Earth held Her breath.
Day's beauty so blessing,
so filling with a
quality of light,
soul touching.
Who guessing
how spirit moving,
ever stretching
forward to still light.
(c) 3.15.94
Sunday, April 26, 2009
SOUL SONG
Earth held Her breath.
Day's beauty so blessing,
so filling with a
quality of light,
soul touching.
Who guessing
how spirit moving,
ever stretching
forward to still light.
(c) 3.15.94
Saturday, April 25, 2009
THE QUALITY OF LIGHT
The quality of light
on a day so bright
just on the cusp of spring.
Cool, quiet, and still
a day made to fill,
to dream and to dance and to sing.
Clear blue and breathless,
synchronistic light. Deathless.
Childhood memories taking wing.
Pure sensuous sight
is the quality of light
a day like this does bring.
A day made for friends,
beginnings and ends,
for winter to turn into spring.
To taste and to savor,
the quality of light's flavor,
a day to make the soul sing.
(c) 3.12.94
on a day so bright
just on the cusp of spring.
Cool, quiet, and still
a day made to fill,
to dream and to dance and to sing.
Clear blue and breathless,
synchronistic light. Deathless.
Childhood memories taking wing.
Pure sensuous sight
is the quality of light
a day like this does bring.
A day made for friends,
beginnings and ends,
for winter to turn into spring.
To taste and to savor,
the quality of light's flavor,
a day to make the soul sing.
(c) 3.12.94
Wednesday, April 22, 2009
DEATH!
A word.
A doorway.
An absence.
It's an ending on one side,
an arrival home on the other.
A completion of life's circle.
Life coming from somewhere else
and life returning after sojourning here.
Death!
Some people fear it.
Others welcome it.
Many fight it.
Some make it.
Most won't talk about it,
as if denial will hold it at bay.
Not to take their loved ones.
Others, but never me, or mine.
Death!
Gift! Curse! Blessing! Sorrow!
In time. To soon. Painful. Peaceful.
It is the pendulum
that swings on us all.
How will we meet this
common human experience?
Will we resist the inevitable, or embrace it,
as we would the last chapter of a well loved book?
Death!
The best answer to it...
Is to live life well.
Be honest, open, helpful, giving,
supportive of friend and family, harming no one.
Smiling often. Ease of laughter.
In all things, calling your truest Self
into action every morning.
Always believing
death is not only an end,
but also a new beginning.
A new birth.
(c) 5.26.01
A doorway.
An absence.
It's an ending on one side,
an arrival home on the other.
A completion of life's circle.
Life coming from somewhere else
and life returning after sojourning here.
Death!
Some people fear it.
Others welcome it.
Many fight it.
Some make it.
Most won't talk about it,
as if denial will hold it at bay.
Not to take their loved ones.
Others, but never me, or mine.
Death!
Gift! Curse! Blessing! Sorrow!
In time. To soon. Painful. Peaceful.
It is the pendulum
that swings on us all.
How will we meet this
common human experience?
Will we resist the inevitable, or embrace it,
as we would the last chapter of a well loved book?
Death!
The best answer to it...
Is to live life well.
Be honest, open, helpful, giving,
supportive of friend and family, harming no one.
Smiling often. Ease of laughter.
In all things, calling your truest Self
into action every morning.
Always believing
death is not only an end,
but also a new beginning.
A new birth.
(c) 5.26.01
Sunday, April 12, 2009
GOLD AND SILVER
We are walking, talking, Mom and I.
Rambling down a long straight row
in a huge old cherry orchard.
Trees, lush and full.
Patchwork shadows play
beneath the branches.
You can't see it from here,
but just beyond the orchard
is an older, larger vineyard.
This is a place of peace and plenty.
As we walk, I tell her of my plans
for Mothers Day weekend.
I tell her of my day at work.
I show her my scraped elbow
and recite how it happened,
tripping up the stairs.
She is loving and solicitous.
Sits me down in a straight back chair.
Holds my arm and dresses my wound.
When she is done I turn my arm to look at it.
It is laced with silver and gold.
It sparkles like the sea in sunlight.
And now it doesn't hurt at all.
In fact, she has made it beautiful.
