everywhere

Close my eyes and raise my hands.
Breathing, feeling the hum of Gaia throbbing through me,
I am vibrating ever so slightly in and out of matter and energy,
wavering in my place here and now. 
I feel at one and yet shift back and forth to know all.
Releasing, letting go, 
to be present without attachment and landed without clinging,
One... yet celebrate diversity of creations of all that exists.


Close my eyes and feel space growing between my cells, 
getting further apart, spreading, 
particles and waves in prisms of rainbow light 
and I am only an image through fairy mist as I expand thinner, 
less dense, air flowing through bones that are no longer connected 
by ligaments no longer taut but 
floating loose and free as all parts of my body drift away into space and 
I am only vibrations spreading far and wide, 
passing through others who are still solid illusion.
To land--but lightly--each time the vibration changes,  
I become form and shape to revel in the wonders of the world.
No need to choose because nothing and our form are the same components 
only vibrating at different speeds yet not speed, 
rather frequency...levels...nothing.


Close my eyes and the bee is humming himself into existence and back out again 
for I hear him and then he is gone and I only assume he still exists yet 
I no longer exist for him because he can see me no more. 
Let go of preference and allow all experience to flow through this moment 
bringing each wave into a shower of blessing before it soaks into the earth of me and grounded being. 
Hear the songs of life, the rhythms that come through from plant and animal, 
from those things we've created and those we think are no more yet have left 
their chords strumming softly upon the strings of those same ligaments that connect our bones, 
feel the air flow through those bones and hollows as we become the flute and the 
song within the form that comes and goes. 
Feel the massage that disappears the body until 
only energy remains, a temporary cohesion, a pause where only 
rhythm of hands and flow of movement is real and 
all else falls away into a nothingness that is strong and true. 
There is this interconnection of matter and energy that we know through senses yet 
falls away the instant we no longer attach to those senses enforced in childhood and 
then we experience self and world through the innocence of 
new beginnings that are always here and 
each wave is an ocean and each particle a mountain. 
I am not here but am everywhere when 
release becomes the music of each breath. 
Only existing from moment to moment to 
become the nothing out of illusion in an instant of non-attachment and 
then weight rushes back into ground me. 
The wise ones of animal and plant wink in and out of existence 
without thought 
as they ebb and flow within the world where we are all One and 
they smile with us as we learn, joy of song in their shifting. 
There is no real or illusion because it is all the same. 
All one energy, one beautiful flow of vibration that plays a song of existence. 
Thousands of years from now 
when it is yesterday once more 
we all will know this perfect birth as death of illusion and 
joy will permeate all living as the emptiness that holds all love is now. 


Close my eyes again and become pure vibration, everywhere.
And when I open my eyes, for an instant, 
I am still everywhere ... 
One with 
the rocks, 
the trees, 
the bee buzzing, 
the bird singing, 
the dog barking, 
the sun shining, 
the air blowing 
moisture into nostrils that flare with the inhale as 
vitality passes throughout this body. 
And then I land. 
Here. 
Grounded once more in this body with feet planted. 
And we are One.
Everywhere.

Yucca and more

While exploring Arizona further south and east, I discovered more breathtakingly diverse scenery! The view in this photo is of Texas Canyon, so named because of all the Texans who settled this particular area.

A visit to the Amerind Foundation Museum yielded a wonderland of boulders, trees and the gorgeous Yucca elata. I have been enamored of this plant since my first trip to Bisbee, so imagine my delight in finding it so plentiful in another unique landscape. Unfortunately, I have yet to get a good photo of this yucca, but, trust me (or click HERE), they can grow big and bold--to a height of 10 to 18 feet, with a flower stalk growing 4 to 6 feet above its wild, palm-like head! Elegant flowers, wild wind-tossled 'hair', shaggy trunk ... fabulous.

Oh, anyway, back to the Amerind where I thoroughly enjoyed the professional exhibits. I particularly appreciated the main room where they clearly showed through artifacts, maps and notes the journey of the Apache/Navajo all the way from Alaska into the Southwest. Fascinating.

