i am not a teacher

i am not a teacher to follow.
rather
i am a boat on the stream of wisdom..
carrying ancient liveliness
to any who welcome themselves home ~

i am not a teacher to follow.
rather
i am a doorway to the venerable practices
a threshold of the sacred
to any who choose to cross over ~

i am not a teacher to follow.
rather
i am a tree with many leaves
falling from the branches of unknowing
for any who stand on the pulsing hallowed earth


~ no teacher here to follow,
simply an open palm
of tender mercies..
a palm of luminous gems
reflecting the dazzling self
in the mirror of glistening marrow ~

who is looking within?

look in with me.
together we shall see our generous wakefulness
in the radiance of one another's kindness ~
there is no where else to find the one we are looking for..

be reckless
stay true to the heartwood

spiritual scar tissue

the kingdom of spirit is embodied in my flesh
                               ~ pattern on the trestle board

i have always counted my scars..
as they have added up over this marvelous and fleeting lifetime..
i have always felt them to be worthy making...
like proud flesh
when younger, i would show anyone who was interested
all the stigmata i had gathered ...
stigma - a mark or spot on the skin - medical 
stigma - in a flower  - the part of the pistil that 
that receives pollen during pollination - botanical

my first came when i was three or four..
THUMP!
bump! in the night when i fell out of bed and hit the side table..
the night stand - standing between me and the floor..
my mother rushed in to find me grounded..
my tow-head turned red head in a heartbeat minute
as the blood gushed out of my crown
she scooped me up, fled down the flight of stairs
and into the kitchen..laid me on the counter
she ran - as cold as she could - warm cold water over my skull..
washing the wound.. me squalling like a midwest storm ..
my mama nursed and butterfly-bandaged the V shape gouge
which held the red river back..
V for victory
it has been said when the spirit leaves the body
it travels up and out the crown of the head..
V  ~ a perfect exit up and out ~
may spirit find the way ..

my second.. that i recall..  was about 3 years later..
riding my bicycle as fast as the wind..
with clothes pins and playing cards
thumping and bumping
thickity-clickity
around the neighbourhood in the suburbs of chicago...
this burly brown dog
shoots out from nowhere
to find the source of the racket
down! thump! bump! i go..
the canine of the month
took a wee chunk from my cheek
and then began licking the nip!
it shows up vaguely when it catches the sun..
when a dog runs at you, whistle for him
                         ~ h.d. thoreau


my family often visited the VA hospital in chicago
to be with our father who was very sick.
he died quite young
from the complications of a disease
we knew nothing about..
~ my first heart scar ~
the first cut is the deepest 
            - cat stevens
my sis and i were frequently found running
through the halls  - and scolded  for it -
while our mother would be speaking
to the many doctors .. of unspeakable things..
working up quite a thirst from one such runabout,
sara hoisted me up to the porcelain fountain
to quench my marathon hankering..
weighty and squirmy and cumbersome,
she let fall my bones, my chinny-chin-chin, on the font..
such squealing and howling had not been heard
in those corridors before or since ~


returning home sweet home
from traveling many months
thru india, pakistan,
afghanistan, turkey,
greece and yugoslavia
26 years young..
right breast
lump - thump in my heart..
in those days, it was easy
to stop in to our friend-of-the family doctor
(whose practice had nothing to do with breasts)
a podiatrist!
baring my chest and my soul
he quickly covered me up
o! please! no! no!
briskly yet kindly sending me to a surgeon..
fibrous cyst..
which most probably would have melted away..
but in those days, many were quick to cut ~
my second surgery since tonsillitis..
coming out of the anesthesia,
i heard the recovery nurses query..
no tan line.. hummm?
wonder where she's been?
and..what she's been doing?
without missing a beat i answered..
greece, the island of skiathos, paradise,
sunbathing in the buff ~ 
how bold and brash and brazen
non-malignant, praise the high holies..

slip streaming away up on high past Rockport
on a golden autumn glimmer of a day
with my third and last former spouse
you have crossed many waters to be here
                  -van morrison
i slipped indeed on some sharp slithery rocks..
gashing my shin bone deep ~
what a most amazing thing!
how the shin grew to the size of a boulder..
beyond the pain was the wonderment of such a miracle ~
my wedding ring was lost in the commotion that day.
a sure sign of things to come..
plenty of heart scars from this one

up those many stairs
at a wing and a prayer yoga studio
while adjusting the space heaters for more cozy warmth
my left ring finger toe
slit to the tiny depth of bone and blood ..
~ beware of those sharp and shivery heaters ~
when the practitioners arrived that cold snowy morning,
my legs were up the wall
with a spouting, spurting red release that would not quit..
we all decided we must cancel practice.
escorted to the ER by a most sweet yogini ~
a real nurse and soothing presence ..
she stayed with me through and through..

and lastly, and not leastly
the hip..
the right hip..
the bone on bone hip hurray..
what a trip!
the slice - very pretty and straight as an arrow-
on my top thigh for anterior entry..
o how i thought my life was ending before this deed was done..

of course, there are skitterings and scatterings
of knee, elbow and ankle scars..
eyebrow nicks and finger gashes
with no recollections of their storyline..

so far, it seems, just about the right amount
of pollination and marks on the skin
to bring the honey to the spirit kingdom ..

trees of life,
these bones and blood-filled bodies ~
trunks and limbs
mystic seed pod scars
evolving to a noble end one day
knowing there is only the beginning..
again and again
amen

on the day when death will knock at your door,
what will you offer her?
o, i will set before my guest
the full vessel of my life.
i will never let her go with empty hands.
                    ~  rabindranath tagore