Little Altars

I'm a stranger here
I'm only passing through
But everyplace I go leaves its own tattoo.
That's how it is laying stone on stone,
Building little altars by the side of the road.

~ lyrics by Carrie Newcomer, from "Writing You a Letter" on the album A Permeable Life

This music, the music of Carrie Newcomer - the mystery and metaphor softly embedded within each song - continues to support me as I edge closer to finishing my latest book, which is a reflection upon my relationship with the Sonoran Desert.

Softness Sings

The gentle kiss of winter rain in the desert feels as if Softness woke up and decided to sing a lullaby. 

Drinking my chai outside with the rain falling is bliss. The pitter-patter on the patio is sweet music to my ears. I hear Gene Kelly’s voice “singing in the rain” and I listen to the rhythm of the raindrops so that my voice can join the water-song that is nourishing the earth and me. The rain makes our sidewalks slippery so I walk on the gravel instead, feeling it give slightly beneath my weight. The dogs don’t approve of the squishy ground that causes the small rocks to shift, but I do — I approve of all that is rain-associated in the desert.

An exquisite milky-gray mist hovers thickly upon the nearby mountain reaching nearly to its base, gradually thinning as more rain falls, emptying itself upon the slopes where droplets find old cracked-earth pathways to travel down. Will it rain all day? It might! This is a steady, gentle effort, not the torrents of monsoon. Both are welcome and needed, each in their own way, to nourish the variety of plants accustomed to different cycles. 

There is no wind with this rain so it maintains its distance, soaking the circumference of the patio that is open to north and west, but not wetting the interior where I sit with pad and books and Widget curled up invisible beneath my poncho and buffered against the cool sixty degrees that is too chilly for his Chihuahuan nature. 

The birds chat periodically from their hideaways in the mature lemon and sumac trees; I don’t know the birds’ names, nor can I match voices with individuals, but I invite their conversation with a smile and a tilt of my head so that my stronger right ear can listen. They don’t seem to mind my eavesdropping. The former thick mist on the mountain has now become a wispy veil dancing its sultry art. Raindrops are smaller but remain steadfast in their devotional offering. Is it bad that I don’t yet know my feathered neighbors by name? Or is it acceptable to simply love and appreciate them when the visit?

Red Desert

As I continue seeking a deeper understanding of not only the Sonoran Desert, but of myself in relation to the element of fire and of desert in its larger meaning and presentation, the book Red: Passion and Patience in the Desert by Terry Tempest Williams, though grounded in her multi-generational heritage among the rocky canyons of southwest Utah, provides perspective and inspires me to greater courage.

Different parts of our vast United States evoke varied considerations, and Williams' book brings forth an honoring of and reflection upon Mother Earth's diversity. One that stimulates us not to see our planet just for what we can get from it physically -- food and water -- but how our soul is nourished in unexpected ways through its fierce wildness as well.

"As the world becomes more crowded and corroded by consumption and capitalism, this landscape of minimalism will take on greater significance, reminding us through its blood red grandeur just how essential wild country is to our psychology, how precious the desert is to the soul of America."

I remember driving through Zion National Park on vacation with my parents forty years ago, and I can still recall the awe with which we viewed the red rocks. I will visit this place again.

"There is a resonance of humility that has evolved with the earth. It is best retrieved in solitude amidst the stillness of days in the desert."

I am looking forward to winter so that I can gather my courage and walk alone into the desert of West Saguaro National Park. I want to be within the desert, in solitude and silence, and hear a different voice, feel a rhythm unfamiliar.

"I believe we need wilderness in order to be more complete human beings, to not be fearful of the animals that we are … "

Tucson

Blooming Cholla

The many varieties of Cholla are blooming, as is the Ocotillo, and the Prickly Pear is just starting. Along with myriad other plants, these desert survivors continue to blossom and thrive, which is still amazing to me since we haven't received any rain in weeks. As I walked through the desert, splashes of bright color met me in every direction.

Don't the Ocotillo flowers look like birds?

Red Flowers on Cholla Cactus

Cholla, Ocotillo and a young Saguaro

Yellow Flowers on Cholla Cactus

I don't know what this bush is but it's everywhere!

