TOUR

She liked the way it felt.

Nothing close to tender- a rip-roaring of things to come. Flights booked and everywhere in secret swirls were people with stars for eyes talking in numbered codes and lettered psalms and dated endeavors… 7/4/00 Twist, 8/17/96, the day she saw Cuyahoga ‘Fall’ from the sky.

In the spirit of the season she strung her lives out on a line and let the sun out shine them, told them to wait for her til august came around the corner and seeped through the cracks.

If the tarot was right when the 3 of swords landed upside down at the foot of her bed, it would be one hell of a ride.

the western wind tells me if i continue to think myself in such circles i will end up dizzied

E.E. Cummings

somewhere i have never travelled,gladly beyond
any experience,your eyes have their silence:
in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me,
or which i cannot touch because they are too near

your slightest look easily will unclose me
though i have closed myself as fingers,
you open always petal by petal myself as Spring opens
(touching skilfully,mysteriously)her first rose

or if your wish be to close me, i and
my life will shut very beautifully ,suddenly,
as when the heart of this flower imagines
the snow carefully everywhere descending;

nothing which we are to perceive in this world equals
the power of your intense fragility:whose texture
compels me with the color of its countries,
rendering death and forever with each breathing

(i do not know what it is about you that closes
and opens;only something in me understands
the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses)
nobody,not even the rain,has such small hands

retrograde

today mercury turns retrograde once again.

there is always a lot of negative hype surrounding this event... miscommunications, disruptions, breakdowns.

i'd just like to take a minute out of my whirlwind day - not to tell you to brace yourself for a week of chaos and confusion in anticipation of trickster mercury upon us, but to remind you that the essence of the great cosmic trick being played upon us in retrograde is that these moments are not negative events, but moments designed to stop us in our tracks and wake us up.

the strongest part

 about us is our persistence. Persistence to see the world from each other’s eyes, to leave that world better every day than how we found it, to fill our own worlds with each other. We are persistent in finding joy, and when instead of joy we cause pain, we are persistent in healing the wounds we inflict upon the person who loves us most. To find persistence in love is the greatest gift you have given me.

A grounding stone offers spiritual protection, increasing balance and stability in our physical and emotional states. It brings strength; helps alleviate feelings of confusion and being lost. It helps you manifest your dreams into reality, and emotionally it helps you to focus and encourage a practical, calming approach to life in general. It allows for the attainment of higher spiritual levels. Like a tigers eye or a tourmaline you are my grounding stone; you offer consistent love in the face of fear. Every day you give me an even terrain to stand strong, so that I can open my heart and love you more than I ever knew I could.

the bungalow

My time in this house in the mouth of dream canyon where I’m currently dwelling has been short.  I only moved here in May the month of the bull. 

Already I have begun to introduce myself, listening to the rhythm and voice of this ridge and valley, beginning the slow process of building trust with those spirits and beings who are here.

from the graveyard of driftwood to the solstice pool, to the gaping troughs of the canyon
ancient energy still pulses along the ridge
memories of aspen groves before the fire,
fox fleets
elk track
that hang thick on a misty night
and its when that mist descends like a veil that you must listen

All is not as it seems, and voices you think speak to you from a modern era are truly whispers from some other realm. 

IMBOLC

As the wheel spins again we move
From bottom to the mid moon
World sprouts anew, the sacral is opened
With all the blossoming, tearing, building
Be careful not to lose the essential, that is
A safe and sacred soul connection
To all things that are, that is
the only thing there is.

the solar yang and the lunar yin

I am goddess
Though neon orange sticky notes
And cans of seltzer
Accompany me on my journey through the day
I sit in a glowing light of white
The Buddha halo.

Yes I type fast
And sometimes yes I
Think slow
But I am not bound by the clock
For I have discovered the timeless realm
Of truth.

Ask of me
Anything.
I can tell you in parts per billion
The carbon black today
And the dissipating rate
Of ozone disappearing
Also I will tell you
All billion parts are one
And of the insurmountable blossoming
Of soul reappearing.

a fox appeared yesterday and told me with his coyish eyes not to be afraid to live in wonder

solstice

can you feel it? life racing along fuller and faster? we glisten shamelessly in the heat of the high sun. ripe mother, sultry and swollen
in her sacred play.

Here, at the full moon of the year
we exalt the longest day
we pivot and bid farewell to the waxing light.

we fold foreward
and summer hangs from the tips of sit bones
raise up with heart lifted
with shouts and spins
and when the great spiral peaks, Leap!
With faith and one great cackling whoop,
enter the waxing dark.

for mary

you are there
in the tip of my pen
silent watcher from my
basement days
we'd lay in towels and
watch our limits widen
along with our hips.

the first time I thought I saw a fairy
and the first time I was
proud of the shadows in my prose

yes- you were there
and there you remain

The Great Vanishing Act

if ever you've glanced sidelong
head bent
glint of beard catching
in those last ubiquitous
rays of a waning sun
(which I mourn for at
the witching hour between 7 and 8
on the tendrils of an abating spring)
then you've witnessed the papery veil
ever so fragrant in imagination
ever so dwindling in the afternoon-
of which I grieve it's dissipation.

That great evanescent tide-
a map of dew that plumes
across the hopeful iris
is sure
to blur

to envision its presence on the slick
underbelly of a thick rolling morning
is to prophesize splendor


to contemplate its arrest- remaining at the tip
of a lurking
violet night
would end in tragedy