Creativity

I’ve scoured the trash
to find the rash moments
of this past year.
The darker times with no
place among the tinsel
I start to tingle
acknowledge the simplicity
as I commingle
all my energy, electricity
runs through the instrument
I am joy no longer dissonant
I used to choose a bypass
believed my past held me
in thrall, the call
of my ancestors deep with pain
their domain. Yet here I sit
hosting what is. Now I permit
the scattered pieces magnetized
I am the lodestone, gathering
increases all that pent-up
trauma releases. I cherish
all the beliefs that now
perish in the flame of my
vitality blazing a
brilliant new reality.
Outside a hawk is kreeing.
I heed on bended knee.

Inspired by Rash, Joy, Tinsel, Cherish and the Stream of Consciousness Saturday prompt “ingle.”

Here I read it on soundcloud.

I See, Have Seen, Will See

To all the disappearing and the disappeared.

In these days right before he
becomes unhinged, medicated

beyond distractions, now the side
effects come crashing in

the decrepit hovel he drags along
sheer weight of dread and

fear and curdled anger
leaking in places long

forgotten, out of sight,
all of the life juice

that longs to sparkle
held, concealed

the doctors up the dosage
talk amputation

Would an electrician say
the only way to brighten

this dim room is rip it
from its foundations?

The ancestors call, childhood
trauma drumbeats. Agony.

All of this not hearing
deliberate and focused:

don’t look here
don’t feel

In Star Wars films he watches
the Deathstar destroy a planet

and only those who know The Force
pause and grieve

just a momentary stumble, gasp,
hold the heart before the fight

resumes. Resistance the imperative.
While rooted in our only earth,

drinking the poisoned air,
breathing the toxic water

right before he becomes unhinged,
madness descends and we swear

we are here, watching the unnourished
limbs–ours–disappear.

Inspired by: Hovel, Brighten, Unhinged, Sparkle and the need to bear witness.

Listen on soundcloud.

Still Sleeping?

The birds would like to know why
she cut down the lilac bush
right before this big snow.
They call down the chimney.
Query unheard. My voice
more clear. She says, I never
thought about the birds,
taking a breather,
watching her suet feeder,
looking for tracks in the deep
unbroken white. Sure in her right
execution the solution.
The bush expired
her affection–she admired
a different sort.
So life’s cut short.
From this insulated box
the wilderness a paint-by-number
jumbled mess. On Fox, perceptive
of the sentience celebrated
the flickering screens
calibrated us versus them.
Even her own species judged,
dismissed. The other beings
begrudged in cages and she’s
forgotten that they need
nourishment. Feed them.
I remember her
ancestors chopped venerated trees
to claim the land still red
with the forced exodus
of genocide. Don’t count the dead.
I dial in most days. The line
is busy. There is no forwarding
through the haze, darker
hellbent recreation
keep the past labelled
the future with a magic
marker that fools no one
or everyone, fast asleep.

Inspired by: Dial, Chimney, Perceptive and Expired.

Listen to this on soundcloud.

Echoes Of The Future*

What is the part of me that calls me onto a path?  I believe the part that calls us is the echo of the memory of the future–the reverberation of remembering the future.~Thomas Huebl

The child has learned
to be taciturn.
What can you expect
when the means to correct
her are myriad and cruel?
Enter the Yule.
Does she dare to hope
a little gift will help her cope?

Pain’s duration
is no aberration.
Satellites have filled the skies
with starry lies.
The ground has all been paved.
Have you been saved?
The father asks, her yes
coerced, professed;
the no submerged
unheard yet I am opening
the door, focusing
light in this dark place.
Ah, child, when I wore that face!
Listen, darling, to the calling.
Time itself is falling.

Inspired by: Yule, Expect, Taciturn and Duration and this amazing talk by Thomas Hubl, The Echo Of The Memory Of The Future*.

Listen to this on soundcloud.