The Bottlebrush tree in our yard, in full bloom!

Starting to Show

Abundance of flowers just starting to show, to burst out.

Vital, yellow, green ... stamens extending far beyond the petals

and waggling in the wind

shaking with the barest hint of air upon them

profuse and prominent.

Not only does this agave produce

phallic symbol extraordinaire,

the thousands of blossoms shoot forth boldly

like a rush of sperm all striving to survive.

The agave says in its awareness of the

union of sacred masculine and divine feminine energies ...

"Before I die, I am going to sow everything I've got,

producing seeds galore.

For years I've lived a steady life, growing, expanding, building, patient, nurturing.

Now, as I near death, now is the time to give back in profusion.

I feel the need to produce as many seeds of wisdom as possible, 

to spread myself around, to move and be transported elsewhere, everywhere,

my seeds going wherever there is the potential for growth."

Of Oranges and Agave

The oranges continue to drop 

-- thud! plop! -- 

upon the ground, 

some from over-ripening 

and others assisted in the descent 

by a hungry woodpecker poking holes. 

There's one with a hole!

The woodpeckers also fly

from one agave stalk to the other,

pecking away

(alas, I didn't get any photos of the birds).

Merely two weeks ago, 

the agave were barely awake and stretching.

But, the multicolored poles of agave 

are shooting up fast in their race to touch the sun. 

The leader is currently well over six feet tall 

and none of them are giving any hints 

as to how high they intend to reach. 

Spiky spindles 

expand and contract; 

I can almost hear them 

breathing and growing 

at impressive speed. 

Because I don't know what kind of agave live in our yard,
everything they do is a beautiful surprise!

drink from the cup we swim within

Unable to stay away from the pitter patter of rain upon stone and tree and seat cushions who soak up the liquid jewels falling from the sky that earlier looked so menacing and now is opaque and comforting. 

Pouring into my heart more compassion long awaited, the knowing that is so familiar it makes my heart ache within an expanding chest, ribs flexing and softening as the rain fills my marrow with red delight. 

The patio is broad enough to allow my presence in dryness while I marvel at the abundant source of life. 

It comes from above! 

Raining down and bubbling up and puddling among the dense earth as it seeks a crack here, a nook there, for in the desert, finding a way deeper into the earth is a challenge, the soil like concrete, hardened by extremes of heat and arid breath like being baked in a kiln that is hundreds of miles in jagged circumference. 

But the rain fills the once-fired pot, even large as it is, and we drink from the precious cup that we swim within.

The cool breath of winter returns for a few minutes to remind me of the transitional seasonal swayings of She who dances among the cosmos and into the world She descends, dancing her tap shoes in the raindrops of love, and leaping across the sky, a graceful arc wherein She is the ballerina of heaven, and I can hear be-bop around the corner as the rhythm changes. 

I participate in her sock-hop where the gym becomes my back yard, and the girls’ full skirts are the dancing orange leaves twirling, held on strong stems of escorts that don’t want to let go, they hold hands and feel the beat of Goddess drums among the clouds, hidden yet heard.

Her message alternates between soothing dulcet whispers of cave-doves and the rambunctious trilling of the birds huddled within the protective branches of a creosote releasing its malodorous perfume into the moisture-laden air to remind me if I close my eyes that what sounds like a pine forest is definitely not.

My nose starts to drip like the tip of the agave frond already sharpened by heat and then frost, burned and withered and limp at the end of a magnificent sword leaf with razor edges in pastel shades that soothe like the gel of its sister aloe.

I shiver as a chill finds its way beneath the itchy gray wool of my poncho, creeping up my spine to flick the invisible hairs at the nape of my neck. 

Seems like all I can do is be here and relax, feel Her presence, and return to the space of being and writing. Bliss. 

To land in my familiar world of ink and paper, in flowing thought that echoes the bird haw-hawing on the nearby tree. 

Chirps and haws, flaps of wings. Do they know I’m here? 

Huddled in the only dry corner, a small space of witness to the world being plundered and saturated as She empties Her buckets into the board expansive cauldron of life; in spring, the mountains will erupt in a profusion of wildflowers, grateful for winter rains, storing the liquid gems in roots and underground pockets of rocky cisterns.

