Fog

‎"Writing is the act of burning through the fog in your mind. 

Don't carry the fog out on paper. 

Even if you are not sure of something, express it as though you know yourself. 

With this practice you eventually will."

~ Natalie Goldberg, Writing Down the Bones

Writing Prompt: "taking out the trash"

Looked across the way when 
taking out the trash and
saw silence
felt a darkness
in the windows of the house next door
where drawn curtains and smudged glass
hid more than they revealed
carefully crafted so that Light could neither escape or enter.


A wail rose in my throat
for the poor defenseless beings inside
where the trash never left but
grew and grew
becoming huge piles of refuse that 
molded and mildewed and
stank up the confined space.


Dark
the mushrooms grew
not the magic ones of 
childhood and forest and fairy circle but
those that poison and contaminate and
kill off all the Fire even when it tries to rise and shine.


Don't allow the crap to consume
to build up
to accumulate.
If no routine for taking out the trash then 
create one--
take it to the dump
or put it out by one handful each day
for Mother Earth to transform.


Not everyone is able to use a curb-side service
convenient though it is
for not everyone has reached that stage
and even then
sometimes too much is thrown out
good ideas with the bad
happy memories with the traumatic
because it's so easy.
Who wants to pick through the trash to find
what needs to stay or go?
Asking...
Maybe if I just toss it all then
my house will be clean?
Perhaps.
But then there is nothing to transform with/in
all the elements are mashed together like in a trash compactor and 
so tightly bound that we lose sight of
the True Me
for even the icky, sticky, gooey bits might be important--
salvageable
recyclable.
Can I re-use this hurt?
Can I learn from it and then share the lesson with someone else?
How can the trash become gold?


"One person's trash is another person's treasure."


So might it be with all this supposed
so-called 'trash'
that has piled up inside.
How to sift through it all?


Look at the house next door...
not next door at all but 
the mirror of my own home.
A reflection I stare at but
don't want to see because
who wants to look at the trash and
crap and stinking piles of refuse
that has accumulated?


Bring out a bull-dozer and just push it all into
one huge mountain of crumbling, thick, globs of
manure and decomposition but
that way none of it can be used again and
it's all gone and stagnating and 
pushed down deep
buried so far under the foundation 
that excavating could take years 
lifetimes even.


Okay.
Before throwing it in the trash
at least before taking out the trash
look, think, feel it out.
Can it be transformed
learned from 
reused
shared
and ultimately
put to good use
for a 
truly clean house?
___________________________
This writing prompt is a daily one compliments of Peggy Tabor Millin's Clarity Works. The day before this prompt, I had been contemplating and organizing my plans for offering holistic classes through the local wellness center in our new location; how to share, how to help, how to connect. I had fun with this particular day's writing practice where the words flowed so fast my pen could barely keep up, and provided so many ideas for sharing.

Being Begin

plucked from the ether and
dropped to the earth
to enjoy the blessings 
of precious rebirth
land on a soft bed of moss evergreen
while the wee folk cavort--merry, unseen
I land with a feather-light bump on Her belly 
and know from the first that we all will be well
captured by ravens that caw in the trees 
carried on wings that fly with the breeze 
soaring over desert and scaling the mountains 
to race with the dolphins and splash in the fountains
we are all One in this glorious world
ever creature that lives, every boy, every girl
jumping and shouting 
my heart full to the brim 
while adventures are calling 
me out on a whim
I join with the air as we sway to and fro 
among all the flowers that shimmer and glow
I join with the fire as the sun heats the sand 
and cook with the flames that are guided by hand
I join with the waters of vital resources 
that lovingly share without guilt or remorse
I join with the earth in magnificent splendor 
while walking or sitting in stillness...I wonder
where upon all of these joys do I pause 
and how to give thanks beyond all the causes
of heartache we bring to the innocents here
how do I help and wipe away tears 
of harm that have fallen through arrogant minds 
that see not and know not through eyes that are blind
all I can do is embrace Her wonders 
of life and love and beauteous thunder 
that crashes in storms amazing in power
Her strength that reduces our egos in each passing hour
we cannot come close to the glory She gives 
in all that Creation has brought here to live
even destruction is a need to transform 
and step back, I see Her love in this normal 
pattern of shifting, cleansing, renewal
She is our home and we are her fuel
we are a nutrient 
energies sent
to give of ourselves so that more may flourish
that is our calling to love and to nourish
each one of us has a capacity clear 
to share and grow with all far and near
listen to what Her voice is now saying
cannot we hear the path She is laying
before us strewn with emeralds, 
diamonds and stone
for all are as equals
none are alone
I feel her this morning singing within 
and laughing with me as I write with pink pen
to script what I hear falling rapidly down
to catch just a glimpse of what may be found
here on this paper a gift from the trees
who harness the breath for all of our needs
reflected within
being begin

Changing Smile

Road Trip.
My 'fix.'
Journey to the pines, the mountains, hours away.
Changing tapestry leads me on further and further; I could have continued for days.
Expanding vistas above and below, desert cactus giving way to grassy meadows in the high plains, as sharp sun eases into a pillow of clouds where at one point they create a rectangle around pale blue sky, like cotton balls stuck to an invisible frame of unknown origin.
And I drive.
Ahhh...
The pure bliss of motion and transforming landscape, windows down once the heat begins to abate, and I breathe in the enriched air of beloved pine boughs glistening and inviting
There.
Stop.

Barely planned, a spur-of-the-moment trip, clothes inadequate for traipsing through a narrow trail with tall weeds and thin grasses and bold branches reaching out to connect and caress my hair.
The boys and I find a rocky outcropping, we sit, blessed moist air inhaled upon a cool breeze, softening lung tissue, easing stress.
Droplets of rain fall upon parched skin.
Listen to Her familiar voice singing through babbling brook and chittering folk hiding from view while a lizard scurries over a near rock before quick doggy eyes glimpse the crouched form.
Green, deep and vibrant, glorious.

The Museum of Northern Arizona grounds--inside and out--are serene, and I enjoy meandering through the exhibits so beautifully presented with loving attention to every detail. I will return when I have more time to leisurely absorb the history, beauty, art and skills shared of the native people of northern Arizona. Their Spirit flows through the lines of thread and paint upon woven blankets and bowls, upon pottery, canvas and mural.

The dogs are waiting in the car parked in a shady spot, comfortable with the more than 30-degree cooler temperature, yet the four-hour drive home beckons in the mid-afternoon overcast with thunder clouds and sporadic rain that falls in clumps like Gaia is dropping it from cupped hands, a little here, more there, and then a pause...wait...before dipping Her hands into the eternally full well of blessings once more.

Odd how much I enjoy long drives when often I can barely get myself down the road to the grocery store until the cupboards are nearly bare. The call of the open road feels deeply ingrained within my very cells and, like a Gypsy, I adore the journey even without a destination ... maybe more when the not knowing where I will stop is pulling me onward.
The unknown mystery of Her changing smile.
What will Gaia be wearing when I get there?