There is so much beauty under each step.
My eyes feast on the colors,
the ever changing sky and landscape,
even as my feet stay rooted to the same grounds.
The varied sounds of nature fill my ears.
The crisp, clear air fills my lungs.
And for a moment I am fulfilled
and alive in every sense.
I pause and try to hold it all in
almost to the point of bursting.
And when I exhale,
I let out more than hot CO2.
I let go of my troubles, fears, and anxieties.
I surrender to the empty void.
– Lucky –
Alive to take it all in once again.
Category: Connection
Stories connect us
The World Makes Its Own Kind of Music
the song of the bird
the song of the whale
the drumming of raindrops
the howling wind outside
a whirlwind of brown dead leaves rustle.
All symphony.
Even the ear-piercing airplane engines
as they prepare to take flight.
Even the neighbor’s loud, barking dog
that seems to holler out at hourly intervals.
All the world is filled with music.
When all is quiet and the earth seems to be asleep,
my heart leaps into rhythm and drum
– beat after beat –
A constant companion.
I, too, am an instrument.
I can clap, tap or snap.
And when I hum or sing,
a choir of bells arises in my throat.
Music fills the silence.
The steady quiet breath,
a yawn – even a sneeze –
all longing to be a part of that glorious symphony.
The quiet stillness of winter
The quiet stillness of winter
that silent falling snow brings.
Its white beauty leaves a mark
on all it touches.
I am warm here
inside under blankets and layers.
The heater spurts hot air
to keep me snug and cozy.
The squirrels move in bursts
fits of flight and fancy
Gathering what they can
to survive another day.
I marvel at the young ones
who have a playful spirit
among the game of survival.
The snow falls onto them.
They seem not to notice
the snowflake kissing its cheek.
I find my own sense of joy
in the slow quiet gray.
A warm mug in my hands,
and soon a pen appears.
It scrawls across the paper now.
We are all connected.
Even the shelter, the comfort
a façade for what is true.
This day is a gift.
Our bodies roll and turn.
We stretch our muscles and our limits.
Limitless ground sprawls to the horizon.
The nameless critters
and those with wings
take flight
a dark mark across a gray white sky.
Snow floating down
quiet and blanketed.
The Earth sleeps and I
find comfort in nature‘s ever changing beauty.
Mine for the taking
as our bodies merge into one
green and blue globe.
We aren’t that different
sheltered and warm
a facade for what is true.
This day is a gift.
California and Coffee
Yosemite
I didn’t know it could be like this.
Towering ancient beings
shaped and warped by time
by water, brook and pine.
They spill and topple over.
A waterfall so powerful
you could lose your place
or a misty rainbow catching the light.
I never knew such magnificence.
Now the fires are raging.
The Andes winds howl and roar
through angles of valley and stone.
Fear pierces into all our hearts.
Helpless to change and put out the embers.
We watch attached to our screens
a tether to destruction unseen
over here in the quiet of winter.
For once the winds have softened.
For once the sky looks pale blue
hovering above the trees’ branches.
All life hangs on a delicate balance.
What seems so certain and steady.
– a fabric of time –
Now worn and bare with use and misuse.
I pour my mug of coffee and taste its flavor
gathered by hungry hands
from other lands around the globe.
Here, the steam starts to rise
and I am no less for the weary.
My heart goes out to the bean gatherers
who climb treetop and limb.
Their work is not unseen.
Not knowing their hardships and woes
Just to give my morning meaning
and energy to face the day.
My heart goes out to those that are burning,
whose lives and all they hold dear
so fragile and near.
Near to loss, near to fierce blazing embers
who hangs on by a thread of safety,
neither real nor imagined.
Perimenopause
Traces of light pink
to remind me of
my fertility.
It wanes like the moon now.
Maturity has taught me
that my worth is not
just my fertility.
Waves of creativity
heave and contract
with pressure inside and out.
I am resilient and will prevail.
– I am not done –
for every end is
only just a beginning.
Like seasons and tides
Ideas spark and fade.
I grasp to catch them.
Some are shining jewels,
others covered in mud and
less revealing.
Each one a gem from my heart
to yours.
My dreaming landscape
Beating drums like beating wings
of the mourning dove
It purrs as it takes flight
- short bursts of fancy -
until it is out of sight.
The quiet under the chatter
- the pause breaks rhyme and meter -
even original thought might appear
before it dives back underwater
melting where ice meets the sea.
The boom of melting glaciers
the noise blaring out of our devices
- out of our mouths -
till one melds into one
then bellows into the night.
Disrupting peace and calm,
steady breathing and beating hearts
- awake without warning -
where rumination and worry
have nowhere to hide.
No noise to distract
nowhere to be
- just hear -
as my mind takes flight
and plunges back into dream.
Unconscious and subconscious
submerged once again
toiling and boiling underfoot
solving and cajoling - nipping -
Here, I gather the seeds of wisdom
(the seeds of nourishment)
The path to freedom
The path to freedom,
truth be told,
lies in the heart,
and in the letting go.
Though at times it may appear
disheveled and eroded
by river, brook and spring,
the path winds through.
Even through narrow trees and shrubs
surrounded by darkness and echo.
uncertainty looms as
decisions and choices are made.
Remember,
to embrace freedom
Listen and still the body,
Speak from the heart.
Our hands embrace
and we guide each other.
Our steps match in rhythm and stride.
A dance of truth and pure awareness
illuminates the paths unseen.
I listen to my heart
our hands let go
knowing there is safety here
in freedom.
I am a book
I am a book
all the chapters are written,
the words have been said,
the future imprinted,
even if I haven’t gotten to
those pages yet
The Forgotten Daughter
I was his child only
when it was convenient
To sweep into my life
once my Pepe was gone
To slam the door on his face
A grinned mustache, and dimpled cheeks
much like my own smile
I knew it was not to last
A temporary arrangement
until the burden and toils
a brood of offspring can bring
Much in his likeness
Quickly forgotten
And this is our path
a greeting and a ghost
a disappearance, a reappearance
Debris gathered onto the shore
carried by a great wave
discarded, unwanted
And I didn’t want to feel his desire
Only the attention of a loving father
and his doting daughter
not to be
in this lifetime
Waning Crescent
Our eyes met.
It was the waning crescent
and her bright star companion.
No words were exchanged.
Just a silent greeting
and a reflection of light.
Distance has no bearing
in our quiet reunion.
We share the same sun after all.
Healing Insights 