since eleven, a pilgrim, a wayfarer but not out here on the inner, instead what is this? what am I? what knows before anything came to be?
prior, prior to this outrageous cosmos—and the birthing, dying, exploding, expanding delicious, rollicking mess of a world, stardust everywhere— prior to thought, what is that? what sees through these eyes? those?
it’s lush in here the big field of knowing the password is surrender however, beware— beliefs fall away consciousness shines a relentless taskmistress it asks for everything
nothing’s “under control” you may think it is, but it’s a wild mess, wholly pandemonium, all happening, happening redolent and rampant spilling out in endless variety—us included— and brought into play
so relax.
there’s no stopping it squalling newborn assault rifles for sale your first, tentative kiss tender lips caress yours friend’s death diagnosis, and then your own, sunrise aflame—apricot on cobalt, sour milk and moldy tortillas, puppy snoring in your lap all of it, erupting at once
relax.
forget the mind the craving to name, to nail down something, anything, and give it meaning. troublesome thoughts— oh, suffering ensues, that’s guaranteed. meet it, whatever it is, not slantwise, straight on
scientists discovered that trees respond. that one, there— does it feel the blaze suck air, ignite the roots, until it’s a pillar of raging light, over 1400 degrees? is this the tree that only casts seeds when burned? a phoenix of desolation?
all I have are questions.
what a transgression—a living organism, 2000 years old, is devoured by our careless inattention. our greed. where is our gumption, our brilliance, spent? what malformed gene stuffs our head in sand? we were warned. we did nothing of merit and here we are now.
girl, make a difference
comfort the young ones respond and rescue the four-leggeds, the winged things that we abandoned. like phoenix rising from ash, write, paint, engineer, love this mangled world with your whole being
looking around, it all seems bruised— maimed from the get go and yet I hold hope of a loving outcome I know that hope is futile yet I cup it in my hand a delicate swallowtail of faith bold black markings on dandelion yellow
that’s why I read novels but never thrillers. a complex ending, okay, but positive, please. there’s enough negligence— and worse—right here, dealt out on a daily basis. our world, straight on: starvation, murder, fires but riven hearts radiating love— piercing light, pouring through the cracks like suns, generous and free
the way of the heart is sacred ground tread with love, tend with regard with kindness with care
dismissed from work, life-threatening diagnosis, loss of a friend or child or mate, the way is the light that perforates desolation forgo the urge to bolt distress is not infectious this blaze of the heart is meant to be shared
foremost, listen. just that. anguish cannot be “fixed” heed the plight of your companion or your very own self. your words aren’t needed attendance is required to honeycomb grief and make openings for light spacious aware clear
with thanks to Margaret Rooney for the phrase “ the light that perforates”
olive wood, worn pecan and buttery from my touch— fingering love, gratitude, peace, and prayers upon prayers upon prayers
ninety-nine beads, each an aroma of the beloved, plus two carved ones that divide each thirty-three a gift from my Sufi teacher— bestowed from his murshid to him the indelible chain of hearts
three wraps around my wrist, always there. for thirty years, I’d passed the tasbih beads through thumb and forefinger marking a sacred word or phrase
precious, old friends.
on a ten-day island retreat I found a cockle 500 feet above the sea—a shell, up here? Did the land upheave three-hundred-million years ago?
my intention: throw it back from whence it came, return it home to the Maui gods. I made the cast and the shell took flight
as though in pursuit, my treasured beads sailed off my wrist aghast, I watched them fly a long, asymmetrical arc toward the woods
a chilla, a test, so very clear. suspended, frozen, my heart lurched at the loss they’re well and truly gone
let them go!
did I pinpoint their likely grave in forest duff, spongy and deep? oh, I searched! frantic, desperate, digging, pawing they must be there. why had I not replaced aging string?
never found.
cross-legged on my bed, sick at heart that I hadn’t released my claim on them I pondered the test I’d failed— how will it come again?
so tired. tired of infighting and hatred. tired of lies. what is this human aversion to truth? we’ve slipped off the diving board. let’s cherish the bowl of our fragile home. wholeness is no longer possible in the manifested world. Kintsugi calls. we can mend ourselves with rivulets of goodness. it takes more juice to frown than smile. choose gold. gold lacquer and rice flour, a delicate harmony.
start. sit in silence. parse what is. right now. all of it. the lush air at sunup’s first blush. hawk nabs gopher. gunfire. parents beg. even DNA required. weeping, they comfort each other. this, too. with a slender brush, smooth liquid gold into the seams. kindness. peace. care. love.
the backpack load unbearable unwearable too heavy digs ruts in our shoulders yet we must heft it and now, another stone a huge one
a school we never heard of filled with young children who have lost buddies they played tag, hung upside down on bars and now are forever gone they’ll face enduring night frights stained with crimson— how will they recover?
when will we ken the fatal disease of separation? without the resonance of interbeing, how linked we are, every one of us, no exceptions, this will happen again and again and again
I look for it everywhere only way to stay sane today, it’s apricot aloe vera the pompous blooms dot our garden my friend the squirrel sleek and springtime fat keeps me company dances on the fence while I write jasmine! saturating the air eager children on tiptoe search books in the little free library my husband built it matches our home what a playful surprise it takes daily tending remove extra books sometimes it’s stuffed to overflow fill empty slots the neatening grounds me in collateral beauty delight erupts take note drink it in let it nourish you share
stopped watching TV world news clicked off NPR but on the iPad catch myself roving through BBC, CNN and The Guardian impelled to know
crushed by agony in our world, I ponder my own actions, minuscule movements of love, one in 7.9 billion 7.9 billion! impotence weighs me down
and yet, the eye of the heart flames— see, over there, the mare licks her foal still amniotic wet long, slow strokes to ground him into life
with tender fierceness watch the red-tailed hawk feed snake to squawking fluff balls or the hospice nurse plump pillows for the failing elder, offering gentle words
oh please! dear self faced with global turmoil even though you lie awake and quail, remember— thought is ineffectual it holds no other sway
the heart of the matter 