Cope with Hope

If you’re seeing a mountain of disparate and conflicting information about which you can’t form a single unified narrative right now, that’s okay. That’s what we’re all seeing.~Caitlin Johnstone

Dawn’s sleepless hour, a storm
and I rise to cook while there’s power.
Sunrise reveals feathered pairs plot
ways to sandwich nests among the riprap,
squat to plan which escape their babes
might take. The mowing crews will bring
heartache–if you believe as I do
that life wants to live–you
vanquish the fantasy of control
a tranquil shore where humans never
go, immersed in screens of fear
or pacing with leashed dogs
on the tarmacadam road adhering
to austere demands. Am I a ninny
longing for hugs? A show of hands,
remember when we traded germs
quite freely? Abnormal now confirms
this is a war and my body
is the battlefield, and I must yield.
Even when they don’t have a clue,
I must be used, tossed like a test
(will I protest?) I do not know.
I’ll say it loud. And yet I love
and I am proud to live in connected
respect. I reject this abject
fear and misery. I’m here to question
every single thing you’re telling me.
I’m free to loosen my creativity.
So I rise up. It’s spring.
It’s time to plant new living things.

Soundcloud recording here.

Inspired by: Ninny, Fantasy, Vanquish and Sandwich.

Also by Charles Eisenstein’s thoughtful essay about what’s going on right now, The Coronation.

Song for the duped

In our view a full-blown
psy-op—what a beaut!

Turns out, who knew,
we’re all afraid of death

by virus (at least that’s
the line they’re feeding us)

the usual suspects fumble it’s clear
they aren’t the masterminds

W.H.O. here could claim
the C.I.A.’s hand is anything

to blame Pompeo gleeful
with evil plans to kill

civilians starving them slow.
Hunker down inside even though

you all want to riot. Be quiet!
Follow the money, not the fairytales

(they’ve chanted this one before.)
Makes you gasp with dismay

when the Federal Reserve just adds
a bunch of zeroes. Hey!

They’ve got the world entranced
with that groovy money dance.

We’re all convinced. It all makes sense!
We binge on Hulu and Netflix.

The budget for the Pentagon is insane,
ominous lines of bases in range.

We’re complicit, dammit.
The true fear: standing up

speaking clear. How dare you
say this will take generations

to pay? Give me my money back,
you bitch. (I’m with Ben Folds

on this.) We gotta pull down
the satellites, ditch 5G.

The rain forests gotta be replanted
heal the lungs of our planet.

Are you up for this?

Control of the globe
the urgent shift

we’re birthing it
don’t look away.

I’m right beside you.
Stay.

Soundcloud recording here.

Written for the Stream of Consciousness Saturday prompt “beside you.” Write about whatever is beside you when you read this prompt. Which is interesting, because this political blast was ten lines long when I stopped writing it, and thought, glad you got that off your chest.  Remember, you wanna put love and care into our sacred space. Be nice. Look at the SOCS prompt and write something…and then this specific prompt asked for what is precisely beside me and seemed to say, you do you, gurl.  

Oh, and inspired by Ben Folds’ classic, Song For The Dumped

So this is love

Invisible footprints sizzle.
Intentions magnetize a trace
of you impalpable and pure
magic. Charmed I slow
my pace. Disarmed
and vulnerable at last.
Spring tendrils
curling past
my now implacable uprising
beyond my senses
gentle surprising real
love-song crystals
spilling into sacred space.

Inspired by the dversepoet prompt 100: a quadrille (44 words) celebrating magic and love and spring.  And the power of shifting the narrative.

Featured image credit.

With intention, we align

my

understanding

deepens

daily

loving

everyone.

each

life

deserves

devoted

united

mindfulness.

Sammi Cox’s weekend challenge is to use “Muddle” to create a post with exactly 16 words.  Blessing and aloha!  When scarcity and confusion seem to reign, we can give each other breath and presence and sort out the muddle.  

Featured photo by PosterJackCanada.

