Money For Old Rope

The path to crisis is boulder-
strewn difficult. One must
strenuously avoid the
temptation to do nothing–
that is, they say, when evil
triumphs. Beware any
chance to sit in silence
clear the inner murmuration
of starling-thoughts flying
intricate patterns of karmic
misperceptions. Try and try
again! Do! Move like a murder
of crows as the tempest
feeds on your panicked
activity. Onward, to the
breaking point! Trouble looms
and brewers, we foment
with such good intent, and yet,
our trajectile initiates from
hate, the very rules we seek
to dismantle. This is more than
we can handle.

We set down
the old-world tools
curious, unsighted
to receive what now
has newly lighted.

Inspired by: Triumph, Crisis, Nothing, Temptation and this photo taken in 1890 of my great-great grandfather visiting his son in Colorado.  Do we carry the old ways in our genes, or do they carry us on a wave of preconceptions?

 

We In Tune

Feel the blessing of the ancestors
life living through the family

tree. And bless the trees, flowing
love and life and light. Outside

the boxes that hold us in the
desperate drive for cash–

breadcrumbs leading into darkness
where the masters keep us

vapid, blind, deafened
to each others’ cries–far

from these nightmares we call
reality, reciting obediently

schooled from our earliest days
when we only want to go

out and play, dancer answers
to the proper question:

Who are we? An outlawed
fungus clues. The teachings

I seized in my childish frantic fear
run me like clockwork and worse

guide my descendants. I can’t
hold any longer what chokes

my voice. What if 7.7 billion
people speak the truth?

I am here in sacred space
while the demolition begins.

Alert, awake during this new
gestation. Through the dust

and debris of the empire’s collapse
all the dark emotions rear

like panicked horses. The
dismantling goes deep.

I want to fight, to cling
to the disease I know,

dark entity holding sway
simply a house of cards

when my rising power
sings yours, beloved.

Inspired by: Entity, Vapid, Fungus and You Are A Song by Mirabai Ceiba.

Beggars Would Ride

The universe was literally spoken into being. Language, embodied in sound and light, not only affects, but effects the genesis of life. Go live your passion with all the joy, gratitude, love and laughter you can muster!~Sol Luckman

I slide open the doors and
blue feathers flash across water.

On the urban edge, another interrupted
heron breakfast. At my feet, a brown

spider’s carcass. When the birds disappear,
the ecosystem collapses.  We stir

uneasy, boxed in childhood fairytale
heroes and villains, easy duality

until a clear-eyed child points to
the strutting naked emperor.  How can we

reconcile the blatant evil–30 Afghan
farmers killed while sleeping, a king

receiving US troops to defend his
oil? The brutal empire tentacles

choke the vulnerable, while we
walk up hill and down to offer our

energy-fuel to this earth-destroying
machine. Complicit. Implicit. Illicit.

Manipulated to concur by a constant
stream of chaotic lies. Heads spinning,

which foe do we fight first? Hopeless
shoulders slump. The storytellers gloat

pretty falsities, sugared treats prepared
just for our refined palates. Addicted

to promises, the wishful silenced
by the indigestible. Hush now.

Sleep. The only way to change
the world is to wake and tell

a different story.
Seek and you shall

find, they used to say. Ask,
like any beggar, for a lift.

Inspired by: Laugh, Concur, Wishful and the old saying, if wishes were Horses, then beggars would ride.

Vanish In The Haze

There is a person on this planet
who celebrates the day we met

a decade later–so I placate
the night’s plaintive despair

of this world that gropes myopic
absent 60 billion bird eyes

sighting up high what we miss
down low. Here approaching

autumn, I mourn the passage
of what 50 years ago seemed

true. Filter the insistent
voices selling lies without

a qualm. During the day I can
wrap the ugly city-scape

with pretty music–no rap–to
transport me to preteen wilds.

But in the light of the moon’s
turning face, away, away, so

cold and distant, I lose my
footing and I find the path

lacks substance. Help me get
my feet back on the ground
.

The poisoned bodies and minds
lurk and lunge, directed by

flickering screens’ strident
promises of violent war.

Fear conquers. I’m tired
and even though there is

a person on the planet who
celebrates the day we met,

he’s far away and won’t you
please, please help me
?

Inspired by: Myopic, Autumn, Qualm, Placate and the Stream of Consciousness Saturday prompt Wrap/Rap, which means no editing!  And Help by John Lennon, Paul McCartney. I’m feeling down and I do appreciate you being round…

Feeling Gaia

I used to believe the brightest
child would be the winner

of the sporadic love that
I just missed, watching

and longing with the raw
open heart that brings me

here through time. I carry
that trauma to the lake

clear and still liquid clay
for the rain sculpting circles

in a sacred geometric
dance. I connect to the

deep earth ground and open
to solar brightness. One more being

holding space and breathing,
as earthlings do.

The morning is gray
and shimmering with unexplored

light. Four wood ducks sail
in pairs across the channel.

I am only alone when I say
it is so. Overwhelmed and still

I keep pushing into these
dark places that change me

into sleeping beauty, unable
just yet, to integrate

what I touch. Now,
I open my woman

heart, initiation into the
planetary pangs, love what is

beckoning, at peace with
what is hidden in this perfect

moment of pain and now
the pounding rain.

Inspired by: Initiation, Winner, Raw and Sporadic.

On The Couch

My enthusiasm to create a masterpiece
has dwindled to a languid float

down the lazy river, round and round,
just enough motion to deceive me.