This trip also led us down the road to the nearly deserted town of Dragoon, named for its proximity to the Dragoon Mountains. So where did the name "Dragoon" come from? I had to google and found that before they were called the cavalry, they were called the dragoons following in the European tradition from before 1776. Interestingly, considering the persecution of the native people in the area by the United States military of the 1800s, wikipedia also says that dragoon means "to subjugate or persecute by the imposition of troops; and by extension to compel by any violent measures or threats." A sad but true history; recall yet move on with blessings upon those who suffered.

And yet, to end the day, a day of reflection and honor, joy in beauty, we stopped in at a cute little, brand new Mexican restaurant called Mi Casa in Benson. The food was fabulous and I highly recommend it; I will certainly be stopping there anytime I go that direction, whether for future trips to Bisbee, or on the upcoming trip down to the Chirachua National Monument.

It's one long journey of discovery here in Arizona!

Strength in Cycles

She rises strong and true from the depths of the earth where she was helping souls to know, to realize, to cross over into new beginnings. 
She knew that her place was among both worlds and she stood strong and solid in the wisdom of the cycles of all life.*


Accepting love and grace from all around yet also from within, cradling her own face in compassion and hugging her Self in all its beauty revealed to the world without shame or embarrassment. 
She stands in confidence and sincerity as she steps into the light once more. 
A gentle smile curves her mouth as the branches of the underworld, rooted in time, become the fingers of expansion that encourage her and 
welcome all she brings of life and beauty into the footsteps of allowing, 
her prints barely visible yet a slight impression left behind to hold a few drops of mirror-water, 
a seed or two of scattered potential, 
and petals fall in her wake of the ultimate knowing that all hold dear and share. 


She is fullness and strength made of mud and water and warmed by sun, dried by air, held in space of infinite creativity. 
She brings a grace to every movement in each moment of now, for cycles can flow away before we are able to reveal ourselves and that moment is gone.
Yet in her solid form, she stands for each of us as guide and mother, sister and child. 
Where is the waxing and the waning of womb and wild? 
Right here.
She becomes our friend and Self as we feel her compassion for all.
Ever aware of the ebb and flow, she pauses. 
Her stillness envelops me and I am her, holding in loving arms the form that carries me through the cycles of world and these of inner growth or recession.


Once a statue shaped by loving hands, 
her eyes slowly open, dark and light the opposites of her orbs that see into my soul, 
and her smile widens, lips part to reveal strong white teeth reflecting her delight to chew upon the impressions of life before digesting their full flavor, 
as her arms drop away from her own form and she reaches out, open, inviting me into her embrace as the child becomes the mother and we come full circle.
Stepping out to honor. 
Climbing out of the womb of mother, out of the caves where lost soul-bits dwell in their dark nooks to heal or hide yet she makes them all whole to move on.
Child becomes mother as mother becomes crone until death and transformation borrow each of us from form and we settle into the expansiveness of space in a field of flowers where all is sweet and then we realize we never left at all.
For this aromatic pleasure dome is here all around us, we are indistinguishable from air and tree, fire and canyon, rushing rivers around tumbling boulders of former walls no longer blocking channels of love. 
We are already here. 
She smiles at our wonder. 
I have become her . . . I am beauty and grace and cycles of nowhere from here to there!
The impermanence swells within me and I give birth to new eyes, fresh vision, and the love of All rushes out upon the space around me in squiggles and lines, stories and experience, words of witness to all the joys of Light and Dark. 
I look down and I am her, made of mud and water, air drying in soft caress upon my heart and the sun warming my smile into realization. I have become the gift at the end of creativity, for I am the composition of life's cycles. I am her.


And I see her in all those beings around me, our vessels carrying sparks of love that shine through and all the colors of rainbow-clay around the world mix within the palette of her palm and . . . 
We are all her. 
We are One. 
Coming and going. 
Cycles.
__________________________
This piece was inspired by an image (top of this page) randomly chosen for a portal/prompt. The image is titled Persephone (c) Selina di Girolamo 1998 from We'Moon '00 --
*Also, while many people only know the patriarchal version of the myth of Persephone and Demeter, there is another version that is shared in Lost Goddesses of Early Greece by Charlene Spretnak that I had read well over a decade ago. That 'pre-hellenic' version of the myth is the one that emerged while I was writing the above.