 

My Voice Creates

Be specific enough to go to the root.~Thomas Huebl

I’ve played this game before, the doctors scratching
heads bewildered, grab the constellation
of symptoms and a label, ratcheting
up the fear–there is no cure, but we
have drugs, and off we go, action-
packed, ready to do whatever it takes except
looking within to find the root.
We are compelled to make sense, to gather
disparate pieces and hide the dissonance
–we’ll call it vaping illness or I’ve got it
covid-19, use fear to isolate the willing
people. Don’t want to kill
your families? The only way is stay
away, like magic, primary resources
out of reach. How can you object?
Better safe than sorry. The economy’s
collapsed, we have a new war, this
mysterious virus that no one can test.
Our grief and agony leads to distraction.
Got any Netflix recs or can you share
your Hulu password? In reaction to
my pain contraction, triggered by the
rigged disinformation that passes
for elucidation, onslaught
I’m not buying in. Like the economy
I’m broke. Did I mention I’ve been
down this road before? It took me
years to ask for more,
to realize the doctors had no clue,
to understand I am compelled
bespelled, inquiry quelled
by my desire to be fixed
and make it quick. Go out for a pass
stay in the game, chasing power
and head-fakes, what cannot be tackled
outside. What we resist persists.
Now is the opportunity we’re granted
to turn our attention, we’ve ranted
and raged against the machine
listed all the overhauls we need
when all the while the symphony
embracing humanity’s plight
with sheer delight. Listen:
we laugh we scream we live
we die we breathe we choke
we dance we scheme.
Pull the curtain, now the wizard
is exposed, we know
deep in our hearts
this is no dream.
Wake up! Come into now.
Embody and allow
our shadows surprising
uprising, and we’ve this golden
chance to sit, welcome what is
if we can brave the waves
of fear we hold so dear.

Soundcloud recording here.

Written for Overhaul, Pass, Looking Within, Isolation and the Stream of Consciousness prompt Welcome.  Once again, the SOCS prompt never wants me to stop, leads me to places where my editing fingers plead, but that, my friends, is against the rules.  And we must all follow the rules.  

There is a free event today at 3:00 p.m. ET, a one-hour Zoom meeting with Thomas Huebl regarding the coronavirus.  You are warmly welcome to join me!

Ask The Horse

[They] “will continue to press every button we have…they will point us to our freedom every time.”~Byron Katie

Go right to the source and ask the horse.  Talk to Mr. Ed.~Jay Livingston

Why do robins usher in the dawn with songs
of cheer I hear even behind these sturdy walls?
Why do I call one body all my cells
who collaborate in this symphony?
Can I hear my own harmony?
How can I move into the macroscopic
view, reality askew? In the course
I offer to the world, we rhyme
outside of time. Today’s lesson taught
by blue sky fraught with stratocumulus
beings chasing across a horizon
busily steaming more and more.
What industrious chef bubbles these pots?
What is cooking? How does it feed me
now to ask? I could take our leaders
to task, blame their remote egregrious
greed. The sky reminds me to stay
open, salute the digression,
move back into question. Diving ducks
black and white have claimed the lake.
My mother says, for heaven’s sake.
Where is my power? Which place of wonder
allows me to flower? This spring
morning I inquire, step out of knowing
into this glorious change. Cirrus
wisps take the podium, custodians
whisking the stage. I stay
engaged and moving
into why, my heart at ease
powerless rage released.
There’s joy behind the fear,
relief. I wonder how
a sparrow hawk swoops past,
low and fast opens my now.

Soundcloud recording here.

Inspired by Remote, Lesson, Course, Collaborate.

In the fragile moments…

…love needs to run the show.~Thomas Huebl

Each factoid conflates and the
twittering ensues: a chirp of doubt
a caw of derision cues uneasy
flutters of the flock, buffleheads
suddenly alert. A silent bald
eagle swoops spiraling
a kick of panic, they rise
called to scatter, frantic.
It seems that things are breaking
away. The landscape shifts
earth shaking, heart aching.
Eerie, empty and the lap
of water here where I anchor
settle my electric nerves
though I may wish to fly
I find I’m rooted in relation.
How may I serve you?
Reactions seek ground. Out of
the box confined, away from
the flickering nervous screen
I bow before this glorious
life delightful flow
through me in ways
I cannot say. Silent now
leave the fray. Together
we will find a path
that’s kind. We go within.
Embrace the fear awaiting
I’m with you. In connection
we will hold a space
for what is true
emerging in our humble grace.

Soundcloud recording here.

Inspired by: Conflate, Delightful, Kick and Anchor.