I draw the curtain back
and allow the sunlight to
fill the room and all its
edges and corners with light
– sweet blessed light –
to chase away the darkness
of the night.
I was afraid of the dark
as a child I saw the shadows
dance across the walls and
I was filled with terror.
As a child I was powerless
the world loomed large and I
so small, too small to make a difference
to be heard.
The curtain clears the cobwebs
of my mind and I greet the day
counting my blessings to be alive
today is the only one that counts
Today I can make a difference and I do.
I can steer and guide that light
– that inner light intermingled with dark –
and shine a flashlight on all that was
– and is –
filled with fear and unknowing.
I can manipulate and warp the light
like a prism broken into all its colorful
rays of light.
Today I make finger puppets with the shadow
We play and walk,
morphing our shadows into one.
Fear still grips at me sometimes
even in full daylight
Shocks and anxieties aglow
I breathe
And as I do, I steady my heart.
The tick tock of a clock
mimics my heartbeat and I
find that connection once more
to be grateful to be alive.
Today, this moment
I cherish the lessons
even those not faint of heart
that grew and morphed and shaped me
into me
And I smile and greet the day.
The Golden Star
Six planets align in the night sky
Their rotation and route mapped out
by my ancestors
Math never lies
There is predictable safety in their patterns
We try to guess which one is the brightest
Is it Jupiter?
Is that Saturn’s rings – Yes!
The golden star above my house
and the dark silhouette of trees
Can Saturn see the earth?
Is it a blue star in their sky?
The trajectory of me, a mere earthling
looking up and seeing a song of the ancients.
They say a star’s light took billions of light years
just to twinkle in my eye
What an impossible journey
but here it is Painting and lighting up the dark sky
so many stars
at least 12 – 15 by my counting.
It is cold, the dead of winter
– not in the cosmos –
the sleep of winter is just my experience
what seemed a billion lifetimes ago
is not so far from what I can see
counting and marveling at the light
in the quiet of the night.
There is magical possibility
in the incredulous impossibility
What was once expressed as a ball of
gas and light has not been long forgotten
It shines above me now
It has a story to share
to those who look upon it
My ear is open to hear your tale
My heart is open to believe
I see you now
A hand holding mine
We keep each other warm through this night.
I greet myself
I stretch and breathe.
I expand and reach out
to touch a lock of hair.
It is never out of place
even as it grows and gets cut
It is still the same self.
The scale inches up
more and more each visit
to a specialist’s office.
Do I dare to look?
If I don’t see it,
it doesn’t truly exist, right?
I see myself as the same me
though the outerwear has morphed
grown no longer so firm
and fertile.
How I feel so outside of myself.
Disconnected from my center.
The space that grew and bore
two beautiful children.
I marvel at their beauty,
their perfection every day.
How can I find them so perfect
and me, who bore them, so imperfect?
Societal norms
Harsh words that stung
and played around
over and over in my brain.
Till I believed them as truth
words I vow never to say
to these beautiful babes
so full of potential
truly wanted and loved.
Is love really finite?
Can’t I find some of that same love
and turn it toward me?
To my center
to my current weight
and space I occupy.
I don’t want to live in regret
and I want to shed these old
stories, these old beliefs
no longer holding me back.
The present moment
Right now I know this
Despite the sorrow and the fear
– or in spite of sorrow and the fear –
Now is all there is
Often it is not front and center
with a proper view of what This is
Sometimes I think I can find it
and Embody this now that is
I return to my center
no longer lost in the tumultuous thoughts,
strings of notions and ideas
whether original or not
That weighs heavy on my mind
I just let it go
And I can feel the now
Glimpses of gladness arrive
My heart feels the light
there’s Goodness, nourishment
Rooted in the here and now.
The lone star
Lost
without its moon
companion
Patience, little one
The moon dervishes
and orbits a reliable track
In no time
your paths will meet
again
cross-star lovers with
eons of Milky Way to travel
together
and never that far
apart.
We All Walk Upon This Earth
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.
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.
Healing Insights 