Breathing deeply, I feel the moisture on nose hair and delicate membranes that swell like a sponge to embrace the precious water floating in the air. 

At the top of the inhale, I pause and savor the cool refreshing moisture. 

All above is gray, all below is brown, yet the leaves already seem more vibrant and the totem pole cactus reveals a slick sheen upon its naked bumps as if polished to go to a dance forgetting its already here.

The clouds hover low among the mountains creating mystery and magic, hiding what is normally so apparent as it wraps the hard edges in pale felt scarves without color yet exuding a plethora of joy. 

Can joy be colorless? 

Can it dance the Divine without a rainbow shawl? 

Muted love is falling around us like the graceful gospel of Her melody playing around the elemental harp that is a desert’s guise. 

See Her eyes? There among the drifting spirals of mist, just above the veil of giggling song are Her orbs of granite and green. 

See Her smile as She releases the veil and all of Her charms are revealed; She will soon dance naked among the stars and desert cholla, jumping and resting, sublime in Her expressions of extreme. 

Fall-ing

Feliz Paseos Park

Yesterday I spent several hours walking the trails of Feliz Paseos Park, immersed in nature, joyful and at peace (and, yes, the sky really was that blue!). Yet this is not the fall season I’m used to; it remains unfamiliar with its own mysterious changes and colors ... bronze mountains deepen into solidity, red rocks sharpen, burnished copper leaves reveal themselves upon plants I don’t recognize, cacti seem to suck their reserves in tight, and balls of fluffy seeds seem anxious for a strong gust of liberating wind. Then, in contrast, this morning I fall into a memorial day-dream of autumnal familiarity rooted in decades of northern cycles ... 

      Molasses running through my veins, slow and rich, thick and dark, smelling of long walks deep in the woods where magic happens with every foot that is raised upon the path of knowing and the air dances in meditation upon the belly of joy and wonder as I ease into each moment glowing from within, shades of amber and pitch flowing in oozing alternation, warming in gentle waves. 

     The padded loam of un-tilled soil cushions my steps while It twinkles the winks of earthworms creating abundant life hidden from view by those unaware but I see their mystery as I stare down below and praise their gifts wherever I go. Inhaling the purple decay of leaves once in flight, now grounded in transition. I am happily lost, wandering among memories for a moment. 

     The dark chocolate depths of the forest flood me with sweet tasting peace, the pine trees bless me with a light rain of pointed confetti falling upon cheek and tangling in hair, the last of autumn leaves cling quivering upon stark bones the color of dreaming. Dark chocolate bites into my skin as a limb reaches out further than I thought, distance a deception here in the woods where we are all equally capable of witnessing change and sensation. Alternating patterns as the earthy cakes of heaven are made, a shake of cinnamon with a rusty tingle, a pinch of granulated sugar is the crunch of tan leaves fallen and disintegrating beneath feet wishing they were bare.

Feliz Paseos Park

     Fall that heralds the winter ... the delectable slowing where we can be most at home, the welcoming slumber of lengthening night and the cool bright days that sharpen our delight. The softening of crisp apples grown in the sun and baked in the heat of a dark oven until their juice thickens and flows with an exquisite concentration of nectar, melting without effort in eager open mouths. 

     Intensity abates and relaxation becomes a resting place deep within that is mirrored in nature and vice versa. Don’t struggle against the creamy dark chocolate that overlays the rainbow skittles, for each has its place, and soon enough the wheel shall turn into stimulation of seeds that become a new growth of life-sustaining offerings. 

     I let myself fall, face forward into the bed of leaves and needles that permeate my senses, begin to sink, to disappear, my skin wrinkles and shrinks, losing vibrancy and flexibility, disintegrating into the welcoming leaves beneath me as more glide onto my back, covering me like a patchwork quilt. I breathe in the verdant pine still humming within the fading shells and resonance rises up through my nose where tendrils of aromatic bliss wind into brain and mind before expanding downward through all my channels, spreading peace and release. The full moon smiles Her love as I become shadow, then scatter to and fro, my form no more. I sleep and am a vapor that lifts to touch the white face of the Divine then drifts down once more sinking into the Sacred, and I am simply One ... breathing.

