Unripened Innocence

Bobbing along the base of the foliage

an unripened orange blends its color with that of

leaves surrounding the crooked branches.

Globes above are immobile

too heavy for light minstrels of zephyr song

to sway into their melody.

But the solitary one

out on the edge

dances in delight to each note

and from its joyous display

a shadow on stage

performs against the wall

imagining itself as

sun

full moon

bouncing ball 

of a child's innocence.

The Guardian Part 3

I barked once and felt my ears lay flat as my voice echoed out and up to the ceiling. The space where Rain brought me was a long table against a wall. She had looped a line around my neck. I could have told her she didn’t need to. I wasn’t going anywhere without her. 

“Now, baby, you have to be quiet for a bit. I have to get some work done.”

Her hand stroked my head. I sat on her foot nearest me and kept watch. The bread and water earlier on the steps had settled my tummy, and the hum of equipment was causing my eyelids to droop. Lots of strange noises here, but Rain was calm. I didn’t think any of the weird objects would hurt me if I stayed close to her. She began tapping her fingers very fast on a piece of plastic on the table, and I sensed her focus turn away from me. I shifted a little more of my body onto her feet, leaning against her legs. I was so tired. Before I knew it, I was lying on her feet. Still watchful though. I didn’t want to fall asleep. Once in a while, a man would come near Rain to talk. I would growl, a low rumble. 

“You’re safe. He’s fine.” Rain’s gentle voice reassured me. Okay. As long as the men didn’t reach toward me or Rain. That was okay.

Rain stood up and walked across the room. Was she leaving me? I scrambled to my feet and whined. I wanted to follow but the line kept me near the table. I whined louder and struggled a little, starting feel panic racing into my feet from my chest. I licked my mouth, then turned my head to bite at the line. 

“Shush now. I’m right here.”

Rain pulled my attention to her as she spoke from across the room. Her voice wasn’t loud so I don’t think she was angry. And her voice didn’t shake so I don’t think she was panicking like me. I stopped squirming as she continued to talk softly in the distance. I just listened to the rhythm of her voice soothing my nerves. I could feel the thread of energy between us flowing steady and sure. I lifted my nose a little and caught her scent as the breeze from an opening door drifted my way then traveled on down the shadowy hall.

The morning continued in this pattern. And I started to feel okay when Rain would get up to walk around the room. Once, though, she walked down the hall into a room where I couldn’t see her and when I heard a door shut, I freaked out. I started barking, lunging and then biting at the line. Where did she go? Quick as a flash of light from the sky, Rain came running back to me as the door slammed behind her and a loud male voice yelled.

“Sorry, Bill.” Rain raised her voice louder than normal. But then she hugged me close to her.

“I’m sorry, baby. You can some with me.”

I followed her into a small, windowless room and stood anxiously as the door closed us inside. She messed with her clothes and, wait, I smelled urine. We weren’t outside and there wasn’t any dirt. Why was she peeing here? Is this where I am supposed to pee, too? I looked at the floor, then stared at Rain and tilted my head sideways. She laughed. I liked how she laughed a lot with me. I wagged my tail, then sniffed all along the tile floor, the walls, the metal pipes, and the shiny white ‘bucket’ she was sitting on. I sneezed as a strong odor burned my delicate nose on its inside. Sneezed again.

“Oops. Must be the ammonia the janitor uses, huh?”

I didn’t much like this room, but if Rain was here, I would deal with it. 

“Okay. Let’s go see if we can find your family.”

Rain untied the line from the table leg and we were out in the sunshine real fast. Cold, fresh air tickled my face. Joy! And soon, dry brown grass was prickling under my paws. I could pee. Joy! I kept my eyes on Rain but I really did need to pee, squatting and letting loose a flood. 

“Good girl!”

All I did was pee, but Rain was using a happy, high-pitched voice so I guess I did good. I wiggled all over and she was laughing and rubbing me up and talking. Talking to me! She was treating me like I was important. Strange but made me feel really good. And safe.

We walked across a big field to another parking lot but this one was much bigger than the one where Rain’s building was. And lots of noisy cars and trucks were moving around. Voices were loud and all mixed up, running together, and I couldn’t understand any words. I stayed close to Rain’s legs, my tail tucked up under my belly. I didn’t like this place either. So I stuck with Rain.