Resonance of Community

See in the sunlight the spark of inspiration that saturates the sky, the atmosphere, with infinite potential. All of creation's inspiration is spread out before me when I look up! An entirely new infusion that is just as precious as the abundance of trees in other parts of the country that only yielded a small glimpse of the wide open blue expanse. Diversity that allows exploration of so many channels of heart and life. Here, there, all is precious. While walking and talking, I could feel my entire being opening up wider and wider, my form becoming thinner and less substantial, as I tried to express how the expanse inspires me further along the path of creativity. 


I inhale deeper. I want to inhale even more deeply all the way into the core of me, loving what was once daunting and enjoying the sensation of my channels all opening to profound breaths of Life! 


Where once there was a deepening of inner dives, where I sought to feel soul's depths and discover secrets of the darkness, to heal womb and hollows where shadows might still dwell, now--ah, now--that particular path of healing has come full circle, wholeness warming, cradling, and so I feel able and emboldened to see where else the journey of life may lead me. Where shall I pass and who shall I meet from all walks of life and all species of flora and fauna? Since coming here, opening, expansion is with every inhale and I delight in the flurry of ideas and feelings and sensations, like a flock of birds that dart in and out, their acrobatics mesmerizing...and then they pause, all alight upon the branches offered so graciously and the peace of stillness descends, the trees share their rootedness with the creatures of the air and within that space something new arises that has always been present. Look within the spaces, the gaps, and perceive the images that are created when earth and air are joined, and the light behind reveals the miracles of love and creativity and community.


It may seem strange for me to dwell upon community when I seem, to those who do not really know me, to exist in a solitary existence away from people. But that is because community is not about only people--community is Gaia--it is all forms of life and elementals, all seen and unseen beings and conscious energies, all spirit and substance. All are community because we are all One. This perception is what I sense more than I know. I feel it on all levels and it is a wisdom that I am coming to feel comfortable with--to feel a gift of this inner concept that is more heart-centered than anything I could study. I read other's words and resonate in familiarity that what they say is already here within on an energy level that is becoming brighter each moment. My journey from childhood to young adult to mature woman has presented me with opportunities to learn and grow and I have accepted their invitation more often than not and I am grateful. From traditional religion, to the 'nothing' of animal kingdom and nature, to esoteric and earth-centered, to the divinity of the feminine, to eastern traditions, to knowing that all reveal the same truths in their core yet are couched in different words of human-imposed structural controls yet to be stripped away. See the community there! And there! I slip and slide, too, as I humanly stumble along this path yet I see with eyes of Oneness and that is a comfort and a gift. A gift I receive gratefully. A gift I seek to remain humble with wrapped in its warmth. To share as a witness not as an 'expert'--to let go of ego and welcome One Vision, One Truth to be expressed. To simply share the subtle essence of what I feel.

biodiversity

"Overall, the Sonoran Desert has the greatest diversity of plant growth forms

- architectural strategies for dealing with heat and drought-

of any desert in the world." 