Tucson Mountain Park

_______________

[“dark chocolate” was today's ClarityWorks writing prompt; I had already written the first two paragraphs upon waking so when I saw the prompt, it fed another stream into the existing river of expression already flowing]

A Simple Sip

Drink from the flowering chalice of gold, 

never to die and never grow old,

for sunshine and light are always here,

only our form may fade ... disappear.

So sip from the cup of awakening Soul,

feeling the warmth in which we are Whole.

     She opens her arms and offers all she is, ever allowing and loving, accepting the journey for what it will be and knowing the warmth of love will soften and gentle the rigid contours of the resistance that fell from the sky when we thought we had to protect ourselves.

     As the five yellow petals cup her warmth, they welcome us into the center where orange overlay is sweet as marmalade and hold us softly. There are no other concerns, only the love that rests at the center, warm with welcome and the wrinkles in the petals like tissue paper that tear easily. 

     Easily uprooted by the winds and carried somewhere unexpected yet the sun emerges after the rain and the roots seek new soil, delicate thread tendrils winding through the rock with soft caress and they settle to bloom again, one at a time; some tiny, some larger, yet so similar are they really different sizes or is it illusion?

     Much green upholds the slender stem that attaches to the blossom tentatively. Lots of tiny leaves line themselves up along the stronger stems in graduating narrow ovals, barely allowing any distance between them, they are a strong community, joined together to nourish and uphold the light of wisdom and the birth of warm embrace to those who seek the sweet nectar of awakening.

     The petal-cup curves with gentle touch, firm at first as if to catch the morning dew but only receives the rare raindrop for dew is unknown here. And yet, she breathes in and out a whisper of faith. Her time is now and she cannot wait for the water that may not arrive, she has to dance now for now is all she has.

     A dainty chalice warm with welcome. Petals of gold rays of sunshine melted and molded into the flower of the sun.

     Petals of gold, a sunshine mold, made from peace, our heart to hold. 

     Leaves of green that overlay while they grow and play in the shadow of the sun, unborn yet One.

     Feel the warmth of changing world within the flower the anther twirls, dancing on the curving stage where none can harm and there is no age. For only now is what we know, when dancing in the bloom that shows us how to be warm with welcome in the lee of wind and rock and burning sun ... warming, holding, all are One.

     A ladder do the leaves begin, overlaid long and thin, graduating as they grow into the branch of all we know, one lesson learned upon the other, family, friends, commune together. Watch the little figures grow, expanding with a gentle flow of green distinctive edges showing, yet reliant upon the one defiant. All together, they are stronger and can support the culmination of their life as One that rises high on slender stem to catch the eye, a vision splendid only dreamed and come to life. 

     A magic in this little flower, living, dying, within a few short hours. To be here, now, to rise and fall, as the fragile tissue paper petals dry and thin and tear becoming ragged and then shriveling into a papery shell of what it once was, to fall into dirt or fly upon the wind carrying it seeds, its message far away and await its turn to warmly welcome once again within the natural flow in faith.

Desert Rain

Heavy falling

pouring rain on

hard packed soil

where puddles form

and flash-floods manifest

quick as a wink . . . 

     This is the desert within the contrast of sudden rain and stunning in its sense of sublime urgency and ecstatic connection to the flowing source of life.
     Walking a desert path, cool in the early morning air, with water trickling along the rocky definitions and sandy rivulets, toes wet and gritty.
     Most of the animals up and about, sniffing the air, and some are restless with the invigorating watery abundance so rare and precious.
     The air smells odd, so different from the rainy days in Maine with its overtones of grass and humus and blossoms of some kind somewhere exuding a rich, thick scent. Here, the air smells of dust raised by droplets hitting a dry pavement of soil, and aroma of a release of scents from a surface where all had lain dormant for such a long time in waiting; it smells of the past.
     Riparian exhibits now almost overwhelming in the cloying scent of water life maintained but now bursting with the extra moisture.

