I caught the darkness

 

 it was drinking from your cup..*

catching myself being caught..

praying in that /this moment 

that it is not contagious...

the mind has a way..

is it the mind?

the ego-ish mind 

has a way 

of

circling the drain once 

it 

starts 

going 

down..

sometimes i grab my throat..

or thump my chest to see if i might 

break the spell..

though that particular mind 

has a mind 

of its own..

a separate entity 

of enmity 

going down..

the medicine,

the cure..

actually

is

the 

letting 

down

deep in the lowlands 

there is this pause..

a standstill 

maybe a cease fire..

where i..

whoever that may be..

breaks free

lollops.. into the murk..

the mirth

resting there 

seeing 

so very clearly

how i held/hold my-self 

at odds 

with  - away - from

the whole galaxy..

bluster!

sudden luster 

light!

i am the drinker

i am the drink

i am the cup

I am  awake!

does that ever happen to you?

whoever you may be....

* leonard cohen

do not be dismayed by the brokenness of the world.

all things break. and all things can be mended.

not with time,  as they say,  but with intention.

so go.

love the world intentionally, extravagantly, unconditionally.

the broken world waits in the darkness for the light that is you.

                                    ~ l. r. knost

mama mia

 

The courage that my mother had
Went with her, and is with her still:
Rock from New England quarried;
Now granite in a granite hill.

The golden brooch my mother wore
She left behind for me to wear;
I have no thing I treasure more:
Yet, it is something I could spare.

Oh, if instead she’d left to me
The thing she took into the grave!—
That courage like a rock, which she
Has no more need of, and I have.

                                         ~ Edna St. Vincent Millay

i, too, have a brooch from my mother..

it is a petit point piece she needle crafted 

of roses..or are they poppies?

small lush red blooms that claim her gift

in mastering the art of tiny stitches..

i do not wear it often for fear of losing it..

it is olde fashioned..

reminding me of her great generation ~

our ancestors of indomitable will and courage..

the fullness and the vast capacity she had to love, 

to love her wily daughters,

to forgive the transgressions, 

the myriad misdemeanors,

the punches pulled, 

the bamboozlements attempted..

pulling no wool over her bright eyes..

my mother was resilient, brave and charming.

she traveled the distance - to wherever -

claiming that indeed..

this is the best possible world..

it is good to love many things,  

for therein lies strength,

and whosoever loves much performs much,  

and can accomplish much,

and what is done with love is well done.

there's nothing more truly artistic than to love people..

                                  ~ Vincent Van Gogh

jesus is just alright, o yeah

my relationship with jesus has been an interesting journey..

like many folk i know..

it began when i was a young methodist novice of christianity..

i was brought to sunday school in my best pinafores 

where i was given a picture of jesus..

a very congenial fellow with long hair, blue eyes..

very white and bright..

i liked him right away

- though he seemed to watch me wherever i went -

one of those pictures where the eyes followed one

around the corner and through the walls..

i remember placing the picture in my closet

just to get a little privacy..

every now and then, i'd step in for a viewing

and an intimate conversation..

we were closet buddies..

i grew away from him when i went off to theater school..

leaving him alone with his thoughts..

and taking mine with me..

i began my own svadyaya.. self-study..

buddhism - to study the way is to study the self

krishnamurti - to lead a timeless life, you must wear a watch

yoga - yoga is the dissolution of all reactive tendencies of the mind

gurdjieff - remember your self always and everywhere

sufism - love is the healing power and the remedy for all pain

i ching, the tarot, the runes

leaving him in the dust..in my closet

soo many years later 

while visiting my mother's family

in south carolina..

i was taken to a concert of the doobie brothers ..

of course, of course -

i knew the song..

it turned out to be more 

of a revival meeting than a rock concert..

the mantra ~

jesus is just alright

and he was, is.. always has been..

i like him..

now

much deeper and sweeter 

are my feelings for him and his teachings..

he speaks the truth

and i know 

from our long standing friendship 

that he asks only the best in us 

to 

shine, shine, shine..

after all, 

the kingdom of heaven is within..

he and the holy mother..

(all the holy mothers)

reside in the pantheon 

of high holies in my heart..

he is an ancestor and a spiritual friend ~

he rises every morning with the sun..

embraced by the buddhas,

dancing with the gopis,

sharing psalms in the highlands,

sowing seeds in the lowlands, 

riding the waves of every sea..

jesus is just alright with me

jesus is just alright

arthur reynolds - 1966

( first recorded by the art reynolds singers - 1966

the byrds - 1969, the doobies - 1972, dc talk - 1992)

 

the great yes

for some people the day comes
when they have to declare the great Yes
or the great No. it's clear at once who has the Yes
ready within them; and saying it,

they go from honor to honor, strong in their conviction.

they who refuse do not repent. asked again,
they would still say No. yet that No--the right No--
drags them down all their life.