~ A Natural History of the Sonoran Desert

unwrapped

A present unwrapped*; such is the morning, waiting with infinite possibilities.
Pause and feel the stillness of Her unwrapped moment, the fullness of discovery, see the gift before us.
How is it wrapped?
With bright colors or pastels in muted shades of sage and dusty rose, or with ribbons of light, thin and curly or broad and substantial. 
The unwrapped gift of the moment offers itself to be whatever we need: a hand to hold, a bird on wing, the eyes of devotion, the simple wiggle of a toe, or blink of an eyelid that protects yet reveals.
All before us is laid out in a patchwork quilt of unwrapped moments. 
We are the ones who choose the packaging. 
We are given the grace of opening into the space wherein the gift lays waiting. 
All we have to do is reach out and pull the tied ribbon, release the moment so beautifully wrapped in wisdom and love.
But what about the dark package, the box sitting to the side in shadow, a haze drifting about it like smog?
Maybe we can barely see it out of the corner of our eye, abandoned or neglected or purposely ignored until the ebony ribbon is a little frayed and the wrap is dusty and dull. 
Maybe it was a beautiful moment when first revealed but we were distracted and didn't see it, too busy to slow down, stop, admire the gift and unwrap it to reveal the most wondrous of all gifts nestled softly within?
Maybe it was a frightening moment, paper all lumpy and crinkled, tattered corners and coarse twine barely holding it together beneath the thick dust?
Unwrapped...
Asleep within, as the light infuses the box, a tiny sprite, barely visible until we look closely, stretches, yawns and then, upon the joy of our smile, it flutters up to whisper a secret into our ear. 
What is it? What is the gift of that moment that lay unwrapped for so very long?
The dust from the wrap is carried quickly away by the cleansing winds of change and the ribbon heals itself, weaving its frayed ends back together with silk threads of loving recognition that slide easily with a gentle touch.
And we find that this moment is exquisite--how could we have overlooked it for so long?
Just imagine all the other unwrapped gifts that might be lying around waiting, those precious moments now revealed in all their splendor when we pause long enough to recognize them and unwrap their mysteries.
Some large, some small. Some take place in a second, others were hovering nearby for hours or days just waiting for us to return to them. 
Yes, a moment is only here and now but the gifts of memory and imagination allow us to revisit the treasures we might have lost forever. Isn't that marvelous? 
So once in a while, pause and go on a treasure hunt, explore the inner world of Self and Soul, a landscape rich in possibility, to uncover, discover, and unwrap those moments too long set aside. 
Blow off the dust, pull the faded tape, tug at the delicate ribbon nearly falling apart, and unwrap that gift--the gift of Life. 
Every moment a treasure. 
And then, just maybe, they will no longer be missed in the full gift of Presence--presents right now. 
Each one will be seen, known, and unwrapped while fresh and new and full of Infinite Love, full of Grace, full of growth even in the darkest hour, because maybe their wrap is a little dark and black ribbon a bit intimidating but there is always Light within...

______________
* "unwrapped" was an emailed daily writing prompt through ClarityWorks online.

Essence of the Experience

Essence of the experience rather than specifics.


That thought came to me while I was contemplating writing character bios and scenes for my novel. I was thinking about how it is an effort for me to focus upon the specifics of what's happening around me--from conversation to appearance to action--and I realized that I seem to absorb the essence of the experience rather than the specifics, or at least in recall mode that is what happens. And it may account for my poor memory of past events and people in my personal life, too, because unless something is to trigger the sense or es-sense of the detail of whatever it happens to be, my recall can be anywhere from hazy to non-existent. My mother despairs of me because she easily and accurately recalls enormous amounts of detail from over the course of seven decades!

For writing novels, it is repeated, in nearly all of the instructional books I've read, that one needs to be a good observer of the details of speech and action and all the other facets of real life. I am willing to exert myself in this if it means a more realistic presentation of the story that allows the reader to be drawn in, in fact, encourages it. But also what about imagination? If one can imagine the story can we not imagine the entire manuscript to create from essence rather than specifics? I wonder. I have to since I am currently deficient in specifics!

But if I am to also encourage recall and therefore allow transference of details, then I need to focus. Maybe these can be 'dates' with myself, with my memory tissues, to set into prints upon my mind the sights and sounds of experiences? To sit quietly for a while along a street or sidewalk or inside a mall or museum, and listen...watch... I find when I am participating in the experience actively it is quite difficult to recall specifics, partly because of the speed at which life moves these days--fast talk, quick movements. Even slower movements are without pause, without stillness to take in the segments and photograph them into mind, and so are still challenging.

It's like when life becomes too hectic, I withdraw my senses back into my self, including memory, and life bounces off like a ball against a wall. An invisible wall that moves along with me, bending and reshaping itself to the outer edges of the me that is form. So all I receive is the essence of what is happening around me. Did I erect this wall? Or is it simply part of who I am? I know the scattered thoughts of my own busy mind and when I feel additional scurrying of the outside stimulus become too much, up comes the bubble wrap like a Star Trek captain, somewhere inside comes the directive "raise shields!"

