Wind

Stunted trees

Bend and cower from the wind.

Its Winter howling is incessant.

Its cold all pervasive.

The mountain side Bearberry brambles

Grip tightly to the glacier scarred rocks for safety as the wind

Flows in rivers of the sky

From the White Mountains to the sea.

It feels its way with outstretched arms

Solid and real, over a

Path that is well worn and familiar into the valleys

And river beds along the way.

The power of the wind pushes the sound of thunder ahead of it

And Carries the storm clouds on its back.

It washes over the landscape

In partnership with the trees.

It is a force that can move them to dance,

Shake them to their roots, and love them with its allover touch.

Mountains and trees diminish the wind.

They sap its strength with their reluctance to let it go.

They want to hold on, to experience its freedom and lightness

They yearn for a chance to throw off their earthly chains and soar above the land.

But in the end, at the last, the sea is the master leaving

The wind no choice but to rush into its out-stretched arms, to be consumed by the waves,

To become one with the spray, white with its foam,

And in the crashing of the wind powered waves on the shore,

Release its energy back into the realm from which it came,

Completely the cycle once again.

 

A Play of Stillness

 

I sit on the stage.

Darkness surrounds me.

The audience, if there is one,

Is silent.

There are no props on the stage

Only layers of black curtains.

I don’t remember auditioning for a play,

But here I am.

It’s odd there is no music or

Other players.

I sit in my darkness for what seems like forever

But there is still no sound, no movement, no life.

Just stillness and a mild sense of confusion.

I feel the space in front of me more than see it.

I sense it is there, curtains in a circular shape

A boundary perhaps but between what and where?

The other side is unknown and unknowable

Until the show begins.

But will it begin?  Still no script or players,

No music or lights.

I run my hand through my hair to prove to myself that

I am still real in this sensory deprived place.

But what is real about an empty stage, a wordless play,

A playerless story?

I begin to realize that

None of those things matter.

All is stillness and non-separate.

The “show” never begins and never ends.

The circular curtain and empty stage contain eternity

And this space is an empty place within me.

There will be no play, no script,

No lights, no audience.

This story is mine, the darkness my stillness,

The only witness, me.

Just me as part of the universal consciousness

Acting out a play of well-rehearsed lines without ever saying a word.

Each player a part of the whole

Never separate from the others.

All joined in the cosmic drama

Of existence.

The curtain rises on one story, one actor, one consciousness

In an act that never ends.

Storm Dance

 Coastal dunes slide and slip into the sea

As the storm rolls on to the north.

Gulls scurry to grab unfortunate crabs washed ashore by the crashing waves.

Seaweed floats and ripples with the waves like grass in the wind and

Salty sea spray coats the disinterested windows of empty houses on the shore.

The tourists have all left for the season

Leaving the ocean and beach to carry on with their lover’s dance

Un-witnessed and unashamed, with freedom and reckless abandon.    

Just Look

I saw the stars last night,

Didn’t even have to get out of bed.

They were so bright in the cold, dense,winter air

That they shown right through my lacy bedroom curtains.

I saw it as a reminder of what is still there and always will be,

And to find it yet again,

We just have to look through the holes one more time.

February Morning

Monday morning winter sunshine warms my room and

James Taylor serenades me and my oatmeal.

There are frost etchings on the old warped glass windows that surround my space.

In the harsh light of day, my mind and heart step back to echos of last evenings secret loving,

Soft as the candle flames flickering on my night stand.

A lingering warmth traces his outline in my bed as his Cheshire cat smile is the last to leave, 

Only fading with the daylight.

In Shared Seclusion

 

 

A field of brown grass,

A drop of chilly dew,

A morning kissed ripe apple, and

A bursting milkweed pod…

Signs of the change of seasons and an

Elevation of my consciousness.

Summer has ended.

It has shed its past and faded into isness

But it’s an isness that is charged with the now.

At the change of seasons, there is a new definition of me.

One that shifts with the sun angles and holds my spirit in kindness.

It is a newness in me that ebbs and flows with the tides and moon cycles.

That builds on the new life essence that captures my attention

That fills my heart and soul.

An essence of change, of new life, of new beginnings from old endings.

It is a change that envelopes my being and carries me along with it.

A flood of truth and trust, a deluge of emotions and warmth.

My heart misses the summer season but my soul is alive with the contentment of the coming winter.

A sheltered silence in seasonal separateness

But all together just the same…

In shared seclusion.

Sweet, Sweet September

September’s muted sunshine and billowing clouds

 Speak of a change to come, a change already begun.

In soft subtle shifts of afternoon shadows and heavy morning dew laden grass,

Autumn makes its arrival known.

Summer slides sleepily away, the heat having worn her out

As the freshness of fall takes her place.

Meadow grasses turn brown

And Goldenrod losses its shine.

Milkweed pods bust open, trusting their future generations to the wind and

 Flocks of geese gather together to finalize their flight plan.

In the subtle softness of September the world is poised for transition.

There is no harshness to September…

The cold biting winds and freezing temperatures

Are saved for November and the first dusting of frost for October.

September exists to give us a gentle push towards winter,

While reminding us from week to week and sometimes day to day of what we will miss

 Until spring arrives again and the earth warms, the geese return and

 The faith of the milkweeds is fulfilled.

Blessing of the Saco River

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).

Summer Solstice/Full Moon 6-20-16

Longest day and shortest time of darkness.  Magic in the moon light and peace in the secret of its knowing.

A secret to share with everyone but for now, only known by those among us of like mind, of those awake enough to behold the truth because it is a truth without words, a knowing in the soul, a connection to all there is but with no attachments.

A trust in the cycles of life, the rhythm of nature, the dependability of the cycles that Divine Mother brings.  She has laid in waiting, has been patient with our neglect but now it is her time, a time of new awareness, a time of a rebirth of the mother knowledge, a time to rejoice in her beauty and truth.

In this day of less darkness, let us see the meaning in the seasons, let us feel the vibration of Mother’s truth, let us believe in her promise in the light of the moon that she will never leave us in darkness and let us honor her in our hearts and share her love and truth with one another to become for all time sisters/brothers and lovers of the beauty of her truth and of the right of all beings to exist in the bliss of the conscious life.

Let us make a vow, a promise to her this evening of shortened darkness, to be her children and partners in the process of waking the unconscious to an appreciation of Mother and of each other and to make this world the place she has always dreamed of.

Join me in drying her tears with our hearts in honor of all she unselfishly and joyfully gives of herself.  The blessing of day light and moon shine, of love, death and rebirth, a never ending cycle, dependable in its truth and continuance, a chain never broken, a perpetual loop of manifestation of the unmanifested through and because of our consciousness.

With Mother to guide us and hold us in her heart of compassion, we cannot fail and can assist her in bringing forth a new earth, one of compassion, truth, beauty and peace for all beings and all time.  This is the promises in the moonlight and star shine of this magical evening.

Please Join me in silent meditation and feel the message of the bells and gong as we offer our gifts of the sweetness of life to our sister the river and our mother the earth, a taste of the fruits river’s gift of water brings us and a tribute and thanks to our Divine Mother for the beauty and flavor she adds to our lives.