ring of the palm

enso
single brush stroke
zen circle
orb of mindfulness
embodying the unity
of all things -
the endless boundless
transformation of the all..
an inclusive sphere
marrying
hidden and visible
simple and profound
beginning and end
empty and full

one full and empty circle

often in the yoga practice..
we focus on the ring of the palm..
our very own
(if we own anything!)
enso
the circumference
of the palm..
the band that encircles
the heart of the palm -
our generosity.
the palm..
the hand
that gives
and receives..
our tool of reciprocity  ~

downward facing dog
full arm balance
crane
o so many
earth touch postures
brings us hand to heart to clay
o ye practitioners of yoga!
what a blessing we receive..
what a blessing we bestow..

* LIKE ROOTS
our hands imbibe like roots,
so i place them on what is beautiful
in this world.

and i fold them in prayer, 
and they
draw from the heavens
light.
         ~ st. francis
no one lives outside the walls of this sacred place, existence.


* THAT LIVES IN US
if you put your hands on this oar with me,
they will never harm another, and they will come to find
they hold everything you want.

if you put your hands on this oar with me, they would no longer
lift anything to your
mouth that might wound your precious land --
the sacred earth that is your body.....

exhuberant is existence, time a husk.
when the moment cracks open, ecstasy leaps out and devours space;
love goes mad with blessings...
              ~ rumi

* TENDERLY
tenderly, i now touch all
things,
knowing one day we will
part.
          ~ st, john of the cross


in my studies of late i have come across
the most sensual, tender and awake expression -

opening the hand of thought

- coined by kosho uchiyama
here is his meaning :
dwelling here and now in this reality,
letting go of all the accidental things
that arise in the mind opens the hand of thought.

and his practice poem -
like a sunbeam on a bright autumn morning, 
i would like to become completely one,
body and mind,
with transparent, wholehearted practice.


piggybacking thought
upon thought
upon thought
and holding it tight, tight, tight..
becomes mere storytelling which we claim as truth -
our truth and nothing but the truth so help me...

imagine! the clear sky of samadhi..
releasing our grasp on thought
opening the hand of thought
we practice thusly,
and the ring of the palm
becomes the
lotus basket of generosity ~
the full and empty circle of life


* poetry from 
love poems from god
daniel ladinsky

prayer chant before meals

from tara mandala..

this is the new grace @ my table ~
(sometimes it's not what you eat
but how you eat it!)

i receive this sustenance gratefully,
appreciating all the forms of life
that have offered themselves
for my benefit.

i eat and drink with awareness
in the experience of  one taste -
realizing my body is a sacred mandala.

may all my actions be beneficial
and relieve suffering.
may all beings, without one exception,
have happiness and the causes of happiness.

BON APPETITO !

good grief!

o so many friends..
friends of friends..
family friends are
making the transition
moving across the threshold
some whisked away
by disease
olde age
some making choices
to say sayonara
and free themselves
of body, speech and mind..

as hafiz says so graciously -
death is a favor to us
reminding us of our mid-air flight
from vessel to wine glass to..clay..

those of us..
left behind in bones
and flesh
and heartache
reel from the news

let go..
~ our only instruction
at the time of our birth ~
let go..
of the umbilical cord..
let go..
of the wee fisted palm
let go..
of our bladders and bowels..
let go..
of the milky breast
on and on...
letting go -

until we let go of the very shape
and bone and heartbeat and memory
that we have called home for..
how many years?

clearing out my mama's closet
one morning after her death i found
the black cordory jumper she loved to wear
for fine dinners and outings ..
i drew in the fragrance of her..
and found myself slipping the
open arms around my neck.
- it embraced me like the cape
of some action figure..
i wore it all day..
this tender cloak of my mother -
witnessed by a bemused neighbor
as i emptied the recycling outside..
it was dusk when i realized
i had been en-wrapped in her all day..

i step out of her essence
let go
place it on the pile for soroptimist

AND
 that same day..

making applesauce
peeling, coring, cutting
my fingers working
fleeting fast
much quicker than my mama's moved
toward the end of her sauce days
knowing the slowing
will come to my own fingertips
i stop
find my age
this moment
let go
and pace myself


grief..good grief..
these recollections
birdwings rumi calls them..

your grief for what you've lost lifts a mirror
up to where you are bravely working.

expecting the worse, you look and instead,
here's the joyful face you've been wanting to see.

your hand opens and closes and opens and closes.
if it were always a fist or always stretched open,
you would be paralyzed.

your deepest presence is in every small contracting 
                                                                    and expanding,
the two beautifully balanced and coordinated
as birdwings.

phones....keeping quiet...

phones killed the sexiness of the streets..
     - joel meyerowitz

walk the streets in any city,
the paths of a wooded land,
the trails along oceans and around lakes..
aisles in whole foods and co-ops..

where is the
appealing,
beguiling,
enticing,
foxiness
of the human race?

glued
plastered
affixed
pasted
to a
smart phone in hand,
blue tooth in ear..
eyes - glassy
ears - listening
to a
small voice
on the line
in a box
while all the while
we have gone AWOL
for one another
in the flesh..
the flash of a smile -
the catch of the eye..

chapter 12
ON TYRANNY
- timothy snyder
make eye contact and small talk

instead we are eavesdropping
on hundreds of conversations
that have nothing whatsoever
to do with us..

she told him NO a million times..
use the big orange saucepan -
don't tell mom about this, promise?
i sold all my shares this morning -
where is the toilet paper you just brought home?
how many downdogs can you do in a day?
pick up the mess in the front yard before i get home or i'll...
cancer, i think..?
i looked at the house..way too much money..
meet me in the deli by the olive bar -
she's on some kind of drug that makes her..
what a sunset! you are missing out here..
alaska?

remember the days when we would actually
meet someone new at the car wash?
on a bus?
in the cereal section?
tree-dancing?

