Monday, November 25, 2013

rush


I need space.
A sky that is wide open with bare branch trees reaching towards blue.
I stand within this life, surrounded by stuff.
How did I get so many things?
I am living in a society that is on the edge of clutter. Something always within reach. And there is that  question, If I had to rush from my home, what would I take?
This question humming its way through a stream of constant thoughts and ideas.
There are the beloved books. Steady guards of word worlds holding the walls of this home together. Which in moments of - despair, clam, searching - I will reach for, blowing particles of dust into the air. I have surrounded myself with stories whispering to be herd. How can I give these up?
The stacks of journals, started when I was twelve.  Time scribbled together with dreams and fears.  These notations holding my life together some how. 
Then there are the precious things - a bird nest full of painted stones, art I have collected, the wedding album, a vase holding bird feathers, a plaster Buddha statue, a bowl shaped rock my father gave me as a child...
And still i would be rushing to the door - arms crowded, bags stuffed with so many things.
Yet...I think I could leave all this to the fire or flood or the greedy winds of a tornado or for some else to love in their own way. 
I am not saying this will be easy.  There will be grief in letting it all go.  But how often do we choose to let go of that which clings to us?  Where is this practiced in our own daily lives?  And when we have released all that we hold dear, what will be the first thing we pick up? The things we grasp in our hands and carry in our pocket, taking moments to feel it's shape along our finger tips. Because even in the natural world we seek and collect. Heart shaped stones, a confetti of flower petals, forked branches fallen to the ground.  What are we clinging to so fiercely?
I hope that when the times comes I can bare with the letting go.

Tuesday, November 12, 2013

Autumn's Darkness


Autumn
you temptress
dropping your garments
to the ground
in Holy, musty decay.
Shaking yourself open
bare
reaching
branches.
Sky tilted
blushing into night.

Humming with stars,
blinking dusk awake.
I am bare
here as well.
Frost in the leaves,
I settle in for this
Darkening.

 the wild mystics into the dark night 




Saturday, November 09, 2013

beginning in the waking

I don't know how to begin here. The words feel caught in my throat; they are stains on my fingers that won't seem to wash off.  I have been unearthing the past by opening this blog up again. What I have discovered is that I am picking up where I left off.  This cigar box full of my dreams, which I buried five years ago, are waking up inside me. Opening the lid I see familiar images that stir within myself a spark of hope. I breathe in the scent of old paint and devotional candles. This is where my true self has been slumbering in hazy hibernation all this time.

                            awaking to the glow February 2007

She is still awaking, sleep still in her vision. Clinging to anything soft and comforting, an old handmade blanket, a threadbare teddy bear with stuffing coming out of its paws, a thin pillow smelling of lavender and night sweat. She is trying to go back to sleep afraid that fear will stun her once again.  So my waking is slow. I am watching these dear dreams float into my heart once again on rays of sunlight between the drapes. I am stretching out of bed like my canine friends, shifting this soul that has been in deep well, remembering how to believe anew.

Yes, my voice is still trembling.

So I will begin here at a whisper.

I will begin right here.

Waking up late.