Obfuscation is intentionally obscuring the meaning of something to make it more difficult to grasp.

I had to skedaddle as a child

after speaking the truth

to the clandestine affairs

of my family.  Listening

to an ache in my shoulder

intuitively today,

obfuscation is a red

word, inflammatory.  I have to

look it up, again and again,

my confused difficulty

to perceive its meaning

a reflection of my own contractions,

master moves made long ago

by my inner strategist.  I admire so much

the fierce intelligence of this

little girl.  An adult gripped

me just here, hard,

with a clear intent

to inflict pain as punishment.

Someone who loved me.

It has been daring

to show up this week

as I brave the early

traumas encased in their living

tissue.  I’ve made my healing

intentions clear, and so excited

youngsters like pupils in a classroom are

waving their hands, desperate

for attention and accolade,

for someone to say,

yes, you’re correct.

I’m not about to medicate

this, and I’m not looking

for a story or a perpetrator.

Skedaddle is such an old-fashioned word

that I’m sure it was an elder,

too old to chase after me

but strong enough to inflict

twisted justice.  I face the fact

that I learned to lie

even to myself,

especially to myself

and I simply sit,

honoring this powerful

child — we survived thanks to you,

opening myself with more and more

compassion as I assure her

there’s no longer any need

to run and hide.


Inspired by:  Skedaddle, Admire and Clandestine.


Redeem On Demand

This movement toward freedom is natural and unstoppable and good.” Pauline Kael

Deep inside me is the divine core,

and here is where resides

this sacred internal partner

flowing through me,

making me an instrument

of peace and love, bright

tones suffusing the air

opening every heart

to birthright.

Even in the depths of grief,

the torrential outpouring

of anger, the song

spills out, unstoppable,

holding us in our most forlorn

moments, invisible refrains

of high intelligence always

open, available,

free love

surging forth in our remorse,

screaming frustration an opening

even the tiniest, most inaudible

invitation granted

instant response.

Inspired by: Forlorn, Frustration, Remorse and Partner

Out of Difficulties

My wise embodied  future

self laughs with her entire

being, invites this sober

woman so intent on healing:

relax.  I anticipate her arrival

layers of resolutions

from dissonance to consonance

singing together

harmony emerging in the sheer

passionate joy


She is an enigma.

You can’t get there from here.

She beckons, glimmering

through the mists of knotted

cords, the entanglements

which hold me firmly in the past

I keep recreating

and calling the present.

I set my intention

in the deep space

of high intelligence

that surrounds me

always available

even when I’m squirming

like a worm on a hook,

all of my resistance an inevitable

lure to the destiny

I’ve rejected.  Come on,

stop the nibbling;

feast on me.

Take me into your cavernous

depths and transform me

into the next

unexpected miracle.

Inspired by: Resolutions, Enigma, Anticipate

We Need To Talk

There is no stress.  There are unconscious buttons I allow to be pushed. ~ Thomas Huebl


with this newly revealed


intelligent kindliness counter-

balancing the temptation to over-

give, that insidious disempowerment

informing my comfortable codependence.

In the spirit of the new year —

my own starts at the solstice, though

I prefer to slip

out of time, promising

abstract paths

to a new way

steps in constellation spotlight.

Tuning in

past the constructs of space

to this abstruse message

hope, impossible to touch

or hear or see,

available through other senses.

Still I reach out with word-ship sails

beckoning in the beyond.

When we meet, I’ll ask

to sit

each sinking into

first our own bodies.

See the thoughts circling

like wasps, defending

invisible barriers constructed

during infantile wailing,

essential for survival

at one time.

Here now, we feel

into the bonds that entangle

giving space to their innate

elasticity, unraveling under

our compassion.  Now here

heart-opening ears and tongues

we have messages to share.

Inspired by the Echoes of Light toning recording and the word prompts: Responsibility, Temptation, Promising and Abstract

Call Up, Darling

“Emotions come, I don’t know why…Call me, call me any, anytime.
Call me.” ~ Blondie

I used to pummel the heavens

wailing, wanting.  Today I wish

to awaken to what lurks

at the edges of my trance,

potential rippling, pulsing

in the magnetic now,

awaiting the touch of my focus.

My grandson demands his mother

call me, and when our faces

appear onscreen,

his devastated wails

almost muffle his mommy,

Nobody knows what’s wrong.

My awareness resting

on the connection in our nervous

systems, I open the container

to allow what is.

This overwhelming emotion

simply needs to be presenced,

the huge wave

sweeping away

everything in its path.

I hear these compassionate ahhhs,

hmmmms coming from my heart

and tears glisten my eyelashes. 

We need

the leisure to feel

without narrative.

A raspy sigh

and he hits the red

button that lets our focus

gently slide out of ceremony.

He’s ready to face his life.

Outside the rain is slipping

into the shimmering lake

which celebrates every drop

in a dizzying dance.

Inspired by: Leisure,  Pummel, Rain, Feeling, and Ceremony.

Rising Concord

Listen to the lines of sorrow

composed in tweet

hymns, overwhelmed

by grim information in such sharp


to the million-year-old symphony

composed by woodlands.

We stumble in the fog

of our own sentience,


in the moment, we create

everything, the quantum entanglements

of whatever we observe

coming into full focus:

the shared terror of

this collective nightmare

or rising gently

like the sap of our tree

allies to the next level

awakening suddenly

to a blossoming reality

each unique voice


as we create

the new global being.

Inspired by: Hymn,  UnawareInformation, Contrast

Hold Me

I have no ears

for the mocking conquerors.

I filter through the sneers

parceled out by the brainwashed

afraid to die.

I’m listening to the reports

of the brave, the anguished,

impoverished, imprisoned,

excluded, tiny bleats

of the oppressed, hushed

whispers repressed,

the silenced.

They live in me.

I feel them pulsing and so

I dig through the roots

grown in colonized soil.

Carefully lifting each traumatized

artifact, trembling,


into the space of sacred.

Opening the container

until I can hold

what I carry.

And I see 

finally in the open air

sending it all down

down into Gaia’s embrace.

Her joyful acceptance of my gift


as she transforms my difficulty

what I call toxic

into pure fuel

and releases it back into my flow.

Renovated from certain death,

glistening in the new air

the fine webs of our connection,

like slender fibers streaming

from my nervous system

joined with yours

— all this time! —

stretching into the cosmos

like the ancestral constellations

glimmering in our darkness

singing through our bleeding

hearts, as we feed each other

at last with conscious intent.

True love dripping

from our lips,

the pools of our eyes,

the very breath we exhale

As we drop deeper into ourselves.


Inspired by Repress, Renovate, Parcel,  and Die.