Mm, eating ripe plums off the tree. That tree’s blossoms tapped my door during the spring winds. Now it’s summer and I bite the fruit, sun-warmed and sweet. Yum and thank you. Solstice blessings to you!
March first.
Come to me, goodness. GOODNESS! GRACE! The moving forward on the good path’s ground. Come to me now.
Look at these cuddly years passing, scampering their wee bodies over the big plush couch. Innocuous, till. Shoot, where’d they go? All those little years, running around underfoot.
I’ll just keep calling for the life I want. GOODNESS! GRACE!
Come find me on the battlefield; offer me your hand, and I’ll rise like a kite. We’ll stride through the fighting and leave a tinkling armory landing on the tilled ground. Without weapons, opponents will be revealed as neighbors and walk on to care for their daily needs. Life will proceed. Anger will evaporate like puddles, and then the rain will fall, and the sun will shine, and this field will bloom with irises like forgiveness and resurrection. So mote it be.
GOODNESS! come, come, come.
GRACE! please enter.
*
May my force be a mirror
that helps Light travel
to where it needs to go.
*
Please help our lives to shine.
The image keeps staying with me. This weekend we came outside to hear loud piercing squeaks — a green hummingbird caught in a black widow’s elaborate web. I used a stick and managed to get the tiny bird out, but then it flew off with its tail wrapped tight with webbing and trailing a heavy twig much bigger than its body. No way would it survive like that, and night was coming on. The bird perched on a high branch, shaking with its pulse, unable to fly and out of reach.
Finally, it was the last slip of light and I came to check, only to find the bird hanging upside-down and motionless with the webbing wrapped around the branch like a rope. I got a 6-foot-long stick and used all my effort to try to break the webbing, as the hummingbird flailed its wings and squeaked terribly. Would I break its wings by trying to help? Finally, I gathered all my will and made a fervent naked prayer for its release. But nothing happened, so I tried harder, believing life could be good despite appearances, believing we can all escape the unjust fetters that bind us.
“Spirit, please free this bird from its attachments!” I prayed once more, and my eyes could barely see fast enough to detect the hummingbird instantly slip from the webbing and soar free on perfect wings. My heart lifted to my throat, and then the bird returned to buzz by us in thanks and flit high to inspect its empty shackles, before flying off into the night, freed as the soul’s hope.
Again and again, I see that bird’s freedom moment. It keeps flashing in my mind. This is what healing hope looks like.
I had to share the magic.
*
(Image from: http://amsdaily.net/2012/01/05/the-legend-of-the-hummingbirds/)
With four drops of lemongrass oil touched to my candle, the citrusy haunt dances me back to Hawaii. The ocean’s surf is crashing through my body, effervescing at my hips. Continue reading
Secretly, we’re all heroes sometimes, whether or not anyone notices. Making loving choices that aim for balance is heroic. And that’s the truth. Three to five business days after private acts of courage or sacrifice, we should all receive superhero capes in the mail. Continue reading
To prove the dreamlike nature of reality, Oxford Dictionaries chose as their 2015 Word of the Year no word at all. Instead, the winner’s an emoji.
In my dream, I glued butterfly wings on my eyelids for eyelashes. A woman talked to me about my grief over losing my dad and said I couldn’t just bumble through the waves and drown, and I saw a pale-green image of myself walking along the sea floor as the tall waves passed above me. Continue reading
I was concerned about the cooling temperatures, and days shrinking on the edges, and trees changing, rattling, and shedding leaves. But then it kept being so beautiful, so that helped. New Mexico is like my long-time lover I think I know so well; nineteen years we’ve been together sleeping side by side, putting up with each other’s shit. Continue reading
I miss you, words. I miss all the doors you held open for me that led to other places only a breath away.
Lately my writing feels flat and heavy like I’m working with a sheet of slate instead of paper, and writing things down is tiring. Continue reading
