international woman’s day march 8th

if i were in athens right now,
i would be riding public transport for free!
this morning, the bus was nowhere in sight..
walking down the footpath..to the sea...
the bus - heading up the hill as i reach the village!

today..
my mama’s death day..
one year ago ..

a few notes from her eulogy..
some poems ..some songs..

sallie’s fruitcake poem
(this poem was written after my father died..
and sallie began in earnest to sell her fruitcakes)

you may think this fruit cake
is just fruit and nuts,
spice, flour, sugar, shortening,
mixed, sifted and cut:

but tied in this package
is friendship and love
and warmth of a kind
as our father’s above.

for family emergency
changed in a day,
this cake as a hobby
to cake made for pay!

as neighbors and kind folk
from church, school and town
began to cut fruit, weigh the nuts
rally ‘round!

they’ve helped make and package
and even sell too,
this cake from our kitchen,
that now comes to you.



sallie’s quilt poem
written november 2, 1932

i can lay aside my studies without a
sense of guilt
if i have a thousand pieces to be sewn
into a quilt.
to be sewing them together from morn
until its night
i must confess its pleasure and forms my
chief delight.
to arrange the many colors so they’ll
make a perfect blend
is like visiting and conversing with an
old and honest friend.
when the thing is all together and the work
is fully done
i can dote upon a friendship quilt with
bushels full of fun.





bits of my eulogy for sallie..march 8, 2010

as it so happens,
my mama was the love of my life..
the 14th dalai lama speaks about
his first teacher..his mother..
who taught him lovingkindness and compassion.
indeed it is so with me as well..

my sister, sara and i are adopted..
that speaks volumes ..
we hit the jack-pot with our mother..
i was always so greatful she never turned us
(me, particularly)..back in!
heaven only knows
she had plenty of cause plenty of times..

sallie had a quality of equanimity
that was inspirational.
she opened her loving arms,
her kitchen, her home, her sewing basket
to o so many.

there is a saying in the middle east
that guest is god..
sallie honored that tradition
with the nantucket inn..
we had to keep the bathrooms soooo clean..
we could not leave our toothbrushes, hairbrushes anywhere..
for teen-age girls ~ that was a stretch..
yet it taught us to place others before ourselves..

sallie had an unfettered joy
deep in the landscape of her being..
she drew from that wellspring daily.
whenever hardship hit our family..
(often caused by one of her daughters!)
sallie would take up her needle and thread
and sew the world aright..
i witnessed this over and over and over again.

a tradition of sallie’s..
never leave home without a hankie..
carrying two was a good idea
so you would have one to give another in need..

it is sweet to me that sallie
left this earth on the 8th..
international women’s day..
also her thimble size..
she was an 8 and
she often had one on her finger..

my mama was always opening up..
like a tulip in the sun..
you have seen them yawn toward the light..
sallie’s spirit was such..
wide open to learn, to stretch..
even when she was unaware
of the expanse she was headed for..


those of you who have loved sallie
have stitched yourselves into a patchwork quilt
of lovingkindness and compassion,
of equanimity and unfettered joy
that wraps its cozy colours around her
and sends her on her way.....

row, row, row your boat
gently down the stream
merrily, merrily, merrily, merrily ~
life is but a dream!


great praise to all the mothers...
all the women of the world..
shine, shine, shine!
happy international women’s day!


(the day sallie died the sky was cloudless and clear)

a room with a view

“i love a broad margin to my life.
sometimes on a summer morning...
i sat in my sunny doorway from sunrise to noon,
rapt in reverie, amidst the pines and hickories and sumacs
in undisturbed solitude and stillness..
i grew in those seasons like corn in the night,
and they were far better than any work of hands
would have been.”

~ henry david thoreau walden 1854


soon you will be sitting on top of the world
another fortune cookie on my way out of seattle....

always keep the view

benny and joonya

we began our conversation in the elevater..
going down..
to the metro tunnel..
both of us were heading to sea-tac..
benny heading to the florida keys..me to patmos, greece..
he called me joonya..
i said we could make a movie!
(watch benny and joon for me, eh?)

he said we were on the lamb..
what exactly does that mean?
benny ‘s definition was that we were escaping something..
heading toward something..
i would have to look that up to be sure..
however, i agreed with him..
we were on our way to an adventure..
escaping life as we had known it..

benny is 74, 22 years of sobriety..
tall, grey-bearded, silver earrings
rings on every finger..no socks..brrr!
heading back to a place he will call home..
he had a very large suitcase with FOLSOM
painted on it in oils..he was an artist..
numerous rectangle bags schlepped over his shoulders..
one was a billiard stick..
the others....?

we had both been models for art classes..
benny in the buff, me in costume~
we had both boiled down
our possessions to what we carried..
(never mind that i had a corner full
for the next rendering..watch for the garage sale!)
benny had carefully chosen what he would take
away with him..on the lamb..then he closed up his apartment
and walked away!

he told me he left it a bit of a mess..
i can imagine..though he also said
he left treasures for those who’ll clean it up!



as we were leaving the train ..
he mentioned he was getting a blister..
damn!
new clogs..no socks..