“Here we are.”

Opening a door that I almost ran into -- I would have if Rain hadn’t pulled back on the line just in time, because I could see through to the other side -- we walked into a building that smelled great. Food smells were everywhere and other dogs had been here, too. Rain laughed as my nose went to the floor and stayed there as I sniffed and wobbled and darted here and all over. She just followed me. Once, I almost forgot about her and scared myself. My toenails scrabbled on the slippery floor as a skidded back around a corner that hid her from my view for a minute. She knelt and gave me a hug. 

“It’s okay. I’m here, baby.”

A wall of leather and cloth loops, all sizes and colors, loomed ahead. A short woman with stinky shoes walked over and stretched her hand out to me but I shrank back and hid behind Rain. The two of them started talking. I stretched my nose toward the woman’s shoes. Not cow. Horse. Rain was telling Stinky Shoes about finding me. I started sniffing again. I felt better when no one tried to touch me. Except Rain. I loved it when she touched me.

“Hey, baby, how about this one?”

Rain knelt and put a pretty red collar around my neck. It jingled when the matching lead was attached to it. I liked it because it was wide and easy on my neck. Big Man used to just loop a chain around my neck. That was yucky. This is nice, though. 

“Look how pretty you are!”

Rain was happy and that made me wag my tail. I almost bowed to her, but caught myself. Maybe she wouldn’t like that. Big Man never did. But both Rain and Stinky Shoes were making over me. I hovered between liking the attention and being nervous because they were staring at me. Big Man used to ignore me except when I got to work the cattle. Me and Crazy Ass -- that’s what he called the other dog who was older than me and grumpy, who walked with a limp -- got to go out and bring in the cows regular. Big Man once said I was “a natural.” It sounded like a good thing but I got dumped anyway. But I like Rain ever so much better so I don’t want to mess up and have to go somewhere else. So I watched Rain closely, trying to please her. 

I discovered that life moves very fast off the farm. Rain stopped a minute and gave some papers to Stinky Shoes. The machine Stinky Shoes tapped on made bell noises that jarred my taught nerves. I was happy when Rain rushed me out of there, carrying a small bag, but leaving behind a paper that I saw the woman putting in the window.

“That’s you, baby. I don’t know if someone is looking for you or not. But I have a plan if they aren’t. Don’t you worry.” Rain patted me on my side and, with her lips puckered, made a noise that sounded sort of like the ground squirrels that used to tease me. Funny for her to do that but it got my attention quickly.

“This way. We still have to get to the vet’s office down the street before my lunch hour is up.”

Uh-oh. I recognize that word -- vet. Yuck. 

The rest of the day passed in a whirl of sights and sounds. Men started coming back to the building so I scrunched up under the table with just my chin on Rain’s feet. She couldn’t pet me easily but I could breathe in her scent so I was okay. My hip itched from a sharp prick I got at the vet’s office but I didn’t yelp when it happened. Rain had cooed at me, and kissed my face. 

One time, the machine on the table rang and she picked up the plastic bone, putting it to her ear and mouth. Was she going to chew on it? No. An angry, loud voice seemed to be coming from inside the bone and I felt my hackles rise. It didn’t make sense. Where was the person? Whatever it was, Rain’s heart rate increased, and I could smell fear seeping from her skin. Her voice wasn’t the same as when she talked to me. 

“I have to work late ... no, I won’t bring her home ... I know they don’t allow dogs ... did you hear back from the realtor?”

I tried to hear the words coming out of the bone but they were hard to understand because Wolfie was warning me to be careful. I kept nudging Rain’s thigh with my nose and she seemed to relax just a bit by sinking her fingers into my fur. I licked her wrist. She was helping me. I knew I could help her, too. We had to stick together.

~ to be continued ~ 

Crete, here I come

free image © Martina Misar-tummeltshammer | Dreamstime.com

Yes. It's really happening! I am registered, paid up, and will obtain airline tickets tomorrow. The journey does not begin until autumn, but I will, of course, take lots of pictures and share my experiences upon my return. The photo isn't where I will be staying but I'm sure I will see lots of similar buildings upon the hillsides.