     Mountain lion and bobcat are roaming their large enclosures, climbing up and down the rocky paths, noses lifted up, sometimes breathing through open mouths to test the scents with unique organs catching even more subtle scents.
     I enjoy being with them, walking the paths in the stopping/starting rainfall, my clothes soaked, hat brim bending while water gathers on it and drops through the tiny holes of tightly woven straw. Pause under a tree during a particularly heavy fall, chilling skin reveals goosebumps from the cold drops, then walking again, allowing the air to dry me.

     The Javelina had "bolted for shelter" at one sudden deluge, the keeper said, as she now hurried to let them out again. Their coarse hair all spiky, the interesting not-pigs-though-they-look-like-them-at-first-glance quickly trot into the open space for fruit and vegetables left behind moments earlier.
     I feel conflicting emotions of gratitude to be with and witness some of the amazing creatures of the desert, living in as natural a habitat as possible, and that of sadness to see them confined and 'kept' rather than running free.
     And yet, I feel an honesty to the purpose of this place -- the desire to help people experience the wonders of life in the desert in order to inspire a desire to save our desert, our natural wonders, to admire and appreciate all the creatures who live here . . . to save 'the wilds' and figure out how to co-exist for the benefit of both human and wildlife. This place engenders a different sense than most 'zoos' I've been to (and to which I have a hard time going anymore). I feel a respect and a dedication emanating from this place, and from the people who work here -- the majority of whom are volunteers, not paid employees. In our ignorance and greed, so much of our Mother Earth has been and is being destroyed. This place is an effort to bring awareness to the forefront; to experience moments with flora and fauna who are incredible survivors is inspiring. If they can adapt to such an extreme environment--and thrive here--couldn't we all adapt to peaceful co-existence and co-thriving?

     "The mission of the Arizona-Sonora Desert Museum is to inspire people to live in harmony with the natural world by fostering love, appreciation and understanding of the Sonoran Desert." 

_______________
This is where Ron and I spent our holiday morning, as I purchased an annual membership and we walked for hours delighting in the animals, the plants, and the glorious cool temperature brought by the monsoon rains. I know that I will spend many more hours here, especially in the winter, since we live a mere 15 minutes' drive away. The Arizona-Sonora Desert Museum is celebrating its 60th Birthday as a unique interpretative museum, zoo and botanical garden. (P.S. Sorry for the poor photo quality; digital zoom just isn't that great!)

Experiences

My 16-yr-old niece Kenzie and her new  boyfriend;
he's stable and reliable. She met him at
Colossal Cave, AZ.

Love the 'dreadlocks' on the Saguaro at
Arizona-Sonora Desert Museum.

Mount Lemmon, with Tucson to the left and way below.

Mom and Kenzie in Sedona, AZ.

Kenzie at Grand Canyon.

The road to Jerome, AZ.
We survived the 158 curves in 12 miles!

Tuzigoot National Monument, AZ, with the
Verde River valley.

Kenzie at Montezuma Castle, AZ

On our way home, between Phoenix and Tucson, got caught
in the first significant dust storm of the Monsoon season.

My family was visiting for two weeks so we had a full house! Air mattresses are a great invention. The first week, we hosted Mom, my brother David, and nieces McKenzie (16) and McKayla (12). Then, took David and Kayla to the airport as they had commitments back in Missouri, while, during the second week, Mom, Kenzie and I took off for sightseeing up north. We didn't get to Sunset Crater or Wupatki ruins; maybe next time. Dear hubby Ron stayed home and took care of the dogs and cats. :-)

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

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. 

Warm Winter's Light

Sunshine and warmth in winter.
How truly wonderful this alternate environment is.
Delicious in its tastes of sun-tea, 
brown-sugar soil, 
blue-corn skies 
and rays of golden sun warming my exposed toes.
I love not wearing any shoes ... 
this is the place to do it nearly year-round!


The concrete walls surround me in the back yard, 
as they delineate yards everywhere,
yet I see the open sky, 
hear the birds, 
watch the mesquite that hangs 
gently moving over our border, 
a bee hurries by intently, 
and I adjust to the beautiful starkness here 
so different from our former home in Maine--
surroundings even in dramatic contrast 
to the vegetation and landscape of nearby Tucson.