When I sit down to write, I feel a scene arise more than see the specifics, and then I find I dig up the remnants like I am on an archeological journey of discovery, finding bits and pieces fitting them together like a puzzle. A fragment from childhood here, a shard from a first relationship there. It seems that there is plenty there to recover, but they don't arise easily on their own. I have to look for them. On hands and knees. Sometimes with a magnifying glass, nose in the dirt, and hope the bit isn't prickly...

They definitely aren't recalled like Mom's where she recalls stories instantly in all their former glory, darting back and forth, past to present and back again, all the names and faces and dates and experiences. Story is an integral part of her--she lives those events again in an instant, repeatedly, yet doesn't struggle to find them. For me, the past--last week or two decades ago--is gone and it is effort to recall it.The present moment has always been more here for me.

So where do they come together, the essence and the specifics of an experience, and how do they mesh. How do they affect the end result of a novel? Could this be an aspect that determines whether one person creates a 'realistic' version of a story? Is a 'literary' novel or a mostly narrative novel easier for an essence person to write as compared to so-called 'popular' fiction with all its dialogue? I enjoy reading all kinds, but what is mine to write?

This writing process is a journey, even aside from the story that is being written! LOL

Real or Illusion?

These past weeks, as I explore more of Arizona*, I fall into the impressions of those beings who have traveled before me; I sense the spirits of the native tribes, the pioneers, the average people, and the many wondrous creatures of the desert who experienced their passages.

Contrast the sensations of walking Tombstone  -- 

"A phantom bullet whizzed by my head and spectral puddles of blood blotched the desert skin like the pox as I trod the streets of Tombstone a century after its hey-day. Yet beneath the crass commercialism and tourist-trap stores, enhanced or at least invigorated somewhat by staged gunfights and corner pitchmen offering wagon rides with or without  spiels on the infamous of the town, I could sense the struggle, the haunting faces of the regular people who only desired to feed themselves or family and who tried to stay out of the way of the power struggles of wealthy, influential and often violent men of the times. This was a town once full of saloons, adventurers, and painted ladies, and their ghostly breaths scratch and drift like tumbleweeds across my aura, tingling." 

or strolling Old Tucson Studios

"Walk the sand that holds within its depths the footprints of entertainers, of actors who brought the stories to technicolor life. Walk down the streets, view the facades, touch the weathered wood and crumbling adobe that was once sensed by those familiar faces of old. Ghosts but not because they lived the stories--they didn’t bleed and love and suffer what I saw on the screen. Rather, they absorbed the essence of their characters, portrayed many lives, and now these buildings and creaking wooden sidewalks speak of how all life is tied together. How we connect through our stories and feel the vibrations that linger within the dirt beneath our feet and soar in the sky overhead. These elements hold the past, present and future. Not as archeological dig but of memory and story. The air seems to carry the echoes of all these voices who spoke their lines and told the stories." 

What is real and what is illusion?

Or go deep into the mountain that shelters the Queen Mine.

"Tunnels into a mountain, horizontal or digging down in vertical shafts.

Like leaning over and falling into Her depths.

Stretching our meager reserves to push further into Her core.

Backward-birthing to return to the dark and recover the pure shine of precious gems and metals that remind us of our own light within.

Does it feel like acupuncture to Her?

We think we go so deep and yet we barely graze the surface of Her skin.

Thank goodness our efforts are shallow."

Drive the wide-open desert-meadows (who knew?!) of Sonoita-Elgin.

"Pale brown stalks of prairie-like grass roll and sway gently all the way to the horizon where only moments before there was cactus--now gone. The pale green of yucca dot some of the blond fields ... acres and miles of unexpected softness. A pocket of pillows plopped into the desert just to be different yet again!" 

photo courtesy Sonoita, AZ You'll Like It Here

Soar within the world of the remarkable Harris' Hawks
at the Arizona-Sonora Desert Museum.