Taking a Pilgrimage to Crete in honor of Goddess/Gaia/The Divine has been a dream of mine since 1996 so I am thrilled beyond words to finally be going. Everything is coming about as it was meant to, of that I am convinced. What had appeared to be road blocks to this journey in the past four years were simply detours until the circumstances were revealed that would be the most enlivening and healing. I am deeply grateful.

I love preparing for a trip, and revel in every moment of the journey. The destination is simply a point used to keep me moving along the path, but it is every footstep and pause that are the true gifts.

Many of my thoughts regarding this pilgrimage and what it means to me will be posted at my other blog - On the Gaia Path - but I just had to share the news here as well because my excitement is bubbling and flowing over the sides of my heart-well!

We celebrated by going to a Greek restaurant for dinner and, upon return home, I watched one of my favorite movies -- Shirley Valentine -- a British comedy about a middle-aged woman's sudden trip to the Greek island of Mykonos.

I discovered this movie about four years ago, and have watched it many times since then. How many of us have, at times, lost ourselves ... lost our sense of who we are?

There is a famous monologue/scene in the film HERE that is quite touching. Many of us are perfectly happy leading what Shirley calls a "little life" but it's clearly not been that way for her. I won't spoil the film for anyone who hasn't seen it, but I do recommend the movie.

The Guardian, Part 2

free photo © Ichtor | Dreamstime.com

I watch the door as men come and go, the sun soon high overhead but not very hot. Too soon to be hot outside, the grass and weeds were still brown and brittle. But I’m thirsty and panting, my tongue hanging out one side, because it’s been ages since I had a drink from that mud puddle. One of the noisy men had placed a tin pan nearby with water in it, but he put it on the concrete. I wouldn’t have any cover. Too exposed. I tried to be patient. I had learned a lot about patience back at the farm. Wolfie said that someone in that building was my purpose, and Wolfie hadn’t guided me wrong yet. We had learned a lot together. And so I watched the door. 

Click. That got my attention. The door cracked open and I heard voices whispering. They probably thought I couldn’t hear them but my ears pricked forward--I had big ears for my size--and the words were clear.

“Where is it?”

I trembled. Such a soft, sweet voice. The voice of a female.

“There. See. By the edge of the concrete along the back, near the yellow parking stop. Near the open space. Pup is in the weeds. Black face.”

“Oh, I see it. Poor thing.”

“Won’t come to any of us. But we stopped parking the trucks there hoping not to scare it away.”

I kept my gaze steady. Could I catch the woman’s glance? So far, the two females I’d met were better than the men. 

Big Man lived with Wild Hair. My names for them. They never seemed to call each other by just one name so I wasn’t sure who they were. But Wild Hair never tried to hit or kick me. And sometimes, when Big Man had driven away in his truck and left me at the farm, Wild Hair would come out to where I was chained and give me a bit of sale bread soaked in bacon grease. Oh my. I thought life was good then. She didn’t ever say much, but once in a while ... I sighed at the fond memory ... Wild Hair would squat down and gently rub my ears and scritch me under the chin. I would wiggle and wine and, once, she almost smiled through the dirty lines on her splotchy face. But a noise, I think once of the chickens must have pecked at a rusty tin can, that noise startled Wild Hair and she jumped to her feet and scurried back to the house.

The other female I’d met was a small one and more fun, but she could hurt me sometimes, too. I don’t think she meant to, but she did. This other female was little, only as tall as Big Man’s waist, and he laughed often when she was visiting. A black, clunky car that was very loud would stop at the mailbox, a back door would open, and she would sort of slide off the back seat, then slam the door shut and stare as the car sped off in a cloud of dust. Her shoulders would slump and she would trudge down the dirty driveway. 

Her first visit--I wasn’t much of a dog yet, and was still stupid, that’s what Big Man said--Girl was very kind and we had a lot of fun. She would toss a stick and I would race to get it and jump on her when I brought it back. Oh, she laughed and it sounded like sunshine on a spring day. But, after a while, Big Man came out of the house and saw us. 

“No!” 

Uh, oh. Big Man’s face was way redder than usual and his eyebrows were in one frazzled line across the top of his head. My ears flattened and I tucked my tail and waited. Running was worse than waiting, because I couldn’t run very far for long. At least I’d learned that much even if I was still stupid. 

“That one’s a working dog, girl. Don’t play with her. Make her behave. Like this.”