..do you have any in the bundle your carrying..?
nope!

hummmm..let me see..
i have a pair ..what size be ye?
12..eek!
wonder if we can win-angle these to your feet..
we figured...yep!
so he made off with my smart woolies..

then as i said my bless you good-byes,
he rummaged thru the mystery bags
and pulled out a flute? recorder? clarinet?
here you go , girl..look, it comes apart..easy for travel..
benny, benny, benny..
you know i am not gathering..
i am on the dispersing trail..
keep it..please..
offer to one who will play it brilliantly..
thanks anyway..
bon voyage!

heading off..
as i looked back, benny was seated on a ledge..
win-angling his toes into those wee woolies..
my heart popped wide open!

giving really is receiving ~

zorba and the fortune cookie

"......the highest point man can attain
is not Knowledge,
or Virtue,
or Goodness,
or Victory,
but something even greater,
more heroic and more despairing:
Sacred Awe!

"We are little grubs, Zorba,
minute grubs on the small leaf of a tremendous tree.
The small leaf is the earth.
The other leaves are the stars that you see moving at night.
We make our way on this little leaf examining it anxiously and carefully.
We smell it; it smells good or bad to us.
We taste it and find it eatable.
We beat on it and it cries out like a living thing.

"Some of us --
the more intrepid ones --
reach the edge of the leaf.
From there we stretch out, gazing into chaos.
We tremble.
We guess what a frightening abyss lies beneath us.
In the distance we can hear the noise
of the other leaves of the tremendous tree,
we feel the sap rising from the root of our leaf
and our hearts swell.
Bent thus over the awe-inspiring abyss,
with all our bodies and all our souls,
we tremble with terror.
From that moment begins poetry,
…begins the great danger, Zorba.
Some grow dizzy and delirious, others are afraid;
they try to find an answer to strengthen their hearts,
and they say: 'God'!
Others again, from the edge of the leaf,
look over the precipice calmly and bravely and say:
'I like it.'!"
~ nikos kazanzakis

you are attracted to things
with an exotic flavor
and will travel soon.


for me..
i know i chase virture..goodness..
it is a challenge ~ to be vigilant
and free myself from that chase..
true moksha/liberation is the
absence of anything outside/other than
the is of what is..


prayer
galway kinnell

whatever happens.
whatever what is is is
what i want.
only that. but that.

leaving a sheltering home....

wandering..
nomading..
a' journeying..
just plan traveling about..
is all about leaving the sweet safety net
of a sheltering home~

mark twain tells us....
strange travel plans = dancing lessons from god
take one away from the cozy nest ~
out..out into exposure..
exposure to weather, to airplane aire, to the general public !!
(all mother sentient beings...)
to our fellow man/woman/child/dogs, cats, parrots, etc..
exposure to food that is not the food of our family,
toilets that look very different than our tidy thrones,
beds that are lumpy, clerks that are grumpy...
exposure to the interior of ones very own self..

how do we dance with all that is given?

remembering my last trip to india..
arriving at my seat on the plane to discover that
i was placed on the aisle..thank goodness..
in the very last row on the plane..o woe!
you may well know that the seats do not..not..i repeat..
move back..nada reclining position nor reasonable facimile..
i looked to my neighbour, a young indian gent..
and began to exclaim that no! indeed not.. do our seats
move in any direction..growl, gruff, grrrr..
he smiled brightly..shaking his head..
"we are the lucky ones, dear..we are the lucky ones.."

this from rumi....

a baby pigeon stands on the edge of a nest all day.
then she hears a whistle, come to me.
how could she not fly toward that?

wings tear through the body's robe
when a letter arrives that says,

you have flapped and fluttered against limits long enough.
you have been a bird without wings
in a house without doors or windows.

compassion builds the door.
restlessness cuts the key.

ask. step off into air like a baby pigeon.
strut proudly into sunlight, not looking back.

take sips of this pure wine being poured.
do not mind if you have been given an unwashed cup.


there is some hidden delight to be free
from the sheltering home..
to test my murky waters of graciousness, willingness,
gratitude for seats at the edge of the nest..
twigged and ruffled and ready for yes!

deep listening

it's time to turn the tv off
and listen.
that noise?
what is it?
maybe it's only crickets.

maybe it's distant music.
maybe people are dancing
somewhere not far from here,
the beloved among them.

out into the street-
we need to investigate,
to find out what's there.

even if it's only crickets.

~ gregory orr

mediterranees ~ ranaud garcia-fons

"everything is music.
a painting, a landscape, a book
or a journey are worthless
unless you can hear their music."
jacques de bourbon-busset

in order to get cellular with the greek isles..
(i'll be on patmos for two months..)
this music was delivered on the wings of a raven..
may i suggest you find it..listen..eat..digest..dance..
the insert offers poetry to the cells..
the music nourishes the invisible places
that soon sprout weeds of love..
love weeds?
indeedy!

so peaceishealthy is launched once again..
listen.. i hear the music of great liberation..
shall we be?