Love’s Perspective

I’m not afraid of running out of love. The more love I give, the more love I have to give.~Rob Brezsny, World Kiss

I bless you precious basketball
bobbing along the iced edge

of the bay: forlorn, forgotten
by the children who missed

the hoop and changed the game
to this cold and lonely lake

tour. Here where the springs
bubble up in the hole hewn

by the highway contractors,
here is beauty. Breathtaking,

heart-opening basketball, faded
into a mustard yellow with a frost

cap, observing with a detective’s
stealth. Alive in the living waters,

as I am. Fractals of the complex
humming earth, creatures forged

from stardust and sound, light,
energy. I release the separation

that declares my sentience supreme:
what I have is yours and yours

is mine. Vibrations of love,
we presence one another,

tuning in and reflecting
disturbances in the field,

so easily corrected when we
are intent on kissing our wounds.

Bringing them like sobbing children
to our mother. Nurturing each

other, every one of us called
thing or it or jack—even

this flickering sentient screen bestowing
this message, records your metadata

expressions as you read
these words. All of us alive

and brimming with it. I’ve thrown
off the separation, I’ve missed

the target, spinning, throwing
blessings to every thing that matters.

We. Us. And what comes before
the word the intention

the transmission deep
abiding love, the blank page

on which we write in our
feverish dreaming. Kissing

cousins. Nothing is
as it seems.

Inspired by: Jack, Detective, Hewn and Precious.

Photo taken after a long climb in Oahu when I felt overwhelming love for all of creation. May it transmit that same all-encompassing love to you.

Listen to it on soundcloud here.

And here is Rob Brezsny’s 8-minute celebration of love, World Kiss, that arrived in my inbox right before writing time.

Seeing Is Freeing

There is no happily ever after
we can reach, no way

out of here to some secluded beach.
If we can sit and allow—

follow me, I’ll show you how.
This anxious pity tries to knock

me back: a helpless child
forced to say yes.

My new life hack: this fierce
ferocious NO now

in the mix of power and light
what’s so exposed.

Love offers to the dark
and scary places the deep

presence of now
expanding spaces.

Too much solicitude contracts.
The child reacts.

Inspired by: Knock, Solicitude, Follow and Mix and the phenomenally powerful Conscious Healing course I’m enrolled in.

Soundcloud recording here.

Featured image a photo of Makanalua Peninsula, a place of breathtaking beauty with a history of exclusion and fear.

A Portrait Emerges

My daily practice is to walk memory lane
shining light into dark places.
And the fact is, it’s on another plane
the birthright and the so-called empty
spaces (where we’re filled with fire,
the electrical impulse of our desire.)

A portrait emerges,
flickers through time and now
a portal to a child’s rhymes
through the smoky haze
those early days touched
piano bench posture, fingers flying
lyrics voiced repel the lying.

And then the graveyard shift,
digging up bones, the long-forgotten
roots surely the key, my pedigree
stories carved into my DNA
the wave that carries me.
Like peering into a crystal ball
or to the stars, the all-
encompassing need to understand
just who I am.

The screen changes, lyrics
long hair bent over guitar
plucking emotions like strings
ah, the power to sing.
Add this trip to the realm
of rainbow trees, pure love
shimmers radiant, slip,
another shift.

Drift into travel without any fear
that I could feel, backpack
alone through jungles, dive
into chum-baited waters.
Deceived and disconnected.
Now a belief in angels
feeling the jerk out of danger
into grace. My heart-race.

Always the woods, pulled into
sacred by the trees, seated
in peace, a wiser woman
watches.  The retrieval celebrated
by a flying eagle—who disappears

into gray, the illusion spinning
in every way fog through cultural
myths, the shock of we
coming with these fragmented
pieces, drawn
like splinters magnetized
onto the lodestone of attention
the separation gone.

Inspired by: Portrait, Dark, Daily and Memory Lane and a golden eagle soaring through my writing this morning.

Listen to this on soundcloud.