when there is safety
and deep roots
the healing can start
Like an earthquake that loosened
those deep ancient roots
what was hidden has now surfaced
to be healed or revealed
Healing is not linear
or a one and done
like all life circumstance
it is cyclical and spiral
When it comes back to
the surface, it is not
a failure, a revisiting of
past wounds
It is an opportunity
to use my lived experience
to deeply heal what was
shameful and dark
to be turned over
during this cycle
re-examined and not
discarded
no more
no more
Green blankets the earth
sweet blades of gentle grass
like hair brushing the bottoms of my feet
shades of green flood my vision:
Pines, evergreen, maple, shrub, dogwood
The seasons move me to the page
to write, to poetry
The ink scratches across
lined paper like a well-manicured lawn
now dented and clumped from small children’s feet
playing in the garden
rejoicing in the sun
as carefree as can be
The neighbors’ dogs bellow and bark
the calm serene lazy green scene
is shattered with shrill and boom
oh, how I used to curse the dogs
and their loud incessant pitch
They too are creatures of the earth
and innocent of their own plight and cries
for play and attention
I take the cue and turn inward
to play on the page with a small smile
on my lips -- no sour or annoyance today
for Green blankets the earth
and I am a child of nature.
Ant Army
Chitter and chatter
as they climb the bared
stud and wood walls
up and up toward the
dormer windows
Where did they come from?
Are they in the same colony
or dueling ant armies?
I did not expect to see so many
in my brand-new shed
my sanctuary
my space to just breathe
and be
to create, to move
to meditate and chant
I did not think I
would be the one
wiping out the ant armies
armed with insect spray
I rain down on them
They stop in their tracks
It is all quiet now
finally
Come Spring Again
The breeze rattles
and shakes
the Dogwood’s blossoms
lose their grip
and they let go
whether by wind or time
their brief beauty lies
a wish on the wind
scattered below
like confetti
a celebration and a
mourning on what has passed
is past. And I will wait once again
with bated breath on our joyful reunion
come spring again
It is not dark or full of shadow
It is not dark or full of shadow
the light illuminates
the hidden parts,
buried treasures
just beneath the surface
What jewels do you have
hidden, just out of view?
forgotten
or pushed to the edge of the frame
and it falls away from our
consciousness.
our good intentions
literally laid to rest
It can be dirty.
hard work has its labors
beneath the dirt and grime
the jewel lies in the hands
of the beholder
I am that spark of light
a jewel hidden behind
the sparkle of your eye
It is not cold or dark here
a warm, moist soil
Nourished and ready to
flourish
to become
what was just a seed of potential
Loving hands parted
the soft earth
to make a bed for me
And I lay down
like rose petals’ sweet scents
peppering the rich soil
And in these fertile conditions
I bloom
I become
I am
Little Bird
Soar little bird
find safety in the many.
Many hungry mouths
they do not know where, what
or when their next meal is.
The struggle for survival is real.
You have to always be on guard
in case of predators.
Even in all the danger and uncertainty,
the little bird sings its melody
so sweet and uniquely its own.
It sings not only as a calling,
as a means of communication,
but because it is its own
unique expression of the good,
the beauty, the gift of this thing
called life.
Many humans may never know
what a gift today brings.
The little bird reminds me
that I am not alone;
that seeing the good is not wasteful
or a trivial thing
but the only true and real reason to live.
Enjoy the brief moments of pleasure and joy.
They are the things made out of stardust.
What a marvelous thing that made me and you.
That spark of life. I take it gently in my hand
and place it over my heart
in a revery and duty
it is mine to carry.
No longer secret knowledge
only for the saints and the sages.
It is not so quiet and humble
but the echoes of the ancients
bellowing out on loudspeaker
and humans have been too busy
living in their head
that many may have missed
the many glimpses of this universal truth.
Each day is a gift.
It does not only belong to the few.
It is a universal truth and right.
Hold out your hand.
Be prepared to not only see but feel
the magic transform into raw energy
to be that songbird in the trees
with not only a tale in its heart
and a whisper of truth on its tongue.
But to rejoice and celebrate this day
upside on the earth
Feel and be that joy, my little bird.
Raindrops
Raindrops form into puddles.
ripples dance and gather
in concentric circles
as they meet and land.
Is the drop’s essence still there?
or is it formless,
beyond the puddle
beyond the many parts,
perhaps something greater?
Do we lose our individuality
when we sleep, when we eat,
when we digest,
when our heartbeat drums?
The way in
Do you believe in magic?
fairy wings that sparkle true,
birdsong that calls for my attention,
What turns the tide in the ocean,
and whispers "grow" to the trees'
invisible blossoms?
I refuse to look for evidence
of the contrary or a
second opinion.
Instead, I hold tight to this truth.
There is magic inside of me
Inside of you
The way in starts with the heart
the beat uniquely yours.
a jewel in your chest
sees the sparkle of another.
The way in starts with what inspires you,
where do you find your footing,
what uplifts and grounds you
deep like tree roots.
The answer can seem fleeing
and almost imperceivable
like a slight movement in the
corner of my eye
I saw it! I felt it.
I know it deep in my bones.
And I have the authority
to choose to see the magic
in a blossom, in a leaf,
in a snowflake, in a branch
now brittle but once full of life
coursing through sweet nectar.
A perch, a safe place to land.
We all want safety.
What brings you home
to your heart, to your own sense
of belonging?
There is magic there too
in your strands of hair
down to your toes
life courses through
your veins, your breath.
The magic of atoms and elements
made of stardust to make you.
Now
Do you believe in magic?
The mockingbird
The mockingbird laughs outside
on a tall branch of the tree.
It brings the joy
and the reminder
that laughter heals.
It is good medicine
to lighten up
to be lighthearted.
It makes all the moments
of the day
just that more precious.
To hear the mockingbird,
I am reminded of all
my bird visitors I have
come to know
just by being still enough
Quiet enough
to recognize their unique markings
knowing that I too am my own
unique expression.
Walls
The built-up walls
The independent streak
The survival mechanisms
to protect what was fragile
and innocent
A shell of hardened shards
Sharp, pointed and smooth
A whack and a crack
and the facade melts through
the vulnerability, the innocence
Lost too soon in the harsh cold dark
Uncertain to be liked, to be wanted,
to belong, to be me
appreciated and loved
not tossed aside, a blemished heart
The contents spill out
Walls that seemed so high, so strong
a wash over like a spring
that has finally sprung
The love, the innocence, the belonging
all still there
they always were
a crack and a whack
and I blossomed
into a mighty tree
Healing Insights 