me when I'm still enough.



prompted by lines from Neruda
this poem grew deeper roots in process.
i'm drinking it in, simplified all the way from a marketplace in Peru, through a woman's moonlit heart, a most touching shared prayer to my own fresh pressed light body.

Sunday, March 1, 2015

lunch





I made my son lunch today
and fed him my listening.





lamb shank and white bean stew
à la Julia Child

Saturday, February 28, 2015

my new job

my new job:
wake up
feed the birds
make tea or coffee
ponder
be inspired
don't even try to fit this into words
write
or paint
do whatever comes first.
love being
such a mystery.

collecting honey




bees buzzing
rolling in pollen and sunshine
petaled in lavender crocus.

let such a collecting be my work
to feed and be fed
the honey, the touching
sweet and kind.

a busy collective creation
their joy, our food.

Monday, February 23, 2015

getting it right


we all begin at the beginning
open
true
and good.
and there is no end to that

But, very early on we become aware of a subtle shift, a space appears to take form between ourselves and the other. Conditioning sets roots into that space and survival begins to run the show. In spite of even the most well intentionally loving conditions, this will happen to all of us.

As we feel the separation occurring,
as our awareness of our separate self in and as our own body occurs,
we feel the pull, the tension, not to be separated.
We begin to do all we can to belong, to fit in
to stay with the other, to close the gap.
We avoid feeling this separation.

Ultimately and thankfully, because there is finally no place to go, 
we can meet the truth in our bodies.

That we can feel the separation and grow in trust to allow ourselves the experience, is the essential ground of awakening.
And individualizing, mysteriously, also brings us into the wholeness that we long for.
It is a conscious returning to the beginning of who we are.
And, lo and behold we can't make it happen.
Nor, can we keep it from happening.

I started writing what I used to call a poem prompted by my inquiry on getting it right. The inquiry and the condition arose from the fabric of my life.
Today I have more to say about separation.
I have more to say about individualizing.
I have more to say about this process of awakening and the process of reconnecting ourselves to what is always and already awake.
It is through separation, that most dreaded but illusory condition, that we become conscious of our wholeness.

We may have to lose ourselves many times and even watch ourselves do so,
to make the connection that reconnects us to the whole, consciously.


I began my conditioned life buoyed by the need to do it right. Later, of course, it grew into also needing to be right, but at such a young age as 7, being right really was not in my survival bag.

Dear Virgo ruling my first house, I no longer resist your gifts or your perfect lessons.
Dear Lilith in my first house made sure I did not succumb to someone else's pattern.
 
It took a long time for me to see this conditioning and this need among many other needs, clearly and with compassion. It took time for space to soften the edges of me to not flee from what I felt.
Conditioning still lives in me and this morning I wonder, does it live as thought or is it something else?
I could google it but it is so much more satisfying to ask myself these days.
I wonder about the form of conditioning, does it have form? No. I cannot see it or sense it.
Is it something passed down, that is not meant to be kept but to grow through, like good soil but in a backward way? Yes, poetically speaking, maybe.
Or is it like an ancient letter that keeps checking to see if I'm the right mailbox?
oh, more poetic license, yes!

When I feel the need to "get it right", it's serious.
My body responds in contraction, even panic sometimes.
Thankfully, that which is "only aware" as Adyashanti points to it, that which is kinder than thought, can hold that thought.

(hold that thought, suddenly has new meaning)

and from this moment of spacious holding,
what is not true is clearly felt and seen 
with the eyes of the heart.
The heart is the seat of our creativity.
And creativity is the seat of our wholeness.
It is how we come home to ourselves.
Whatever form creativity takes in our lives,
it will take us home.


This inquiry opened me up this morning to compassion for my limitations.
My limitations as a mother, as a wife, as a woman, as a friend can come home now, no longer needing to do it right. I am sorry for not being able to do it better. But I am relieved to see the truth. Perfectionism creates separation in me and my world and it hurts.


The drawing above is from my first week of first grade, in 1959.
My first life lesson was given form (and kept lovingly by my mother all these years). Something in my body did not forget the contraction in response to the teacher asking us to draw "what people do in the fall."

I really had no idea how to draw an answer. My mind went blank. 
And I caved in, trying to disappear in my front row seat.
I was scared not to know the right answer.
I found the solution by copying my neighbor.
Skillful, you might say! 
But the feeling inside was never addressed because I couldn't tell the truth about it. I couldn't give it a voice that I could hear.
It simply wasn't RIGHT! And I can be stubborn as hell.

My teacher gave me jobs to do that year to boost my confidence, so she surely saw what I wished to hide from.

 

That drawing revealed my life's path of learning to listen to my true self. 
My true self is the one who supports me like a best friend. 
I have painted all my adult life, but it has not been until I began to engage myself with process painting that I have been able to address those feelings which were leftover from my childhood. I'm setting those birds free.


Our living is a process of hearing our own voice, our intuition, our body, our heart and following through.


And that’s how one gets it right.


That’s how we will become the world, righted and whole.
The impulse is in each of us to follow through.
Can you feel it?