Big Man yanked me by my tattered collar until I was sitting.

“Stay.”

I was very still. But then Girl giggled and began petting me and I got all wiggly and tried to lick her hands that tasted of cookies and sour milk.

“No!”

What came next was bad. I try not to think about it. Girl still would visit sometimes, but she did what Big Man told her to. I don’t think she liked it when he put on angry face either. We didn’t have fun anymore. But she never hit me. So women might be okay.

While I’d been remembering, but also watching, the woman from the big building had been quietly walking toward me. Her voice was soft like the kind of rain that only dampened the ground and would pitter-patter on my dog house roof, lulling me to sleep some nights. When I was first at the farm, I would pretend that the rain was my Mom singing to me in the scary dark where I was all alone. I quivered but let the woman--I named her Rain--get closer. 

“It’s okay, sweetie. I won’t hurt you.”

Rain crooned to me in a sweet, sing-song voice, then sat down in the grass a bit away and continued every once in a while with a comment, her arms relaxed at her sides. She didn’t seem scary at all. In fact, she was kind of sad inside. I could tell. Even though her mouth was smiling at me, there was a deep tension in her. 

“Pretty baby ... don’t you have a lovely black mask ... isn’t it a nice day ... quiet now that the surveyors are all out on jobs ... .”

I began to relax, letting my muscles soften. Rain was no threat. Yes, I think this is her. My purpose. She needed me to help her with the sadness.

I crawled closer, paw by paw. Soon, I was sidled up next to her. She smelled like the wildflowers where the cows once wandered after they pushed down a flimsy fence. I was little back then, but I still remember their sweetness tickling my nose. We sat for a while, Rain and me, easy like. Me watchful. Her talking softly, then quiet. And then it happened. I felt her hand, ever so light, begin to stroke my back, then move to the base of my ears in a gentle pressure that was ever so relaxing. I held very still. 

“It’s okay. I won’t ever hurt you.”

I couldn’t help myself. I trusted her. I crawled into her lap and sighed. And she sighed, too. Like we were one breath. We stayed like that for a long while, me and Rain as one creature. Wolfie was right. Rain was my purpose. I wondered what came next?

~ to be continued ~

P.S. For you writers out there, I know that I need to get my 'tense' consistent, but right now, the story is fresh, first draft, off-the-cuff without editing. Maybe later on I'll pull it all together with proper editing... :-)

The Guardian

     I crouched beneath the tall grass along the edge of the parking lot. My ears twitched back and forth uneasily and I whimpered. Just a bit because, truthfully, I was terrified. I had barely made it across the double-lane highway alive and the men yelling at me didn't help.
     Big, smelly men banging tailgates and leaving horrible fumes clogging my nose as they roared off in white trucks with huge tires. I knew what a truck bed was and theirs were cluttered with strange looking objects that were nothing like the wood or hay bales I was used to seeing. The beds of these trucks looked like torture chambers so I for sure wanted to stay away from them. I couldn't imagine getting stuck in there.
    "Hey, pooch, come here."
     A low, gruff voice was calling but I scooched back further. Every time the man moved forward, I retreated, watching him with alert eyes. I'd been told I had a strong gaze so I did my best to look tough. Near as I could tell, men weren't to be trusted. They would just as soon give you a smack as pet you. But, oh, I was so hungry my insides were rigid. I don't know how long it has been since I was dropped out of the truck near the highway, but long enough to feel like I was starving. Yes, I know I look grown up but I'm still just a pup, only five months old, and I don't have any idea how to feed myself.
     You might be wondering how I could know all these people words and understand voices. But I guess I was born this way. I don't know if I'm different or not. I'm just me. I do know that it's probably because I am here for a reason. I was born with a purpose. I don't know what it is yet, but I'm sure I will recognize it when it happens. I chose this life, but all of that pre-birth wisdom is sort of murky like that puddle I drank out of a while back. This life hasn't been quite what I expected.