                                 - constantine p. cavafy

recently - listening to a dharma talk by jane hirshfield -

she shared this poem..

a poem i knew vaguely..

yet one i could not forget..

the great yes 

the great no

do they abide within us?

the answers to mighty questions

perceived immediately..

with no doubt..

arising in a just this moment..

then - the wibbly ways

with no certain conviction, 

the great and perhaps wise unknown...

our saying No..

may be saying Yes elsewhere -

cloud hidden at the time..

our saying Yes

- a No in another meadow 

of our lives?

is Maybe the middle way?

Maybe.....

might we translate Rumi's poem..?

out beyond ideas of No (wrongdoing) and Yes (rightdoing),

there is a field. i'll meet you there.

when the soul lies down in that grass,

the world is too full to talk about.

ideas, language, even the phrase each other

doesn't make any sense.

peace be with you ~

peace be with you,

friend 

full moon musings - eirēnikos

3 in the morning..

a clamor of some sea bell 

dinging 

ringing

if i listen deep enough

the hark bark of harbor seals

some comfort from the wild wet ones

cutting out paper hearts

colouring them blue and yellow

a ukraine leader declares peace

the way to freedom

emancipating the world 

perhaps the galaxies 

how to move about when one’s own heart

is shackled by the shackle of others

how to make things whole when 

there is a riptide in every holy haven

landscapes soaked in blood

breathing in bloodshed

breathing out boundless peace

there is a lighthouse 

a beacon

a flare 

a watchtower

in the pocket 

of every heart..

bearing witness

no turning away 

steeped, seeped 

saturated 

with the wages of war

the perfect moonlight 

spotlighting the wisdom

of those who know 

the time 

for peace has arrived

is always arriving

not peace between two wars

the peace residing 

in the center of each heart

bursting 

busted

wide open by the bloodbath

drenched dripping 

come away 

come awake

now

 

there will come soft rains

 

holy moly!

it is 4:44 in the morning of august 6 ~ 2021

there is a soft and tender rain pattering across 

the pavement, the yellowed dry grasses, 

the folded yard umbrella - table and chairs..

out in my barefeet to feel the moist..

barely enough wet to soak into my thirsty feet prints

hardly a trickle to dampen my morning bed head..

yet rejoice! hallelujah! praises in all things drizzly!

a poem seeps into my head..

sara teasdale

there will come soft rains..

googling to post it this drippy morn..

i find a short story by beloved ray bradbury

there will come soft rains

about 5 pages 

it is august 4, 2026.....

o my o!

a worthy shocking read..

bradbury at his best..

~ further on my search.. sara's poem ~

published just after the start of ww1 and 

in the midst of the 1918 flu pandemic.. 

There will come soft rains and the smell of the ground,
And swallows circling with their shimmering sound;

And frogs in the pools singing at night,
And wild plum trees in tremulous white,

Robins will wear their feathery fire
Whistling their whims on a low fence-wire;

And not one will know of the war, not one
Will care at last when it is done.

Not one would mind, neither bird nor tree
If mankind perished utterly;

And Spring herself, when she woke at dawn,
Would scarcely know that we were gone.

note to email subscribers..

 

goodbye

you lean with one arm out
against the porch post,
your big hand cupping its curve, 

shy of that handshake
we both know is coming.

and when we've said enough, 

when the last small promises

begin to repeat, your eyes

come to mine, and then

you offer your hand, 

dusted with chalk from the post,

and sticky with parting.

                      ~ ted kooser

well,

i received a note from feed burner..

whoever they might be..

saying they would no longer feed

or automatically send out 

peaceishealthy posts..july 1..

i dunno...?

so dear subscribers ~

many heartfelt thanks for subscribing

and ..

please cheque the blog now and again 

to find some new posts..

though fallow for the last few months..

( the world around me felt somehow too too-some

to add anything too it..)

i have been blogging for the last 14 years ..

~ with a hiatus here and there ~

and will continue to muse about the this's and that's

that tickertape through my heart and mind..

as the cowgirls are wont to say ~

how can you miss me if i don't go away ?

much gratitude for reading, dear friends..