When walking down the long paved road yesterday with the dogs, 
who trotted along on their short legs 
sniffing the air and watching everything in rapt fascination, 
I recalled words spoken before we moved here-- 
saying how I liked Nature to be all around on my walks, 
and then arriving to realize the seeming emptiness 
of this location divested of the abundance of Nature. 
Yet not really. The dogs know more...
What is "nature" after all? 
I see it/Her all around when my eyes were opened 
from within outward, 
the thin grasses, 
the stubborn mesquite, 
the resilient birds who sing in joy even here, 
the glimpse of the huge black-tail Jack, 
an occasional almost-spectral coyote crossing a road, 
and so much more spread out before me, 
stretching so very, very far 
without confinement of barrier tree lines 
or constantly rolling hills. 
Gravel and sand, minerals claiming their right to be here 
reflecting back the miners' supposed claims upon them. 
Always slightly squinting against sun glare 
in spite of dark spectacles, 
the tension of skin reacting with arid space,  
creating creases near the eyes more rapidly than in 
dimmer lit environs settled in mists and clouds and shadows 
more often than not. 
Nature is all around me here, 
She simply wears fewer decorations, 
less clothes upon Her gorgeous tanned body. 
I join Her in the delight of near-eternal sunbathing,
drenching my essence with light during the day. 


Yet at night, pull blankets overhead, 
snuggle into cocoons of warmth because 
as soon as the sun drops over the horizon and 
we tilt away from its glow...brrr... 
a match dropped down a deep well. 


I still marvel at the contrasts--
is it any wonder that I am like a kid in front of  candy store 
eagerly waiting for the door to open in the morning 
so that I can go satisfy my taste for that sweet sunlight? 
I step outside instead of inside. 
Out into a world of brightness and subtle gifts 
where nothing is ever taken for granted by 
Her indigenous people or the native beings who 
crawl, walk, hop, fly and grow. 

As I continue settling into the experience of 
living in this gorgeous-ugliness of desert survival--
over-grazed, over-farmed, abandoned when depleted 
of its meager precious topsoil by those who were greedy and oblivious--
accepting what is,
I smile more, 
I admire more,
I am deeply grateful for the opportunity to explore 
an exposed world along with my now-revealing-themselves 
depths previously unknown. 
There is an exquisite aura of vulnerability 
here where nothing is hidden. 

waiting not

infinity
never ending
life


catch a falling star and become one myself
worms crawl in and out yet all life continues
anything is possible


no point to fret over what we cannot control and cannot see--
I cannot see what lies behind the mind and actions of others,
all I see are my non-senses and perceptions
react and respond ... act


Take action in my own life instead of just waiting for what I think someone else ought to do--I could wait forever, spend my life waiting instead of acting with joy in each moment. This moment--what is it and what does it bring--what do I bring to it? Sunshine, dogs, chair, quiet, writing, walking, singing, healing, meditating, preparing food, honoring self and others. Kiss my loves. Love my life. All will be as it should. Yes?


Sun warming my back as I sit facing my shadow. Sun hat shading the page so I can see and the heat penetrating my cold spine, warming its stiffness into softness; like a flame warms the oil I feel the juices of my vertebrae, loosening, becoming more fluid allowing freer movement within self. Thick molasses becomes a syrup flowing easily from the heat and as other liquids join in, all flowing the same direction for now, dark and light together, sweet and bitter co-mingling, their perfect blend a blessing. Blending within, I feel the softening deepen and soak up the balance, the wisdom of accepting differences. 

Blessings of change to open my heart to see moments of peace. 


Not waiting, rather embracing living, being here and welcoming the tickle of the breeze on bare toes warming in the sunshine. See the white miniscule flaking of skin on the high arch of a foot that shimmers like silk stockings in the sunlight a surface that sheds and grows moment by moment, always changing. Light blue veins tracing patterns of life allowing movement. Action. Wiggle those same toes and feel the blessing of knowing they can follow a path from chair to porch. They act. They twitch and bend. They aren't waiting, they are doing whatever they can right now, even as I sit.


Dogs watching the gates, one over to that side and one here, fully present, they observe the actions going on around them--see a car drive past, watch the bird in the tree then fly away, listen to the neighborhood dogs bark without their people home. Are they learning who those other dogs are? Listen and respond. Reaction or action. No thought but inner-intelligence acting senses. See and walk, toward or away. Halt, tilt head. Listen again. 