     I was born in a dusty stable along with five brothers and one sister. Mom was really good to us. I loved it the most when she would lick me all over after breakfast and then let me snuggle up under her chin. That was prime territory so I made sure to eat first, shoving the others aside, and then squirm up to her face. She was great and I felt so safe.
     But then, one day I was yanked away from her while I was still having breakfast and thrust into the arms of a huge man with nasty breath who held me out by the scruff of my neck. He turned me one way and then another, cocking his big round head. His tiny dark eyes were tucked deeply into folds of red flesh behind a bulbous nose traced with blue lines. I made the mistake of looking down and got so scared I peed. It was a long way to the ground. The man just laughed and shook me a bit. I figured I should be as still as possible and maybe he would take me back to Mom.
     "She's a quiet one, eh?"
     "Yup, best in the bunch. The other little bitch yaps all the time."
     "I'll take her."
     I saw the men shake hands and the one holding me walked over to his big blue truck and sort of just dropped me onto the hot metal of its floor. I kept quiet. I saw some straw int he corner so I hustled over as fast as my stubby legs could carry me but I still wasn't real steady so I wobbled and fell a couple times.
     "She old enough?"
     "Sure. She's six weeks. Plenty old. Gotta get rid of the rest so that I can put their mum back to work."
     Then, before I knew it, the truck sputtered then roared, and wild wind was swirling around me, dust up my nose making me sneeze, as we zoomed off down the bumpy road. I heard a howl in the distance and I returned Mom's cry, but I don't think she heard me. I had been stolen and I knew that was the last I'd see of Mom. I tried to stay in the corner all curled up, though the vibrations kept sliding me out of it. I whimpered in my solitude and wondered where I was going to end up.

Anyway, things didn’t get much better from there which is why I have become pretty darned suspicious of men. But I kept watching the door of the big building because Wolfie told me that I would find my purpose here. Wolfie is the name I gave to my instinct, that inner knowing that tells us what to do, gives advice and generally tries to keep us alive. Like how it told me to be very quiet whenever Big Man came around and he might not notice me, especially when he was smelling like the brown bottles scattered around the trash can. Big Man named me Tough Nut. You would probably refer to me as stoic and aloof, and, oh yeah, wise beyond my months. Thus, the lack of trust in males.

~ to be continued ~ 

Part 2 Posted August 16th -- keep checking back for more of the story.

Green Juicing

A couple weeks ago, I started paying more attention again to what I eat ... and how much I eat (once more trying to focus upon quality rather than quantity). I love food, so I find myself 'falling off the wagon' repeatedly. I started focusing on healthy eating habits about 7 or 8 years ago (before that, don't ask), but have to repeatedly bring myself back to an aware state. Like many people, after I hit my 40s the weight gain was more rapid, and the subsequent weight loss much slower. After being stick-thin most of my life, this was a shock! Egads, you mean I have to actually pay attention to what I'm eating?! Crap.

Anyway, I have a healthy system established for losing the weight at a moderate pace, and it works well for me. But there was something that I had been wanting to try for a couple years to see if it would assist in healthy weight loss. And that would be Green Juicing. Not Fruit Juicing, although fruits can be a percentage of the juice, but rather maximizing the source of tremendous nutrients we can obtain through green foods. I like vegetables both raw and cooked, but with our soils depleted of nutrients, I wondered if juicing might not be a good way to obtain significant amounts of micronutrients. Because of my training, I was pleased to find that many Ayurveda practitioners were supportive of juicing within boundaries--like knowing your body type, your tendencies, and how to maintain balance within them. See Juicing in Ayurveda.

Enter our new Breville Juice Plus, as seen on the inspirational movie Fat, Sick & Nearly Dead (I highly recommend this movie and it's available through Netflix); a friend had suggested the movie and shared her recent experiences with juicing on her blog - Annette's Asylum.

Now, Ron and I didn't want to go to the extremes that the two men in the movie did. But we did want to try a 3-day juice fast to kick-start healthier eating habits, and get us on our way with some inspiring results up front. And it provided that this weekend. Yay! We don't intend to get obsessive about juicing, but we are very pleased we bought a juicer. Every bit helps, don't you think? :-)

Here's to happy, healthy eating along with compassionate, peaceful lifestyle!

Obligation?

Because of a recent situation with my own mother, and synchronistically, the problems two friends are having with their mothers, and another friend with her sister, I can’t help but think about obligation. What do we owe to ourselves and to others? Where does expectation set up a house of cards ready to tumble around us? How do we balance helping others with maintaining healthy boundaries for ourselves? Where can we transform relationships into compassion-derived rather than guilt-driven? How do we provide care from a space of love instead of duty?

