The magic of the night.
The brilliance of its darkness, the darkness of its light.
My soul is deep in the arms of midnight
Too deep to see,
To blind to know, with cries
Too silent to be heard.
I am astounded by the simplicity of the night,
But shocked by its truth.
So much time has passed with too little thought.
Now it is gone,
Forever to remain – unnoticed.
Evening shadows shift
Through broken windows.
Chimney bricks slide down the roof
Puddleing under the lilac bush.
Weeds spread into the driveway
Reclaiming it for themselves.
When was this house built?
Was it ever new?
The yard and doorframes bear witness
To the families who grew here.
Long forgotten toys and broken swings
Hide beneath the matted field grass.
A broken clothesline flaps in the gray autumn breeze and
Sprung clothespins mold and rot into the ground beneath the broken posts.
Feral cats are now the only life that calls this old farm home,
And birdsong still fills the rafters of the barn.
The barn that once held livestock
Sits shifted on its foundation,
Listing and leaning to the south,
Away from winter’s fierce winds.
The stately oak gracing the front yard is rotten and broken,
Its fingers through the house roof.
Where did they go, the people
Who called this place home?
When the last one left,
Why didn’t they clean out the house?
Why not take the toys?
Close the windows? Lock the doors?
Did they not know they were
Never coming back?
The windmill out back has long ago
Crashed into the apple orchard,
Breaking in to pieces as it fell
and crushing the trees it had stood watch over all these years.
But in man’s absence
The apple trees continue to produce.
The lilac bushes flower every spring in spite of
Not being “cared for” in over 40 years.
The forest is slowing creeping back in to fill the void
Left when the field was abandoned.
All that remains of the people who once called this spot of land home
Is the family graveyard,
Where stones are carved with love and care,
Preserving for all time the names and dates of those whose lives began and ended here.
But the lilacs don’t care about being preserved,
The Oak is beyond pride and the buildings are slowly returning to the soil,
Just like the bodies beneath the stones.
Another 40 years and the stones will be all that remains.
They will be all that is left to tell the story
Of a time gone by.
The story of a house built to last a lifetime, a barn crafted with pride,
The story of generations of a family who lived, worked and died on this land.
A story only the stones will remember.
It waits with patience hands
Outside our knowing, waiting to be let in.
Its story is always the same,
Its truth dependable but not always what we want to hear.
There is no hypocrisy, no deceit in its soul.
It is the soul that fills the void, that encompasses the eternal.
It exists in rhythms of time, tides of dependability,
Cycles of freedom and seasons of hope.
It can be ignored, but never escaped and so it waits,
In beauty and joy, in bliss and acceptance, in love and peace,
For us to wake up and realize it is but a mirror of ourselves,
The face of our existence, the light in our souls,
The essence of our being
Before we were born.
A play of light and shadow.
Bodies move and sweep emotions into being.
The interplay of physical and emotional strength portrays a
Man and woman connected in dance as in life and love.
Two bodies move as one in response to
The primordial rhythm of existence.
The two become one in spirit and flesh as
The opposites of each other.
Their hands and hearts glide together
Joining the masculine and feminine in an endless dance of love and power.
He shares his with her and she hers with him and
The dance becomes a battle of love, a flow of exquisite pain and destroying joy.
For to love for loves sake,
To flow together in the dance of eternity,
To believe in the union of man, woman and music
Is to become one with the ballet of life.
Morning warmth spreads through the house with the sunlight and
Silly baby squeaks and raspberry tongue sounds slide down the hall.
I smell her sweetness at the nursery door,
Baby powder, formula, clean diapers folded neatly in a basket and scented baby wipes.
I peak through the crack in the door to catch her unaware
In the act of just being a baby, so honest and true.
A well-worn bear hangs by one arm over the side of the crib,
And Isabelle’s tiny hands clutch the top rails.
A toothless grin and sparkling eyes
Greet me and the morning with unconditional love.
She knows no conditions.
A baby’s love is free in its simplicity and truth,
The way God made love to be.
We could learn a lot from babies
My heart now knows and feels that
Which my mind can only dream of.
