what would i give back?

is there something i might regret..?

my spine is the scripture of all my actions ~

a brushstroke missing the paper..
a train off its track..
the ill fitting shoe..
a bad hair day all the way
to the middle of next lifetime..
a bald tyre
the soldier missing in action
a rice sack ransacked

the very long stroll to california
slipstreaming the crash to the boulders below
thunderstorms striking the lost chord
tap dancing the waltz on cement
much whiskey dank days the burren
bushels of burdensome guilt
sitting stitching for hours
quilting with salliema
dogs running, chasing, biting

lifting, shifting everything up to the sun..
moving the bed from the garage
to the garage and back to the garage
again, and again, and again..

changing flat tires, changing the oil..
driving the coast up and back by the trillions
slipping on ice thrice..
flipping my tricycle and bicycle
dumping the kawasaki on my bones more than once
losing a friend in a maze of malignancy
climbing the holy mountain to hang prayer flags
flagging down trucks to take me to persia
making love in those most bizarre places
running halfway in the marathon twice
caught in the shower by interpole lopers

stepping off the 7th rung of that ladder to concrete
landing belly up on a fire hydrant - a flip that flopped
spilling over the bannister to the deep cement stairwell
falling out of how many trees i've attempted to climb?
hitch-hiking across india, pakistan, afghanistan..
iran, turkey, syria with a backpack twice as big as myself..
(those were the days, my friend)

runway modeling striking outlandish poses
gymnastic training for the iron cross
lifetimes of backbends
falling out of handless headstands
forwards bends with friends pounced atop
twisting the topsy-turvy inversions..
sitting sitting endless days in the monastery

hugging the wind that took me to sea
losing my way on the road to shambhala
where will this list end..?

as a bodhisattva in training..
one trusts without doubt..
trusting this life, this bonebag, this rachis demise..
with look no hands to ride the cycle..
may i bow the deep bow ~
may i chant the deep prayer..

all that i am afraid to lose
i offer up without any
sense of loss..

je ne regrette rien

shots ring out!

the valley ricochets the gun shots..
banged and popped by the hunters of ducks..geese..

it is not an easy sound..
not like the mooing of the nearby cows
nor the wide awake howls of coyote moon bashes
nor the magic dialect of the raven's flight path
or the whiz & click & bizbuzz of the hummers at the feeders ~
it shocks one into an o my goodness !
where is the goodness in this crashbangboom?
it eludes me..

i thought i heard a wounded cry of a winged one..
twanged and tinged with a bullet
that did not bring it down to earth..
a ragged song that had lost the full vitality of voice..
over and over and over and out..

i had written a post
LAMENT some years back..
(on all soul's day)
here it is again..
the sentiment the same..

my mate..
my mate for life has gone..
gone the way of the deceiver's call
in the early soggy wet of duck morning..
though he has offered his shimmer feathers
his meat
his wing
for the nourishment of another -
        & i praise him for that..i do..
my mate for life
is gone


( what the hen must feel
when her drake does not return..?
we humanoids say that animals /birds/ insects
are not the feeling type..
how is it we know this?

i look at the yes of a bird,
the eyes
and i am seeing back to myself.. )

yes..we are feeling..
our small hearts skip a beat..
the weighty life of loss
makes our wings burdensome ~
flight is not a soaring
with our true companion gone..

i know this ..
i know this from my own wing ~
my own lonely wing..


exaltation for all souls all saints
all ducks & all hunters of ducks

red moon - red sun

after all, anybody is as their land and air is.
anybody is as the sky is low or high, 
the air heavy or clear 
and anybody is as there is wind 
     or no wind there.
it is that which makes them
and the arts they make 
and the work they do
and the way they eat 
and the way they drink
and the way they learn
and everything.
                ~ gertrude stein

we are being watched/witnessed by the red planets ..
the red moon gazing down upon us as we slip into slumber..
the red sun rising to shine on us with the hue of fire and flames..

we are embossed in vermilion..
we are at the end of the colour spectrum
we are on red alert
we are one of 3 colours of quark
we are in the cold war of wildland fire
we are wine made of the darkest grapes

the post of heaven

rain, wet, sky falling on our people..
the earth -  a soaked, flooded homeland security
like low basements in deep winter..
four-leggeds dense heavy feet cannot scamper..
frenzied flight of rain-sopped wings do not take off..
sodden rugs, drapes and car wheels move with flow
to go..where?
in the wake of the shake of the great drench..
where are the snakes ?

the post of heaven in broken..
the weighty wet deluge
carries moist hearts of compassion..
~ as tears add gallons ~
to the already too full reservoir..

we must overflow to see one another..
beyond our beliefs, our national pride,
our registered voter status..
drink up..
shall we all drink up?
the elixir of love
the storm clouds that filleth our cups..
to runneth over..
with the not-so-still waters
we cannot be still..

broken windows and empty hallways 
a pale dead moon in the sky streaked with gray 
human kindness is overflowing 
and I think it's going to rain today…
                                  ~ randy newman

the light in this valley..

it seems so much brighter..
after the eclipse..
are we not embued with some new glow?
such clarity of air..
the setting sun a fireball..
piercing my rear view mirror
on my way home from class -

then lured, i was, from a weak slumber
to the midnight warmth..
an invitation to behold the celestial stars -
the big dipper dipping deeper
into a twinking glory ..
much alighted by the day's
flurried affair..

i could not go back to sleep
so crafted a love letter to
a friend from long ago and far away..
remembering our torrid times
in the monastery kitchen
where we made good food for others
and followed the instructions
of our heavenly monk, our tenzo....