I am reminded of one of the verses from the Tao Te Ching: 

When the greatness of the Tao is present,

action arises from one’s own heart.

When the greatness of the Tao is absent, 

action comes from the rules

of “kindness and justice.”

If you need rules to be kind and just, 

if you act virtuous,

this is a sure sign that virtue is absent.

Thus we see the great hypocrisy. 

When kinship falls into discord,

piety and rites of devotion arise. 

When the country falls into chaos,

official loyalists will appear; 

patriotism is born.

~ 18th Verse of the Tao Te Ching of Lao-tzu, from Wayne Dyer’s Change Your Thoughts, Change Your Life

It seems to me that when we are expected to offer services, when we are pushed and shoved and guilted into behaviors, then the actions that were previously provided out of love become empty and tarnished with a dangerous, damaging energy. How do we provide kindness to ourselves then? How do we maintain the greatness of our heart energy?

I know there are no easy answers, and, certainly, every situation is different. With these thoughts, I also recalled a scene from Guess Who’s Coming to Dinner -- one that has stayed with me for decades: 

Embedding is not available, but the short YouTube of this scene is HERE; Sidney Poitier playing the role of the son speaking to his father, and following is the script: 

"You listen to me. You say you don’t want to tell me how to live my life. So what do you think you’ve been doing? You tell me what rights I’ve got or haven’t got, and what I owe to you for what you’ve done for me. Let me tell you something. I owe you nothing! If you carried that bag a million miles, you did what you’re supposed to do! Because you brought me into this world. And from that day you owed me everything you could ever do for me like I will owe my son if I ever have another. But you don’t own me! You can’t tell me when or where I’m out of line, or try to get me to live my life according to your rules. You don’t even know what I am, Dad, you don’t know who I am. You don’t know how I feel, what I think. And if I tried to explain it the rest of your life you will never understand. You are 30 years older than I am. You and your whole lousy generation believes the way it was for you is the way it’s got to be. And not until your whole generation has lain down and died will the dead weight of you be off our backs! You understand, you’ve got to get off my back! Dad… Dad, you’re my father. I’m your son. I love you. I always have and I always will. But you think of yourself as a colored man. I think of myself as a man. Now, I’ve got a decision to make, hm? And I’ve got to make it alone, and I gotta make it in a hurry. So would you go out there and see after my mother?"

May we all find the spirit within to somehow retain or recover our ability to act from our heart, and not from tainted obligation.

another blog

For those of you who may be interested, I have started another blog called On the Gaia Path because I wanted to create a separate space in which to more deeply write into my relationship with the Divine Feminine. Some of the types of writing that used to appear here will be posted there in future. But, no worries, this one will continue as well.

Blessings!

Vines

A story ...


Vines winding their way up along the edge, 
rounding a corner and spreading their leaves 
until the front wall is splendid in dark green 
that makes love to the ancient stone.
The peace of movement and stillness, 
the joy of how opposites attract.


Once upon a time, 
the old castle facade was barren, 
constantly stripped of the yearning tendrils that 
sought to climb his walls and were instead 
kept to the base to gaze up in wonder 
at the hard surface, 
the multi-sized rocks placed one upon the other 
lending themselves to the protection of the fearful 
against marauding bands of humans 
bent on power and destruction. 
And when the people were done with their 
wars and desires for possession, 
the vines joyfully sought the cool stone edifice 
like a quilt finally able to 
cover and comfort and heal. 

Now, the vines paint their way upon the surface, 
scrolls of unwritten words 
yet the meaning of life is clear 
in the verdant swirls and sassy curls 
with slim fingers beckoning "here, this way." 
Tangle and twirl, 
a net of interwoven wonder that becomes a blanket of love.




A winsome feather drifts down from the blue 
and a tendril reaches out with tentative bend 
to grasp the softness, 
bringing it into the nook 
where the light bone and delicate quills 
decorate the vine 
with a touch of the flight of distant visions 
of peace upon the world. 
The ivory bit of wing 
a stark contrast among the green, 
singing still the song of the dove.