Perhaps I really am going somewhere.
Today I break my fast even though

my system still teeters, imbalanced,
inflamed skin so ready to instruct me

if only I notice. Make a note
in my chart. This new moon in Virgo

changes everything. I step back
into the invisible waters and wash

away the fear so carefully programmed
into the interstitial spaces between my

cells. Step forward with intention
filling the emptiness now with love.

From the cliffs I strain to see
the mainstream cutting a deadly

popular chasm hurtling toward doom.
Nothing is as it seems. I let go

of these manmade possessions and my
true heritage appears, undulating under

the plastic bits of a thoughtless legacy,
greed and the incomprehensible notion

that we are separate and wanting.
This mighty song of infinity resonates

in each drop of dew. My neighbor’s bonfire
moves me indoors. Every act matters.

We touch each other’s fields whether
we notice or push by with insensitive

force. The air rings with our true
being. We wake and sing together.

We create wellness in this exact
moment of connection.

Inspired by: Popular, Masterpiece, Enthusiasm, Languid and Couch, the Stream of Consciousness Saturday prompt.

Opening in Rain

If humans are interconnected in such a way that one person’s awakening could be informing the rest of the species, then this could indicate that we are on track for a exponential awakening event of the kind that could transform us as a species overnight.~Caitlin Johnstone, The Humans Are Waking Up.

My roommates turn away from
the tristful morning, sighing over

the missing sun. I move to the
porch to repudiate the judgment,

not from some highfalutin
need to be right, it’s simply

great blue heron is watching
the wake where big bass

chased minnows to the surface.
I am conscious of wild

treasures, give thanks to hunted
and hunter, to watcher and

rain, slowing imperceptibly.
Snake glides in a vee across

the bay. Green heron perches
on the dock rails startling

nearly simultaneously as my
binoculared gaze touches.

Patches of fog dance dreamily
over the deep channels. I shift

from observer, ground myself,
sinking deep into the earth.

Dragon fire from the heartcore
pulses at the portal, awaiting

my express invite. Where you go,
mother, go I, inseparable,

your rooted daughter opening
now the door to the universe

flooding through my perception
of a skull. I give my breath

to this being
beyond grateful, holding wide

space beyond separation
that no longer serves.

Did it ever? Awareness spreads
something unknown leaps

and we all are touched
by the present ripples.

Inspired by Tristful, Highfalutin, Repudiate and Nearly. and this monthly meditation by Marko Pogacnik.

Quintessence

“We can not solve our problems with the same level of thinking that created them”
Albert Einstein

I no longer wish to improve,
tweak and fine-tune thinking.

Instead I show up graceless
and grass-less, a straight

newbie in the arising
consciousness. I’ve been house-

sitting though I’ll not own
another mortgage casket draining

every productive hour. Now
I pay to pray with trees

protected in parks or plea
private landowners to overlook

my dances in pristine gardens.
Each morning I dip into

the aether of our deep
connection, shyly cup

my hands into the flow
and pull up this dripping

mouthful. Sometimes I splash
my face. Sometimes I lick

each shattering droplet-
fractal of the spiraling

galaxies.  Leaking through
fingers into the page

of our intentions, we ink an
infinity loop of our hearts.

Inspired by: Wish, Improve, Newbie and Grass.

Letter From The Front

The incidence of déjà vu increases.
My favorite cinnamon replicated;

now the two nest side by side
in the cupboard. The weatherman

predicts sunny and clear and yet
fog has swallowed the lake.

Two dates with loved ones cancelled.
The insidious hint of death and

destruction tightens my chest.
I’m eating so if my well-

being depends on diet, how
fortuitous food is available still.

Someone is nearing the end
of life and for once I hope

it isn’t me. Finally peeling
back the layers of ignorance

forced by education and language,
the theft of my inheritance, the good

earth raped and pillaged, for sale and
all the money crying in cages of the

one percent–the catchy phrase we call
our masters lately. The propagandized

mind numb to the shadows.
I’m finally open to love, standing

to claim this darkness. The hoarders
seeped in greed surround me but

their narrative can’t resonate now.
Being well in the poisoned air

requires this deliberate, delicate
shift in the clear and present danger

of endless war on war,
just a horror story after all

to seize our waking dream.
I choose to sing instead.

Inspired by: Shadow, Fortuitous, Destruction and Well-being.

We’re Out Of Time

Will you recognize me? Call my name…rain keeps falling down, down, down.~Keith Forsey and Steve W. Schiff

When he leaves, he calls
goodbye, I’m never coming back.

So cute until the very next
visit is delayed and my

gut clenches. Another child once
sang, don’t you forget about me

into her video just weeks before
the crash that left her forever

young, this photo on the fridge.
This moment, are you here?

Karma used to be misguided
authority’s threat for good behavior,

or that godawful exhortation
act like a lady, for heaven’s sake.

Unpacking that cosmology still
like Mary Poppins’ spacious bag filled

with impossible things. All of it
leans me in to tell you:

I love you. Through all the constructs
of separation. We’re taught to

ride our emotions like bucking
broncos, determined to master

what simply flows. Stuck in the ring
proud agony, suffering refusal

to loosen the reins, the first step
out of time. On the lakeshore

with laden clouds, amassed and
weighing down the gray, featureless

sky, I let go even the waiting.
Here under pressure

saying at last
I do not know but

I care
with every vibrating cell.

Inspired by: Authority, Spacious, Lady and Karma.