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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

lunch

I made my son lunch today

and fed him my listening.





lamb shank and white bean stew
à la Julia Child