When I wake I feel the glow
of gold and silver within me.
(c) 5.23.01
(From a dream 5.11.01 the morning I was leaving for Portland to visit the kids. I actually had fallen going up the stairs the night before, carrying film cans. It was a great dream.)
Rambling down a long straight row
in a huge old cherry orchard.
Trees, lush and full.
Patchwork shadows play
beneath the branches.
You can't see it from here,
but just beyond the orchard
is an older, larger vineyard.
This is a place of peace and plenty.
As we walk, I tell her of my plans
for Mothers Day weekend.
I tell her of my day at work.
I show her my scraped elbow
and recite how it happened,
tripping up the stairs.
She is loving and solicitous.
Sits me down in a straight back chair.
Holds my arm and dresses my wound.
When she is done I turn my arm to look at it.
It is laced with silver and gold.
It sparkles like the sea in sunlight.
And now it doesn't hurt at all.
In fact, she has made it beautiful.
When I wake I feel the glow
of gold and silver within me.
(c) 5.23.01
(From a dream 5.11.01 the morning I was leaving for Portland to visit the kids. I actually had fallen going up the stairs the night before, carrying film cans. It was a great dream.)
Saturday, April 11, 2009
DUSKEN DREAM "Just Visiting"
I stand at the hummingbird window
thinking of her.
I turn and there she is,
sitting in the white plastic lawn chair,
next to the couch where she
took her last sleep.
A rush of sweet shock holds me still.
A rush of deep love moves me to her.
Hugging, patting, kissing her cheek.
She looks so fresh. Alive. Ageless.
I can't stop touching her.
The question I want to ask
I don't.
The only words I have are,
"I love you Mom!"
Feeling utter joy to see her again.
A young man stands by the door.
He beckons me.
I worry he may blurt out the question I held back.
What if she doesn't realize?
Would it shock her?
Would I lose this precious moment?
Would she vanish away?
I go to him.
He pulls me outside.
"What's she doing here?"
he says,
"She's dead!"
"I know that!"
I say,
"But she might not."
Suddenly the racket of a well pump
goes off beneath out feet.
The porch where she sat
a thousand times to watch the day do by,
vanished.
Surprise.
"I didn't know there was a well here."
The young man, in agitation, kicks it...
beats it.
It won't turn off.
"I don't think that's going to work."
I tell him.
The door opens,
Mom jumps lightly to the ground.
"This requires finesse."
She says, tapping it gently,
turning a small screw slightly.
"It's a matter of controlling the flow."
It shuts off.
Quiet.
I ponder this a moment, knowing there is a message...
A meaning.
I smile, no time now to think on it...
MOM is here!
The world is rain washed.
Wet grass jewel green.
Sky a dusken blue.
The sun fading.
I link arms with Mom
feeling incredibly tender,
protective.
We begin to walk.
The driveway is muddy.
She slips,
I catch her,
lift her to safety on the wet grass.
She is perturbed with me,
for not being open with her.
Then it dawns on me,
it's not she who needs protecting.
She is Home.
We talk.
She has never liked
being protected if it means
holding things back from her.
But I just can't say it.
"I know I'm dead."
she says,
"That doesn't mean I can't visit
now and then,
when I want to,
when you need me."
Then she smiles
and touches my face.
I wake up.
Amazement. Joy. Peace.
They stay with me.
I am ready for her next visit.
(c) 5.20.01
(This was from a dream a few weeks after Mom died)
thinking of her.
I turn and there she is,
sitting in the white plastic lawn chair,
next to the couch where she
took her last sleep.
A rush of sweet shock holds me still.
A rush of deep love moves me to her.
Hugging, patting, kissing her cheek.
She looks so fresh. Alive. Ageless.
I can't stop touching her.
The question I want to ask
I don't.
The only words I have are,
"I love you Mom!"
Feeling utter joy to see her again.
A young man stands by the door.
He beckons me.
I worry he may blurt out the question I held back.
What if she doesn't realize?
Would it shock her?
Would I lose this precious moment?
Would she vanish away?
I go to him.
He pulls me outside.
"What's she doing here?"
he says,
"She's dead!"
"I know that!"