This change in attitude has produced
A change in my reality.
Losing that burning anger has
Opened the doors to peace and
My emotions have taken on a new life with
A fresh perspective.
What once was clouded and dark
Now is clear and shines with an inner light all its own.
My old thoughts are powerless against me,
Their negativity replaced with the beautiful truth I see in his silent smiles.
In truth is found respect.
My perception of what was has shifted and
True compassion has filled the once painful void in my soul.
That which I saw in anger
Now is tempered by a flood of loving kindness.
So, the sting of the cruel mother’s words, the hurtful ex-husband, the heartless lovers of the past
Has faded and softened into acceptance,
An acceptance of the frailties and humanness of being human.
The unintentional infliction of pain and betrayal has lost its power to hurt and linger now that
My eyes see with a new light.
It is the light of amber afternoon love, of kindness, beauty and strength. A deep, deep love without conditions — as God meant love to be.
So now I can relax and just let it be.
Let it all unfold as it should and must, and be what it may.
I finally understand that my wanting and needing are just more obstacles in the way of just letting what is meant to be… be.
Please be patient with me love, my heart has recently been reborn.
River Blessing, June 20, 2016
The continuance of life
The renewal of its essence.
From sea to sky
From sky to mountain
From mountain to river
And from river back to the sea,
A continuous loop in the process of eternity.
Water is the giver and sustainer of life, it is the softness of gentle drops on sweet summer leaves,
and the raging fury and unstoppable force of a flood.
It represents a manifestation of life, a confluence of the forces of nature; a mystery with its truth below the surface. It flows where the land allows it to and always returns to its source, as do we.
As the bearer of water and life, we honor its place in the circle of truth, and pay tribute to its never ending gifts.
We gather here together to give thanks for its beauty and the peace it brings to our souls and hearts with our gifts of the earth and samples of the bounty its sweet water brings.
(My ladies and I ended our annual blessing ceremony by dropping flowers and herbs into the Saco River. It was a lovey way to spend a summer late afternoon in the company of the setting sun and full solstice moon).
Garden soil wakes
Seeds tumble in on their own
Growth waits for no one
The heat of a summer day softens and slips silently
Into evening twilight.
The shifting shadows and cooling breezes of evening chill my being and
Bring an acute awareness of sorrow and emptiness to my state of mind.
This subtle, soft twilight is lonely and empty now
But was beautiful at other times and under other circumstances in my life.
Twilight holds tenderness and acceptance of love in times of loving but
When love is missing or withheld, twilight is punishing in its loneliness.
A solitary stroll through the garden is a waste;
There is no joy in relaxing in the rocking hammock alone.
Light sadly leaves the landscape and drains the world of color
Just as this lost love drains my soul and heart of color.
The trees along the edge of the clearing blend into a fortress wall,
Locking me out in my loneliness.
Fireflies blink on and off but evade my eyes behind the fortress of trees
and the stark cold moon light accentuates my solitude by throwing only one shadow behind me.
In better times, when I was not alone, the deepiening twilight was a magical time,
Full of love and acceptance.
We walked the garden paths together, basking in the glow of the moon
And soaking in the softness of star-shine.
Our shadows moved willingly behind us, hand in hand,
And fireflies lit our way home.
I want to go back to that time, back to being a valuable part of two,
Back to the times of softened days that faded into loving nights of passion and acceptance.
I need you take me back there, please…
The joy of a muddy puddle after a rain and
Spider webs stretched out on the grass waiting to dry.
Rain makes tree trunks darker on west facing sides with
Moss growing toward the north.
Forest fallen leaves flattened by winter’s snows awaken after the spring rain and
Crisp morning air envelopes the crystal blue sky of a new cloudless day.
Dawn brings a new world each and every morning, while
Night’s darkness hides the transformation from yesterday to today.
The world of this moment is a different world from yesterday’s,
From an hour ago, from a moment ago.
It all is in flux, all impermanent but dependable in its trustworthy impermanence and
Therein lays the joy of a muddy puddle after the rain.
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