'tis time to put the thing down..
leave it in the car..
leave it at home, for that matter ~

get sexy again..
even if you are olde and broken..
make it real as santana advises ~
fall in love
with the sound of the waves
the rasp of the streets
your very own footprints


keeping quiet

now we will count to twelve
and we will all keep still.

this one time upon the earth,
let’s not speak any language,
let’s stop for one second,
and not move our arms so much.

it would be a delicious moment,
without hurry, without locomotives,
all of us would be together
in a sudden uneasiness.

the fishermen in the cold sea
would do no harm to the whales
and the peasant gathering salt
would look at his torn hands.

those who prepare green wars,
wars of gas, wars of fire,
victories without survivors,
would put on clean clothing
and would walk alongside their brothers
in the shade, without doing a thing.

what i want shouldn’t be confused
with final inactivity:
life alone is what matters,
i want nothing to do with death.

if we weren’t unanimous
about keeping our lives so much in motion,
if we could do nothing for once,
perhaps a great silence would
interrupt this sadness,
this never understanding ourselves
and threatening ourselves with death,
perhaps the earth is teaching us
when everything seems to be dead
and then everything is alive.

now i will count to twelve
and you keep quiet and i’ll go.
                 ~ neruda

by the thousands

they came in the dusky eve..
oodles of them..
winged and strong
in the pinkening sky..

and then..
they landed ..
in the field that i  see
just outside my door..

today..
they rise ..
taking the earth with them..
they hover..
like holy levitating rollers
a rock concert concerto
of snow geese..
coming from the north

when they land
they bring the sky
down
to clay
and all is one
and white

it is the season of renewal..
a revival of the survival
of great flight

one -
only one..
one lone hummingbird
slurps the nectar
from the feeders now..

while the blare and flare
and high rise
saturate the air, the earth
with a dharma teaching
of community..

yoga practice - thursdays - beginning april 5

the unthinkable / is thinkable.
             ~ wislawa szymborska

dear yoginis and yogis..
it is four months soon
since the titanium infusion ..
astoundingly-some,
i am ready and willing to try
my hand and heart,
my feet and thighs,
bones, blood and breath
at sharing the practice of yoga..
yet again..

if you have the inclination and intention
to practice with a mended mendicant..
o ..
that would please me no end (in sight)

here are the particulars ~
beginning APRIL 5
THURSDAY MORNINGS
9 - 10:30 AM
CRESCENT MOON YOGA
LACONNER

THE CLASS IS NOT PRICED
THRU CRESCENT MOON ~
therefore ~
THE CLASS PRICE FOR DROP-IN
IS THE SAME AS BEFORE -
$18
THE SERIES PRICE IS
THE SAME AS BEFORE -
$108 FOR 7 CLASSES

if you have classes left over from
a series anytime in the past..
they are redeemable always..

please know deep in your beating hearts
that i am sincerely grateful
and much moved to reams of admiration
for all of you who have supported me
and kept me afloat these many months...
( how do i love thee? let me count the ways..)

i have tested my wings down here
in rainy california & i feel it's a go -
this fledgling is ready to fly..

please cheque the blog
for any news or lack thereof..
peaceishealthy.blogspot.com
text or call - for queries -
360 770 7891

aiming for an anacortes class
when
the perfect spot finds me..

as always, within my address book there
are holes and crevices and craters
and clothes dryer bermuda triangles ..
so please feel free to share this e-mail
with the great many..

every creature on earth has approximately
two billion heartbeats to spend in a lifetime.
you can spend them slowly, like a tortoise,
and live to be two hundred years old, or
you can spend them fast, like a hummingbird,
and live to be two years old.
                                 ~ brian doyle
                                 the wet engine

you will understand the wonder

i saw the first of the boughs
carried to the lacy limbed tree
and wondered if the branches would hold
a hearty nest of eagles..

days and days ..
boughs and branches
fashioned in a roost
of such robust stock and beauty..
i now have no doubt..

even still i see the aerie
being refined and refurbished
to hold the tenderly tucked in eggs ..
the pair of eagles sit out on their deck
holding vigil, keeping watch ..
on the lookout for robbers and rogues
who might go after the precious nestlings
snestled deep in the feathered weave of home..

there then -
in the deep of my own heartnest..
yours too?
such a softness..
sadness and joy.. coalesce ~
how does that happen?

the crafting of a nest..
the love play mid-air -
creation and wild wisdom ..
egg making.. my goodness!
the silhouettes of the great bodies,
eagle eye awareness and presence..
waiting.. waiting.. waiting..

a vast patience unknown to me -
care - far beyond my capacity..
tenacity.. tirelessness..
companionship to the nth
it breaks my heart in two..

and that.. 
that.. is the wonder..
the awe in awesome ~

stunned into heartache
broken open to the evanescent
witness to the fleeting
this ~
this is the wonder and the grace of all things..
our response to the all is the sense of wonder

no wonder the wise instruction
is to allways be kind..
to the eternal flight each of us make
into the next moment and the next..
until..
we turn sideways into light and disappear ~