Days pass and all is quiescent 
until a gentle breeze carries 
a puff of milkweed's downy breath with seeds clinging, 
floating up and bobbing like it cannot make up its mind where to go. 
Another supple green finger beckons 
and the puff investigates, 
tossed nearer by a laughing sylph, 
and sighs in relief as it settles 
into a home among the vines 
that climb the sturdy walls 
of the abandoned abode 
of those who used to be 
but are no more confined 
by the walls they once hid behind 
in fear. 
The milkweed puff expands its chest in breathless delight 
and creates a vision of loveliness, 
for within a crack of the wall was soil built up over time 
and nourished by the cycling of vines living and dying, 
and a single seed had stuck its head 
into the richness to sleep and then the vines spread 
ever so slight and opened a window of sunlight 
upon the tiny space wherein the seed burst open in joy, 
split its sides in laughter, 
and up rose the stalk of empowerment 
upon which the purple buds emerged 
and then popped open with a delightful aroma 
that called the winged whispers of 
sienna and ebony satin poets-in-flight 
to drink and expand ... 
reproducing the sunset glow of themselves into the leaves.


The vines welcomed the stranger 
who stayed in their midst, 
closing around it gently at night 
and opening again for morning light, 
with pride and devotion the vines caressed the cocoon, 
lullabies of the song from the immaculate plume nearby 
were carried into the sacred space of renewal and transformation. 
And when the time was 
... just so ... 
the vines provided a ledge upon which 
the newly created being could drop and dry 
and flutter away to spread the good news of life 
and love in a new day, a new world.


The milkweed's purpose complete, 
it sighed and fell into a deep sleep 
leaving its body safely withering into the 
faith of future generations 
for before it sighed, 
it too would provide 
a seed pod from the blossoming of renewal, 
an offering of self-less creation for those who may have need. 


In the distance, 
a lone dove, 
her purity a beacon, 
glided in close and 
paused upon the green finger 
offered in peace, 
and plucked some downy delight with seed attached 
into her beak, 
and, nodding in gratitude, 
flew into the orange half-globe of a new day.

The vines wriggled and giggled in glee, 
and the stone face cracked a smile in contentment,
creating a broad line 
and stretching the vines 
with encouragement toward growth and 
with deeply felt gratitude for communion.
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As I settled to write this morning, I paused as usual, closing my eyes for a moment, and the first thing I saw as I opened my eyes was the design painted upon the cabinet across from my chair. From those images emerged the above story. What fun! I love how unexpected story flows from an image we've seen a thousand times.

Poppy

Bud in the heart ... and in the flower ...
where in every moment her love is a shower
of blessings that guide us and share in the night
the wisdom of peace over power of might
and so is the little one growing in height
receiving the blessing of full moon's cool light.
See the bud opening from sleeping in white,
so tiny and faithful, a golden delight.


     Clear and sweet is the message of the flower bud, awaiting its turn to shine yet already drawing to it the butterflies and hummingbirds, all hovering to find out who she will be and what gifts she brings into their world. Their glorious colors mingle with hers ... she is darker at first, contracted, arms wrapped around herself, also waiting in this moment yet already knowing her purpose that rises upon the wind, her scent going out, seeking and showing.
     She allows the food she needs to flow gently into her roots and leaves but she doesn't have to do anything except open to the bounty all around for she has adapted and what others see as scarcity, she sees as opportunity and a serene wisdom in knowing now is her time. Now is her moment in the sun before the long sleep of the cycles that continue, repeating themselves within the illusion of form that is cherished.

     I open a random book and read " ... your fleeting steps kiss the dust of this world into sweetness ... "

     There is a mesmerizing appeal to reading Rabindranath Tagore (the quote is from The Fugitive). His words flow like poetry yet their rhythm is that of prose holding itself proud and tall upon the stems of Divine flowers, second to none and absent the rigid affectations of some poems that spit in short, concise stutters upon the page as if they fear saying too much and expect us to glean their hidden intent by digging without the proper tools (I love poetry but some definitely has this effect upon me). But Tagore's writing ... what a glorious feeling to watch the shapes of the words and sentences bend in an arc that covers the pages like a rainbow, the imagery heart-felt. It is as if Tagore knew the intimacy of the Sacred World and the Divine Source as One and merely opened himself to their harmony.

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I remain devoted to the lovely Arizona Poppy and her sweetness. :-)