Finally I sawthat worrying had come to nothing.And gave it up.And took my old bodyand went out into the morningand sang. -Mary Oliver Not only does this poet priestess stop me in my tracks to reconnect and ground in a … Continue reading
When discovering the theory of relativity, Albert Einstein pictured himself riding on a ray of light. Words did not take part in this soothsayer’s role of entities serving as elements in thoughts. Thoughts are waiting. We ought to pay more … Continue reading
Since mid-June, an undulation of spirited cowgirls, always aglow, on and on they shine like poppies left quietly to grow in a field lit of morning sun. Their spark never to eclipse, for they all fend for one another and … Continue reading
Sweetpea, you are most welcomed here.Believe this interlude is the grandest of all timeTake in the drops from above,collect them all.Soak up the sky rays,absorb how they fill you with grace.Breathe in the grassy bouquet of morning dewHear the whispers … Continue reading
“Blessed is the man that has a virtuous woman, for the number of his days shall be double.” – Ecclesiastics 26:1 I have been getting through the days by imagining the charade as a play that ends every night and … Continue reading
You have a taste of storm on your lips.But where have you been?A remnant taste of bitterness at first, stomach-turningbut then how else do you rise higher than you could ever imagine?
Alive, vital and back to my sentient self as I was designed to be. Once you start enjoying your own company, you enjoy the company of others, in particular those who have claimed their supreme sacredness as well. Those who … Continue reading
Getting our rhythm on over here,under the ever present.Flowing with the great fallsburned by the fire of loveyet the underlying current, pulsingsorting things out againsome call it “The Way”I call it rising like a riverI’ll explain more in my dreams.
All things glorious, our mid-summer groovein clenched fists, looped ropetrailing behind, sauntering coltsupdrift from hoofs, dustcaught in dancing cilia of tiny nostrils, dirta dash into a reprieve from the mid-afternoon sun and not short on words, camp girls in search … Continue reading
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