The Harmony Within

For Rebecca

I wake up to layers of myself
emerging. A queen accepting

her just accolade, a wriggling
puppy ecstatic to be seen.

Shimmying in with a spangled
skirt and belly-dancer allure.

Wise and sexy, strong and smart.
Yesterday I created space

for each of them–of us–scanning
with a healer’s precision.

I interviewed an epic stream
of heroes demanding a sword,

a class, this daily practice and that
ritual. In one fell stroke, obliterating

my indecision of last week,
when a dearth of possibilities

convinced me to give up.
(Trauma’s brilliant way of

saying, hey.) And so I make
the call.  I ask for help loud

and proud. I just can’t solve
this one alone, under the heavy

blocks I finally feel. That weight
compelling me: run faster,

work harder, hellbent to ignore
the feeling that there’s not enough.

I’m not enough. I trace it
down to its base, the fear

it roots in. Nothing to do,
only to be aware. Allowing what

I could never digest in the past
to rumble into my listening.

Being present to the drumbeat
as the notes manifest.

I listen to the conductor until
with heart, I play my part.

Inspired by: Epic, Indecision, Dearth and Help.


The Horses Beggars Ride

These wishes for my children, I propose:

a calm lake ringed by ancient trees, 

mornings to unfold slow as a 

spectacular rose.  Clean air and 

the chance to inhale that sweetness

like a prayer or a song,

deliberate and strong.  Saying

a firm no when required to

sacrifice, demanding a delay

when urged to choose.

Moving from the heart’s

clear intention free-

way despite the mindless chatter.

Knowing the matter

from the space, the light

leading from dark places

—the ones to explore

weathering seasons to approach 

each exquisite opened door.

Inspired by:  Delay, Rose, Inhale and Sacrifice.

Essential Ingredient

If there is something in nature you don’t understand, odds are it makes sense in a deeper way that is beyond your understanding.

If you see fraud and don’t shout fraud, you are a fraud.~ Nassim Nicholas Taleb

Under a quivery yellow

tulipifera—in this breeze,
lit by a sunbeam right before

the rain comes. Who can hear secrets?
What is the sound of a thousand

trembling leaves? A stage whisper
reaching into the receptive

cells that vibrate living. Can we
recognize the song cascading

past the stained-glass windows? In the
fastness, pious people kneel eyes

closed before their almighty white
patriarch, chanting, gulled and farmed

for their subservient tithing
to the very ones who kill the

sacred mother, dispossessed of
even her holy spirit. Saved

by random unrecognized
movers like this impossible

black swan, unpredictable
catastrophic consequences,

slipping into our collective
shadows unclaimed and unnamed—

look, just there in the blink
between dreams and soft waking.

There is no other place to go.
There is no better song than yours,

issuing right now off-key and
fun, original lilting you.

Written prompted by: Almighty, Original, Kneel and Farm.

Oak Blessing


Shouldn’t my trauma be healed
by now, life on an even keel,

the wise untriggered matriarch,
deflecting your projections?

These arrows pierce a truckler child.
Cowering and shamed, open me

in this container, delving
ever deeper with you until

our dark resonance shifts us.
No one ever modeled an

evolutionary path, but
I see bitterness’ aftermath.

Prejudice calcifies bones.
My elders, shattered, demand

stiff drinks and little blue pills.
Donning the masks society

prescribes. Turning, I swear to mine
my depths, even if it hurts.

Never anticipating
this excruciating stratum.


I stand here, rooted by this
ancient oak, both of us damp

from tears or mist in this breeze.
A sudden sunbeam illumes

old scars and painful mem’ries—
ah, what I’ve lost. Still vowing

to sustain this heartsight, reveal
my tears and terror again and

again, each fractal of distress
moving my mighty limbs and yours

as we expand in our power.
I see now there is no end:

unremitting shifting as light
filters through shadowed branches,

touching what we have exposed,
tenderly or else

a burning blaze of these
dark places. You hold me, dear

knowing bubbles of
trapped joy rise up, released

my head held high, I
celebrate my shame.

Inspired by: Sustain, Mist and Breeze and this 400+ year old oak tree.


Become Lucid

Be true to what’s real, become lucid about how your life is actually being experienced.~ Caitlin Johnstone

I’ve been running from my feelings,
denying–it’s all good–even though

before me, skeletons curve inward,
stature lost, bones crumbling as they

protect the shame, the guilt,
gratuitous lies like sticky webs.

So sneaky, imperceptible
with this narrative of power

—you can never break free,
not even in the darkest night.

Today a slap in the face,
a shot in the dark, a call

from the ethers, just as I
sashay into the day

light and I’m plunging
into the storm of withheld

unexperienced emotions. That
raging current will surely

drag me under.
Under, the place I surely need

to be, dragged from this
rage that sneaks out into

my stinkeye and my cutting
snark.  I thought I’d hidden

that volcano, puzzled as I watch
you cringe, singed, edging away.

I catch myself curling inward
with a fetal fold.  When will I

dare to stand proud, face instead
every shameful deed, welling up now

into the light as I slow for all
the detestable pieces of me?

Inspired by: Night, Sashay and Gratuitous.

Beyond Our Ken

What do we toss aside as interesting but largely meaningless incongruities? ~ David McGowan

How do we stay awake, moments
and days choked by the woven

pattern which tempts us
to dream? We ignore strong

clues–coincidental anomalies–
for that comfortable snooze.

When I told my doctor that
I healed my fatal illness,

he never asked me how.
He called me noncompliant,

told me never to return.
I bounced past the ashen

patients in his waiting room.
Magic pills destroying them

(I tossed mine away and my
data left the mainstream so busy

counting cadavers.) Yesterday
my grandson stopped midplay,

running to cling to my legs.
Ghosts had claimed the room,

he needed me to sort it out
with my eclectic skills. I praise

the ancestors, investigate the
shadows. Openings at every step

if only we dare to be
present in this uncanny world.

Inspired by: Tempt, Dream and Eclectic.

Absolutely Wrong

Everything, nothing, always
and never–the absolutes have

crowded in. We squeeze into the
corners, cowed by crushed expectance–

where is my happily ever
promised, damn it, so unfair.

Our feet are mired–drips over
decades seep into our very

ground. What I dislike sprouts, deep-
rooted despite this daily flood

tide. And all the seeds we say we
treasure sail down the current:

hope, understanding, compassion
uprooted in this storm. We trust

this shallow surface now revealed,
a gleaming veneer over our

anger and outrage, pain layered
over what lurks eclipsing love.

We orbit around pure nameless
fear, the agonizing heartbreak

a sad refrain we cling to,
spinning through space, the musical

composition of our precise
choreographed lives. I surrender

submerge into this torrent, a
wild ride, terrified that you and

I can harm each other
in this muddled dream.

Inspired by: Orbit, Trust and Dislike.