A whole world exists in this single moment--no need to wait for the next one. Even in silence of self, so much going on elsewhere--choose to act or remain still.

Being here now,

we are not waiting.

We are living.

dark as coffee

Her skin was dark as coffee. 
She sat across the way, 
smiling with a serene glow that seemed to emanate 
from somewhere unknown, 
and her graceful limbs were relaxed, calm. 
From one moment to the next, 
I see her shimmer--
black Madonna, 
Mesquite tree, 
old bark as dark as coffee. 
Some would say there is no glow, 
they see only rough, dry, scaly trunk, 
yet shift perception and 
see the light from within for it is always there, 
the energy of Life that permeates everything around us, 
each element portraying its own essence 
shining through large or small. 
See 
the earth in Her feet, legs and torso, sturdy and obvious, 
the water She retains deep within that we can see by way 
of Her leafy green hair, slender to minimize evaporation, 
the fire in Her warm skin and limbs, 
the transformation of sunlight and Her vitality 
even in the hottest summer when She conserves resources, 
the air as She breathes and sways, 
Her movement a dance as She grows and fills the space around Her. 
Dark as coffee, she is chosen by the artist to create a tiny divine figure 
polished to a mahogany hue, 
the gentle curves become a woman, 
Her spirit shining through 
as the carver brings an image into form...Blessed Mother. 
She is holding the key to compassion 
that unlocks the door during the dark night of the soul. 
A dark night that may be a fleeting moment or a lifetime 
or are they one and the same? 
Who can know for sure within this illusory life we seem to live 
yet so much happens that we do not understand, 
our senses limit us within their reach and 
we can only guess through imagination and inner vision of Her Truth. 
Ebony and ivory, living side by side and peace formed 
through a symphony of rhythm and song 
that reaches beyond the limits of time and space. 
Our world orchestrated through our energies coming and going 
or pausing to listen when another is singing. 
Our world an incredible vibration of Life that soars and falls, 
flows and builds, transforms in immeasurable diversity. 
I am one and we are One. 
Same. 
Feeling the sadness of unknown origin flow through me 
without getting stuck because I see it, 
I feel the sticky fingers like a tree frog wanting to cling 
to the sides of the twisted tree that grows to survive 
yet allowing it to jump away--not stay--and then its life resumes 
and the twisted limbs become beautiful in their shapes of survival 
rather than frightened into a quagmire into which they could have fallen. 
The tree frog, out of its natural element, 
flies through the air for a moment without wings 
and glories in his freedom to sit in the sun on the rock, 
transforming into a lizard, basking, glowing, 
while the Mesquite nearby rests, 
crossing Her arms in a posture of peace, 
gleaming with inner wisdom, 
sharing shade in outer compassion, 
Her bark as dark as coffee.
_________
This was another writing prompt provided by Peggy Tabor Millin, ClarityWorks.

Flowering of the Desert

SoulCards(c) Deborah Koff-Chapin

Flowering ... Blooming ... Consciously opening to Self. 


I feel energies swirling into my center where growth culminates in flowering. A spiral brings me in and I feel my petals unfold, the bud becoming glorious in its manifestation of a single moment of perfection that radiates forever, vibrating into the universal consciousness.


Flowering in the desert, each grain of earth, each drop of water, each multifaceted mineral of existence essential to the flowering. I draw from beneath and within, my energies rising to this pinnacle; to experience and embrace my opening to a new day, beginning what may be one day or many. 


Opening ... Unfolding ... 


Across the sands of time, my velvet petals quiver in delight at the view of majestic mountains where waters rush and flow abundantly, where trees are ancient guardians who write the lines of life within their very hearts recording transition and transformation in the Now, where animals roam among the greening and also endure the alternating scarcity of the darkness when She descends. 


I stretch my arms, the green leaves holding drops of surviving moisture within and beneath, hidden, and I stand tall, bold, vigorous, for this is my moment to bloom! I arch to meet the sky, soothing blue balm carrying the air I breathe. Inhale. Exhale. 

And I am present, here and now.

Flowering / Puspavat