... we can only soar in our conscious awareness 

and imagination--that is where we humans are able to enjoy ‘free flight.’

I am finding Arizona to be an entire country in and of itself as there is so much to see and do; I can choose to explore physically or to be in stillness within each presentation of diversity. The above are linked to my usual lengthier 'stream-scapes' (stream of consciousness writing style) on my other web site; if you are so inclined--enjoy!

And I made a new friend, too! Isn't he adorable?

_________________
* My mom is staying nearby for two months with a friend so, since they both enjoy exploring, we are doing far more in a shorter time than I would have done on my own!

Falling Diamonds

(c) Jeremie Vaubaillon - The Quadrantids

diamonds falling

trails of stardust

disappearing

pastel dawning

painted with feathers

appearing

Stars fall in streaking shimmers,
there for an instant,
a mere blink,
and then gone,
waving to sisters and brothers
on their quick journey-flash
across the inky stillness
of space.


An infinity of existence, 
winking in and out,
ecstatic.
Crisp and brilliant,
Her diamonds placed strategically,
enticing lives and eyes alike.
A streak here, the nakedness of random showers,
sparkling ... effervescent.


Head tilted back,
scanning for a glimpse of showers of light at night 
and rewarded again and again.
There!
And there!
Cold seeps into my body and I sink further 
into the big puffy coat that now has a happy purpose 
instead of shoved to the very back of the closet.
Reclining while the tail end of the shower finishes Her glimmering rhapsody 
in the minutes before dawn eases into the expansive bed between earth and space.
A subtle transition, shades that shift into each other, 
their fingers touching as they lay side by side sharing the sky.
In the moments leading up to dawn, 
I feel an amazing sensation; 
like the world is brand new, just being birthed. 
I am witness to Her labor.


Watching the ancient stars who are already gone, 
merely winking good-bye from a distant past, 
their smiles reflecting the light of possibility 
for all those new sparks who begin the journey, 
witnessed by us as diamonds on a necklace 
scattered across Her infinite neck and waist, 
ankles and wrists. 
Hear them jingling as She dances in the night sky? 


She offers inspiration from every pore; 
Her stars and moon and shadows of lunar-illumination.


Dawn is soft and speaks of faith,
to trust in the new day, new beginnings.
Ours is the choice--same or different?


Shivers and chills chase themselves around this body 
not used to the dense darkness.
Watching the stars hanging in their space, 
I could have been anywhere--another galaxy, 
another realm of existence. 
What if I had been watching from the other side of Now?


As I meditate, time pauses, 
do I feel myself shimmer out of this space, into another, 
my star-soul winking here and there, 
no more substantive than the light I see from a star that is long-gone.
Amazing wonders of our universe.
Gifted to have seen even once the miracles 
of star-shine and dawn-scape 
and diamonds piercing the mysterious black cape of night as they transform.
Each moment precious.
Senses bringing delights that satisfy and are ... enough.


This, a reason to rise early, 
to experience, 
at least once in a while, 
the birthing of this new day that is 
merely a spin on an axis, 
a twirl of timelessness.
Easy to take it for granted and allow it to be unrealized.
But don't. 
Know the passage of the turning of earth 
beneath feet stuck to Her skin by the weight of Her love.
Experience all these miracles and know diversity of life and spirit.


Now, as I sit writing, the sun has arrived, though of course never really departed.
A star. OUR STAR.
So strong and powerful in its light.
For a moment I am once again elsewhere.
I see the light from our sun long after it has ceased 
and we are the people who once inhabited the orbiting earth. 
Moved on to different planes of existence.
Twinkle, twinkle, little star, 
how I wonder who you are, 
and who you held in your light and nourished and shone the way forward.
I welcome our lights joining as One. 
All lights as One.
Spread out across the sky yet connected by the invisible threads woven through the eons of life, 
the sprinkled glimmering, sparkles that once were ... are the stardust that falls upon my eyelids and open my vision to Her light and our One light of love.
I see diamonds in your eyes.