I say,
"But she might not."
Suddenly the racket of a well pump
goes off beneath out feet.
The porch where she sat
a thousand times to watch the day do by,
vanished.
Surprise.
"I didn't know there was a well here."
The young man, in agitation, kicks it...
beats it.
It won't turn off.
"I don't think that's going to work."
I tell him.
The door opens,
Mom jumps lightly to the ground.
"This requires finesse."
She says, tapping it gently,
turning a small screw slightly.
"It's a matter of controlling the flow."
It shuts off.
Quiet.
I ponder this a moment, knowing there is a message...
A meaning.
I smile, no time now to think on it...
MOM is here!
The world is rain washed.
Wet grass jewel green.
Sky a dusken blue.
The sun fading.
I link arms with Mom
feeling incredibly tender,
protective.
We begin to walk.
The driveway is muddy.
She slips,
I catch her,
lift her to safety on the wet grass.
She is perturbed with me,
for not being open with her.
Then it dawns on me,
it's not she who needs protecting.
She is Home.
We talk.
She has never liked
being protected if it means
holding things back from her.
But I just can't say it.
"I know I'm dead."
she says,
"That doesn't mean I can't visit
now and then,
when I want to,
when you need me."
Then she smiles
and touches my face.
I wake up.
Amazement. Joy. Peace.
They stay with me.
I am ready for her next visit.
(c) 5.20.01
(This was from a dream a few weeks after Mom died)
Thursday, April 9, 2009
SWEET SPIRIT
Mom and I
off adventuring
again last night.
She comes to me often
while I sleep.
We go exploring.
I can't really say
where we go,
or what we do,
the details fade too quickly.
The amber residue of dreams.
The feeling of her presence,
the echoes
of shared laughter
reverberating
in my soul.
(c) 5.20.01
(two weeks of dreams the end of April in 2001 - One month since Mom's been gone.)
off adventuring
again last night.
She comes to me often
while I sleep.
We go exploring.
I can't really say
where we go,
or what we do,
the details fade too quickly.
The amber residue of dreams.
The feeling of her presence,
the echoes
of shared laughter
reverberating
in my soul.
(c) 5.20.01
(two weeks of dreams the end of April in 2001 - One month since Mom's been gone.)
Thursday, April 2, 2009
SOUL STATION * ANGEL TRAIN
Her spirit is strong and sure, but her body is failing.
Though loves are deep, the links with this earth weaken.
From a distance, the sweet sad train comes wailing.
Her longing for home, lights the way like a beacon,
down the bright path, guiding her feet to the station.
She stands, ready and eager on the platform, waiting.
Woooo, woooo, clackity-clack, joyous song of elation,
it pulls away from the station, going up over the hill
green visions of paradise, no tears, no age, no lack.
"Don't be sad," she said, "remember it is life's will.
I've sojourned long away from home, it's time I go back."
"From the windows of home I'll watch over you.
Like a golden tether cord, our love, the ties that bind,
and when you need me, I'll visit you a hundred times or two
in dreams and smiles and memories brought to mind."
The Train now gone to cloud, and passing out of sight,
carries off our loved one from our nomads tented dome
through the tunnel in mountain and cloud into brilliant light
She now resides in heart and heaven, she is happy, she is home.
(c) 4.16.01
Though loves are deep, the links with this earth weaken.
From a distance, the sweet sad train comes wailing.
Her longing for home, lights the way like a beacon,
down the bright path, guiding her feet to the station.
She stands, ready and eager on the platform, waiting.
Woooo, woooo, clackity-clack, joyous song of elation,
it pulls away from the station, going up over the hill
green visions of paradise, no tears, no age, no lack.
"Don't be sad," she said, "remember it is life's will.
I've sojourned long away from home, it's time I go back."
"From the windows of home I'll watch over you.
Like a golden tether cord, our love, the ties that bind,
and when you need me, I'll visit you a hundred times or two
in dreams and smiles and memories brought to mind."
The Train now gone to cloud, and passing out of sight,
carries off our loved one from our nomads tented dome
through the tunnel in mountain and cloud into brilliant light
She now resides in heart and heaven, she is happy, she is home.
(c) 4.16.01
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