even in this morning next ..
the light that slipped over the farm lands..
catching trees and fields aflame..
sipping it's tea and crunching toast with me..
brought forth a new kindling of kindness ..

the neighborhood raven pair
seemed to enjoy circling in the fair air with more gusto..
adding their own radiance and dazzle to a new day -
the  dark duo skimming the empyrean regions with a fresh enthusiasm..
as if ravens could be more enthused!

though my own bones and feathers are ruffled
from eons of flight and upright rambling of being body bound..
and though sometimes a sun snuffed out
makes a nest in my heart pocket..
there comes a gleam of wildness ..
this dawn
having witnessed the heavens winking..
in a blink of an eye..

the light in this valley comes to rest ~

eclipse meditation.....

the moon after much reflection says:
sun is god!
                      - ferlingetti


in our bodies..the microcosm of the macrocosm..

sun is soul ~ moon is consciousness

sun/moon in reciprocity..

our gold and silver merging..

the alchemy of conjunctio (sacred marriage)

within the sushumna nadi..our central channel..

doesn't get more cosmic than this..

the sun was not always male, you know..

many moons ago! the sun was a goddess..

the tantrikas would greet the sun goddess
in the early morn & chant ~

o glorious one, o sun of happiness... 

we  salute you,  o goddess marici -

bless us and fulfill our pure wishes.. 

protect us, o goddess, from the eight fears... 

(which are....)

water 

thieves

lions 

snakes 

fire 

spirits or flesh-eating demons

captivity or imprisonment 

elephants 

their respective inner counterparts are:

craving or attachment
wrong or false views
pride
envy or jealousy
hatred or anger
doubt
avarice
delusion or ignorance

therefore consider:
floods of attachment 
thieves of wrong views
lions of pride
snakes of jealousy
fires of anger 
carnivorous demons of doubt
chains of miserliness or greed
elephants of ignorance

in ancient times..too,

the moon was not always female,,,

the mbocobis of south america claim 
the moon as husband and the sun as wife..

my mother is the beauteous sun,
my father, the bright moon..

in sanskrit the word for moon is masculine...chandra..

so....
in our yoga practice are we always in eclipse..perchance..?
since we aim to unify the sun and the moon energies..
to yoke them together in one biosphere..our microcosm..
earth..moon...sun..
prithvi, chandra, surya...
are we ourselves transgendered planets..?
!!!

heavenly bodies are in a constant state of change..
we are that and that is so...

As If to Demonstrate an Eclipse

                    ~ billy collins

I pick an orange from a wicker basket

and place it on the table

to represent the sun.

Then down at the other end

a blue and white marble

becomes the earth

and nearby I lay the little moon of an aspirin.

I get a glass from a cabinet,

open a bottle of wine,

then I sit in a ladder-back chair,

a benevolent god presiding

over a miniature creation myth,

and I begin to sing

a homemade canticle of thanks

for this perfect little arrangement,

for not making the earth too hot or cold

not making it spin too fast or slow

so that the grove of orange trees

and the owl become possible,

not to mention the rolling wave,

the play of clouds, geese in flight,

and the Z of lightning on a dark lake.

Then I fill my glass again

and give thanks for the trout,

the oak, and the yellow feather,

singing the room full of shadows,

as sun and earth and moon

circle one another in their impeccable orbits

and I get more and more cockeyed with gratitude.

i praise this
great wheel ~ the sun ~
an earring for
the lady of the east.
                  ~vidya kara  11th century poetess 

timing

refreshing my memory ~

turn, turn, turn  - pete seeger -
to everything there is a season
( ecclesiastes )
made famous by the byrds in 1965..
ah! those were the days, my friend -


To everything (turn, turn, turn)
There is a season (turn, turn, turn)
And a time to every purpose, under heaven

A time to be born, a time to die
A time to plant, a time to reap
A time to kill, a time to heal
A time to laugh, a time to weep

A time to build up, a time to break down
A time to dance, a time to mourn
A time to cast away stones, 
a time to gather stones together

A time of love, a time of hate
A time of war, a time of peace
A time you may embrace, 
a time to refrain from embracing

A time to gain, a time to lose
A time to rend, a time to sew
A time for love, a time for hate
A time for peace, I swear it's not too late

AND ~
just watched the movie cocoon
ron howard -1985

interesting juxtapose ..
elders leaving the planet so they can -
live forever


 timing - turning

something calls me outside
the wee abode where i live..

lo! on high -
a great bird..redtail ..
circling circling
orbiting the sky above..
small flyers pestering the path away
from nests..

a sideways glance to see the eagle's flight
ready to pinch the prey the osprey
spent a wad of patience catching..

the circumnavigation and chat..
a pair of ravens eager for shiny wrappers..

great blue herons heading to the rookery
for a brew (who knew?) with their seige...

will-o'-wisp wind in the birches
offering a dharma talk on the way it is...

that rainbow ..where did it come from?
just now..all these happen..

and...unfailingly..
direct experience of the great truth..
impermanence 

the greatest difficulty is the mental resistence
to things that arise and the underlying assumption
that they should not.
           ~ eckhart  tolle

how to totally, bravely  accept the what is..
whatever happens. whatever
what is is is what
i want. only that. but that.
                    ~ galway kinnell

trusting the timing..
right place, right time, right what is!

& the zennies tell us:
when in doubt, bow..
ever, always.. bowing to what is

turn, turn, turn ~