“And these children that you spit on
as they try to change their worlds
are immune to your consultations
they’re quite aware of what they’re going through.” ~ David Bowie, Changes

So many people mired in independence
lashing out their projections
lost in an autonomy of separation.
It’s us versus them. To exclude is
the only safety. The fireworks erupt
when the silenced speak
a declaration of new freedom
in this global interwoven space.
The once reliable guidelines —
handed down by fearful ancestors
who stole land and people or
were stolen themselves — are falling
to the wayside. The earth is shrugging
off the superfluous and we can stay
in the gravity of this moment
if we speak our truths
and listen to each other
with deep compassion. See the triggers
in ourselves so we can reflect
space, the deep, inviting now
swimming lovingly between us
whether we acknowledge it or
overwhelmed by this chaos
simply keep firing our loaded
fears on the innocents
who are beings
buried alive in our careless
rush for more, more, more
of what we cannot use
and only leave us empty.
Empty to finally hear the poets
calling from their morning pages
and the mystics claiming
the marketplace. Authentic dialog
in we-space as we parse our words
to land well in each other’s hearts.

Alan Inspires Me To Recycle: Autonomy

Daily Addictions Prompt: Reliable

3TC: Declaration, Freedom, Fireworks

Word of the Day Challenge: Independence

Heroic Cooking


“Cooking is an amazing thing. It both protects us against and heals us from much that would otherwise leave us broken.”  — Bill Penzey

I have delicious dishes
simmering in my new moon
oven. I used new soul spices,
and set out all the ingredients
carefully, not mixing it up
until 9:57 p.m. when Aries
brought that fiery springtime
energy to fuel
all of my intentions.
I am cooking up a feast,
manifesting my witchy powers
in a bold display. Even though
it’s snowing outside, just under the
rich soil, seeds are cracking open.
The birds are singing loud
choruses to greet the dawn.
We have the power right now
to plant what’s needed:
soul food for our great great
grandchildren. Let the tantalizing scent
of all these slow marinations
open your eyes to
the new life stirring.
Come, dance
in a sacred circle,
drum and sing in a wild
cacophony of joy.
When we are truly hungry,
we will savor these complexities.
For now, crank up the music
and let’s celebrate
while our intentions simmer
in the cauldrons of our hearts.

Inspired by The Daily Word Prompt: crank

Got a light?

Struggling to create warmth
on a frigid morning, after the chill
has bitten into my bones.
The news is blaring in the other room
Be afraid! Worry! Stay on high alert!
as if to reinforce the lack of fuel.
There is nothing for you here.
It’s all bigger than you
and you are powerless,
so hush now and sleep
is the droning distraction
aimed directly at my inner spirit.
I realize that it is all true.
Nothing can be done
from this cold place of dread.
I close my eyes and drop into
that deep appreciation I feel
whenever my grandson smiles at me.
I soak into it and feel my heart open
to the tiny sparks, lighting
the kindling to torch my bonfire.
This is my superpower.
This is my choice.
No power in the verse can stop me.

Inspired by The Daily Word Prompt: frigid

All These Mirrors

“Your holiest pain might come from your yearning to change yourself in exactly the way you’d like the world around you to change.” — Rob Brezsny

I climbed a hallowed mountain

last week, with familiar bloated ache

that I call tummy pain.  The ageless mystic

basically said: When are you going

to stop monkeying around

and play big

like the warrior you truly are?

I may be old, but I’m no wimp.

I rose to the challenge,

setting my intention like a heedless

knight starting an impossible quest.

We parted ways as my horse clattered

toward the fearsome dragon.

That was easy, I decided right before

seventy shards of glass

shattered me into a quivering mass.

I couldn’t move, I couldn’t eat, I couldn’t breathe.

It took two full days before I could even wonder:

did I ask for this? I certainly requested

immediate aid, and it came pouring in

melting the sharp pieces, a flow

of molten energy finally shifting.

I forced down bone broth before

the next wave hit, and I embarked

on the grand tour of pain,

challenging my perceptions

of my own strength and will to live.

I’d thought pain was no stranger

but this was like being yanked

out of a riptide just before it drowns you

and plunging headlong

down a rocky waterfall, slick

and deadly.  Never catching your breath.

I constructed my own cave,

became a mystic to tune in

to all the disturbing images

in human existence, the ones encoded

in our very DNA.  I knelt in gruesome

battlefields while my ancestors

spat at each other while slipping

in their spilled blood.  When there are ancient

pieces of yourself so despised,

you feel helpless and worthless

and you writhe in agony, wondering

where is the remedy?

The surgeons stand ready, knives gleaming,

but what do you cut out

when the key is locked in your very cells?

I’m standing at the edge of the cave

this morning, looking into a downpour

with darkly grumbling low clouds and fiercely

thrown arrows of pure

flashing light, determined to explore

this question:  what can I change

in myself that I most want to change

in this world?

Inspired by The Daily Word Prompt: explore

The Art of Integration

For two years, they returned

to the bluebird house,

several times a season

to lay eggs and raise their young.

The male’s iridescence in the sun,

a deep blue sapphire blessing

with his mate, swooping over the water

in aerobatic dances with their dinner —

the insects that thrive here as well.

Such a noisy lake at times,

tree swallow chirps and gurgles amid

the eerie meow of the catbird,

the redshouldered hawk’s kreeya

and at dusk, the pure cacophony

of the ranids, the creaks and croaks

of toads and the tuba call

of the bullfrog.  And though

I try to heed the warning caw of crows,

I was deaf to danger,

only noticing they no longer came

to the nesting box, now inhabited

by sparrows.  The smell alerted me,

for the new birds had killed

the defenseless native mother bird

and built their nest atop her

decaying body.  Such savage cruelty

in my own backyard! Even though

it echoed the behavior of my ancestors

building a civilization

with the same complete disregard

for native life. I haven’t mentioned

the blares and sirens

from the nearby highway — it’s not poetic.

Rather than face

my own barbarity, I defend

these swallows, determined to trap

the invaders.  I cannot see a way

to integrate these two forces,

and here lies the root of

my society’s ills:  we fight and resist.

We clearly see the bad

in the other.  How can we

find a way to synthesize,

while the gene pool declines

and the hidden costs grow?

What tool will shine the light on the pain

we’ve never acknowledged,

the beauty destroyed in the act of creation?

When will I learn that only when I am most

triggered, appalled, enraged

am I close to the key — the aching

wound that I must admit

the true cacophony deep inside.

I can offer here

the words: I am sorry.

I am part of the resolution.

I am your most

valuable resource, the one you most fear.

Don’t turn away. Take me in.

In the heart of the destruction and chaos,

this is where we find ourselves.

Inspired by The Daily Word Prompt: swallow