Grocery Shopping 

– April 30, 2020greenworld1.jpg

 

I wait in line on the sidewalk — six feet apart,

I wear a mask and blue rubber gloves.

 

The mask is handmade. Purple hemp.

Lavender lace elastic bands.

There is a shortage of medical supplies.

 

I am handed a cart sanitized with alcohol and chlorine.

Nonchalance and fear mingle in the air.

 

Inside bare shelves, reminiscent of wartime stories.

Toilet paper. Vitamin C. All purpose flour. Gone.

 

I play a game of red-light-green-light

but avoiding others.

Walking down solitary aisles – glances askance.

In this just released sci-fi movie called New Normal.

 

At the register I am summoned to stay away.

They bag for me, using their bags.

Fearing contamination.

No longer praise for bringing my own bag.

 

Body language on alert. A new code.

Social distancing. Staying vigilant.

Unknown to our age-old human senses.

Seeking warmth, touch, smell, life.

Mother

mountain

 

You are there at the beginning

first love, first teacher

quenching source.

 

You Stand mountain tall.

Bearing the winds

of deep, unknown, strength.

Beauty of the depths.

Changes of the seasons.

 

From blossom to root.

Ever-giving wave.

Mother is the beginning of life.

 

 

Opening and Closing

March 16, 2020

I feel an opening sense of grounding.

I feel closing around my heart, a caving in, anxiety.

Fear.

 

Big change on the horizon. The unknown in every sphere.

Illness. Hospitals full. Potential rejection when you need care.

Extreme isolation.

The acceptance of totalitarian measures.

Control. Fear a ruling factor.

 

Protectiveness going against love and help toward others.

Do we no longer trust our fellow Man? Our destiny?

Entering a stage of barricaded beings behind closed windows.

I fear the worst is this.

Entering a war without war.

The drawing of extreme boundaries and vetoes.

Closing in of whole groups of people, the whole population.

 

Who will help Italy? Who will help those in the country I love?

Not the European countries, but China and Cuba.

Where are the rich countries when called upon?

They are afraid of contagion. Of catching the Corona Virus.

What is fear driving us to?

Hatred. Aggression. Crime. Possibly.

 

An unprecedented virus is raging amongst us.

Taking down our elders and the weaker ones among us.

The virus has no knowledge of country lines.

Or boundaries, between rich and poor.

Of our little and big desires.

It is bringing us inside. In ourselves.

It is calling for hygiene and purification.

Causing havoc on our schedules, our interpersonal relationships,

our meetings and appointments.

It is shutting down schools and enterprises.

It is bringing us to a halt.

 

To face ourselves.

Face to face.

Within each family.

To pour out our fears, our exhaustion.

To voice what there is to voice.

To be there. Together.

In frustration. In catharsis.

To hold the un-holdable.

 

To love each other in the hardest moment.

On the clearest day, when Nature in her

evolving of pure Motherhood is birthing,

flowers of the softest pink in the clear sunlight.

When the Olympic Mountains rise digging down.

Mountains know. They sigh an inner wisdom.

Their ancient strength. The courage to survive

in the face of the blowing wind and the pulling tide.

Rock minerals might wear down into granules of sand.

Yet the mountains stand. Each day. Fresh to meet the sunrise.

I search in their beauty. I ask for clarity in their power.

 

May we have inner wisdom

May we have love

May we hold each other

Even without touch,

if need be.

May we be there for each other

in this un-knowable moment.

May we have faith and let go.

 

Trial by Fire

March 11, 2020

I have felt fire in my flesh

tasted burning flame rippling on skin.

Fire the organizer

peels away layers leaving

essence – the “I”, pure.

 

Fire surging in the night

glowing orange embers in the dark of jungle.

In fear of dark I light a candle to protect me.

 

Purification happens in stages

leaving me nameless.

A day of rage

A day of tears

A day of laughter

 

To dare to turn into a clown

to swim against the stream

Finned Ego * (line from King of the River by Stanley Kunitz)

Yet the heart is pounding,

the only dance

in the burning desert

is love.

 

Trial by fire

mysterious unknowing of simple truth,

be told.

My body unfolding.

 

There is death in life.

Here comes rebirth.

Resurrection.

 

In the palest pink

of blossoming plum

I saw my image.

The one I was daring to be,

caress.

The doll I held on my belly.

The baby I once was.

 

I dared to be me,

to ask for what I needed.

I came out the other side,

the one I wanted to hold.

Debilitated and new.

Life forces streaming

with the moon tide.

 

I long for Divine Mother.

For years I pined for her

I am Mother Now.

 

Mother to the heart of my child and me.

Mother as I swim to the ocean and back

to the place of my birth.

 

This is the Time

This is the time for the depth of the ocean,

the magnetism of gravity,

the tide pulled by the moon in Virgo.

This is the time for feeling into our ancestry.

For the forest primeval.*

This is the time.

The time for reunion.

Reuniting with true love of Self.

The “I” burning incandescent.

This is the time for family loved ones.

The loves of our lives.

Those we kiss and bless each day.

Time to gaze into the yellow cup

of a daffodil that catches a sunbeam.

The dew on leaves. Small droplets

of transparent love.

This is the time to love and to hold.

The time for the light and the red of the heart,

the root chakra grounding

into the Earth, sound.

Twisting, spiraling to reach crystal rock-bed.

A time for faith. To dispel the unnecessary.

The time to wade knee deep in un-knowing.

Feeling its discomfort.

Holding it longer.

This is the time to follow the heart.

This time is a challenge.

A gift deep down.

A re-connection to Spirit.

To test our fear and stay grounded.

This is the time

*Line from Evangeline, by Longfellow

 

Writing the mystery

Writing the mystery

The mystery from the Muse

the Muse from my heart

my heart holds this moment

precious and wild

wild like Mother Nature

the teet that fed

you its golden milk

that sacred substance

some might call ambrosia

the nectar of the gods

the god in everything we breathe

and smell

the touch of a leaf of sage

both soft and slightly rough

on my fingers when I rub it backwards

backwards I feel I am

walking in footsteps of the great unknown

unknown each day in its small

dewdrop essence of beauty and chaos

chaos in the morning teacups and crumbs

the crumbs I pick up five times

each day, after every meal

meals I prepare for every being

In my house husband child cat dog

the dog is a puppy

the puppy is a baby

the baby is contending attention

with the four year old

attention is what I cant spare

spare time that long forgotten mystery

mystery lying underneath each glance

the constant glance of supervision of the whole

the whole story gets told through its tiny specs

a spec of sand from the cosmos

tells about you and me today

today is the day I write

writing is my love

love is everything

everything contains mystery