My Capacity To Resonate

Something emerging through the listening.~Thomas Huebl

He said, step into the shoes
of the perceived other and

I miss baba ghanoush, especially
—my one-time specialty—

of all the nightshades banned.
Oh, I understand when inflammation

is the only game in town,
each culprit a revelation

as I regain ground lost
off balance. It’s not by chance

that I exchange dairy and gluten
for freerange bison, high-falutin’

local food only, who knew?
Tomatoes and peppers taboo.

How must they feel, excluded,
deemed dangerous and never included

in my menu? Ah, loves,
our separation’s only temporary.

I sit in silence, release the stress
I carry—mountains of collective trauma

sparking my tired body’s drama.
And now into stress’s shoes I climb

and see, it’s what’s too much
that lingers, never felt just

branded on the skin, a red
raised welt. So many frightened

parts of us are banned, moving
with great longing to land, yet

pushed away. I sit. And say,
what’s culturally approved

what society gives sanction to
suddenly opens, the floodgates bursting

wide, the ones we’ve damned
and pushed aside reclaimed

right now.
Inclusion is the tao.

Inspired by: Revelation, Exchange, Eggplant (and thus baba ghanoush), Approve and a recent talk about being present to Climate Change between William Ury and Thomas Huebl.  You can watch it here.  There is a powerful 14-minute meditation starting at 37:40.


Countdown To Gratitude

All alone with me and we’re waiting for the sunlight.~Daryl Hall

A great blue heron croaks, casts her
proxy vote to compress my

labyrinthine thoughts. Embrace
the threshold, eight, as the sky

reveals unearthly dances
of fog-curling apparitions.

Seven, the strung-tight nerves
that spring me from my

misery under the satellite
dish vibrations to savor, six,

this bright cream half-sliced moon
like delicious custard. The

blessed chill, five, as I sort out
four toxins in air and sound

rippling through my system,
my wake-up call. Three choices:

fight or flight or fix, in the dark,
bouncing on that triangle.

Triggering the memory, that’s right,
there’s more than two sides.

The break of day broadcasts my
intention to resolve my jangling

strings. I tune in to this one
music emanating from my core.

No escape, no resistance,
no prescriptions. Only

opening wider—awake and grateful for
every mundane reason why—

deeper to include even this.
All the reflections

I abhor and abjure
coming to light

welcomed like songbirds
raising the sun.

Inspired by:  Mundane, Proxy, Compress and Countdown, a foggy and mysterious dawn and Kiara‘s prompt july 25. universal 8-personal 7
– challenge yourself to write down 8 thoughts that trigger happiness, joy, and peace today.  I reached gratitude by unexpected paths today.

Oh, and this version of Sara Smile in which Daryl Hall just lets Jimmy Wayne take the song and own it.

How Deep It Goes

“Deep inside believing that the hungry world won’t find you.”~Ann Wilson

Rare lake of bubbling lava discovered on remote Antartic island.

In the frozen south seethes
a volcanic lake, remote and

inexplicable.  The stats show
it anomaly and yet, I bet

within me, the same
unclaimed, unthinkable in

this orgulous grownup
silverhaired and wrinkled

covert and sly.
In my early morning sitting,

I feel into the inaccessible
places I cannot claim,

surprised by their existence
off the tranquil maps of me.

The places where very young
beings howl forgotten.

I do not know which activation
bursts my grandson’s frown,

I am so angry with you, Bibi!

I meet his eyes with a gasp
of joy and jolly him along.

Where do you feel it, in your tummy?
In your heart?
In your arm?
Is it stuck?

Move it, let it flow!
We leap into the air,
swing our limbs.

Later, I welcome
the parts of me finally

dislodged, emerging like
a song of my becoming.

Inspired by: Jolly, Activation, Stats and Orgulous.  The title is from Heart’s song.

Sacred Pastiche

You have a corpse in the car….Take me to it ~ Winston Wolf, Pulp Fiction

I usually pontificate

and justify

why I am stuck here,

mud sucking at my feet.

The opening is blocked by

sticks and stones, and a nest

of earth and grasses beneath them.

Calling in the fixer, we put on

waders, enter the marsh

filled with debris: one white

hand reaching out.

Like Winston Wolf, she says,

“If I’m curt with you, it’s because

time is a factor.  I think fast,

I talk fast, and I need you

to act fast.”  So we pull up

the corpse, and the next

hastily buried crime victim,

tuning in to a rape, 

a miscarriage, the death

of a twin.  A wife’s need to escape

and a husband who refuses

to hear her.  An oblivious mother

and her devastated daughter.

An enraged man shaking 

a woman, ah, god, her aching neck.

A story about needing to leave

a toxic place.  Carefully laid plans

brutally destroyed.  The bodies

pile up on the shore

like limbs that won’t fit

in the grate.  All of these indigestible

moments of trauma postponed

feeling until now. 

I finally can tell you

this is too much to carry.

I must retrieve each and

expose it to the light.

It will soon be time to pack

so I clean

and scrub each bone

bleaching in the sun

sacred disintegrating. 

I’m ready to travel

to the next level

of my awakening.

A new balance emerges:

slower than a snail’s crawl,

I finally digest 

this unholy mess.

Inspired by: Captivate, Balance, Pontificate

Opening The Gates

“See the little child that you were standing in front of you…let them see through your eyes…the feeling, seeing and hearing senses become more sensitive.  This is the experience of fully reinhabiting your interbeing with the world.” ~ Stephen Harrod Buhner in Plant Intelligence and the Imaginal Realm

This two-year-old I have summoned

is tired and sad and her tummy hurts.

She is mesmerized by dancing

plants, the tall thin cattails swaying

to a symphony and the trail of jasmine

sometimes a delicate hint and then

a full-blown punch to the nose.

The creamy white flowers, fragrant

“August Lily” Hosta plantaginea

tease with a sweetness.

There are dark shadows cast by tall

trees, mysterious and new.

A hummingbird dips its long slender

beak and then whirs off

in response to a danger signal

trumpeted by the briefly honking

geese across the lake, one

our listening hasn’t deepened enough

yet for us to honor. Of course, I’m the one

inserting all of these labels as the trees

chatter to her; a rich world of song

and movement and scents and burgeoning

feelings, love flooding

through her in an ecstatic

union with the beings no one else

can bear to acknowledge,

and the deep sadness as she is

smacked for creeping out of the smoky

house to sit in this green haven,

her parents’ fear infecting her so

that she closes these gates

and knows them

as dangerous.

Inspired by The Daily Word Prompt: open

I recycle 2016 Daily Word Prompts

The Magic of Self-Acceptance

“The problem is not being aware of yourself, but loving the person you find out you are,” Tasha Eurich, Insight

I am summoning a djinni

whose task it is to serve me,

a loving coach enrolled

in loosening the hold

of immature deceptions

and childhood misperceptions.

The scolds that I internalized

the anger I don’t vocalize

result in inflammation

an inner conflagration.

Ah, magic spirit, I implore —

chained here in an inner war,

I’m not looking to be doused

though I’m in a flaming house.

I want to love this inner rage

and loose it from its fatal cage.

This fury seemed my weakest link

but with your help, I’ll get in sync

with the fire goddess in my soul

no longer shattered, finally whole!

Inspired by The Daily Word Prompt: genie

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