love and friendships and travel and staying put!

it matters not where or how far you travel -
the further commonly the worse -
but how much alive you are.
                          ~ henry david thoreau

much of my life has been a traveling life -
driving up and down the coastline from
the san juan islands of washington
to the city of angels - california..
through or to monterey..
further, across the great waters to mother india
many times to bombay, delhi, chennai, dharmsala ..
further, spending months aplenty in the greek islands,
off to afghanistan, turkey, yugoslavia (when indeed it was)
italy, through and through -
europe traipsing all around spain, france..oui!
further, an abundance of england, ireland and amsterdam..
the eastern euro places..poland, the czech republic et al
there was egypt and syria..
tahiti!
o and south america by bus and truck..
costa rica, panamá, equador, columbia, peru
and further on and on south and south some more..

i have missed much of africa,
never made it to japan, russia,
mongolia or tibet ..
nor the scandawhovians..

this past may i was almost on a plane
to sweden for my 70th birthday..
of course, the blight..the pandemic..
put a stop to that..
further conjured a sojourn to ireland
with a friend in september ..
we'd be there by now..
but no, no..
not happening..
well then, how about a wee road trip
down to ashland for a get-away?
no way ~

further no more
i find myself
being still
staying put
nada
none
no peregrinating....

walking in the woods and forests galore..
early morning meditative strolls along the bay..
one foot in front of the other
hikes up and down the heights of hither and yon
pedaling across the trestle
 all nearby
much alive

for the moveable feast that i have been,
it is a shape shift
molecules remaining stationary
mind, too, resting
a wee bit shushed from bustle and hustle
no where to go
simply in ~
slow going
no going

the deeper you listen,
the more you will hear 
only one thing.
you will hear love 
everywhere.
              ~ gene key 13  / discernment

discernment
patience
ah! those elusive virtues
i have been chasing
all my lifelong.. ha!
perhaps,
with some stillness..
and much unmoving
patience
might bestow upon
my quiet countenance,
deep listening
love

i hear it!
the murmurations
of oodles of starlings
jammin' in the nearby trees
sound and flight
light and shadow

thwap, thwap raven wings
cawing and craaacking
sharing their revelations -
in threes..
caw, caw, caw...
have you noticed?

highway traffic, trains, the sound of freedom
tapping and grinding and building projects
always the buzzz and hummm of hummingbirds
wasps, too, that stick themselves to the feeders
loco with sugar and thick nectar of sweet
robins trilling their musical scales with flickers
practicing duets of suets..
the smoke..
do you hear it?


writing letters these daze
notes, cards, love missives..
offerings, poems, quotes
bits of trivia, enclosures..
connecting the dots
of past to present..
i have no social media accounts
with the exception of this blog..
is this social media?
my method of friending
is ink, paper, stamps..
petals, feathers ~
dribs and drabs
to carry on love relations ..
traveling epistles
dispatches of endearments


when you are enlightened, 
there is one relationship  
that you no longer have: 
the relationship with yourself.
once you have given that up, 
all your other relationships 
will be love relationships.
                            ~ eckhart tolle   

'tis a long road ahead, for me,
to the enlightenment portal -
i confess to a gluey, tacky,
gummy relationship with my self of selves..
yet i do spy the horizon..that vast expanse..
and if there is a voyage worthy of embarquation,
it is the way to the way which is the way ~

the best way to know god is to love many things
                    ~ vincent van gogh




      

blackberries

august 
when the blackberries hang
swollen in the woods, in the brambles
nobody owns, i spend

all day among the high
branches, reaching
my ripped arms, thinking

of nothing, cramming
the black honey of summer
into my mouth; all day my body

accepts what it is.  in the dark
creeks that run by there is 
this thick paw of my life darting among

the black bells, the leaves; there is 
this happy tongue.
               ~ mary oliver

my mother,
sarah jeannette wilson lingwood,
sallie, to those who truly knew her..
and most everyone did -
was born august 18th, 1916 ~
if she were alive today,
she'd be 104..

she adored blackberries..
picking blackberries,
eating blackberries..
eating more blackberries..

august ~ the month that brings
that dark bounty to our lips,
the dog days nectar we prize so high..

just such a one o so warm, lush summer day..
in august, of course,
sallie was out along the hedge
that trailed our yard -
meditating on the benefits
of her berry-picking..
the highlight of having nothing better to do..
and surely, what would be better than plucking blackberries
off the cranky, brambly, scritchity bushes..?
her straw hat covering her alabaster skin from the sun..
~ never touched by the rays of Ra..
when she took a tumble..a slip and jumble..
her precious bucket of gems cascading hither and yon
and her olde bones jouncing  and bouncing to the ground..
she must have been 90 or thereabouts..

i was not in the neighborhood,
the neighbors were not in the neighborhood..
she was no longer limber and nimble
at getting herself up and at it again..
her hat askew but on her head..
berries near enough to nibble..
"i'll rest a spell till i've had my fill
then muster my strength for uprightness"

if one does not master one's circumstances,
one is bound to be mastered by them..
                        ~ the gentleman in moscow

which was at least an hour or so before i arrived ~
popping out of the car, heading to the house
i hear this cheerfully meek and meager call..
honey!

did someone just say honey?
dianna dear..!
~ for she always and only ever called me dianna ~
where was her voice coming from?
i looked behind me..
to the front porch..
around the corner of the house..
finally tracing the call
to the ditch by the patch..
and there -
so merry and berry filled -
was my mother.

o holy mackeral (andy)!

we scrambled about the brambles
dancing a tango among the tangles
weaving a wound-up upraise until she was on her feet..
and although she was hot..
and although she was blue and black
and bruised and scratched and scraped
and although she asked for water..
she went right back to picking
that beloved juicy fruit of august..

happy birthday, mama!

allow yourself to trust joy and embrace it.
you will find you dance with everything.
                        ~ ralph waldo e.

rockstar and rosie

i ask percy how i should live my life (ten)
                               ~ mary oliver
love, love, love, says percy.
and run as fast as you can
along a shining beach, or the rubble, or the dust.

then, go to sleep.
give up your body heat, your beating heart.
then, trust.


rockstar, it seemed, loved me from the get-go..
rosie did not...


rockstar  (& coco)

a cairn terrier of aristocratic lineage
sired from the kingdom of tharbar!
rocky was a blue ribbon show dog
and shared his birthday with the 14th dalai lama -
he frequently wore a talisman of his holiness on his collar!
i would not be surprised in the least
if he comes back as a beloved holy rinpoche..
a dilgo khyentse, dudjom rinpoche, kalu rinpoche

once i had the great good fortune
to hang with rockstar for a few days..
as might be expected he attended yoga practice
up those 55 or so stairs to a wing and a prayer
where he rested royally as the king of our ballroom yoga
the down dog specialist ~
rocky's savasana was impeccable..

rockstar was 15 years plus when he crossed the rainbow bridge
he is survived by his adopted sister, 10 year olde coco..
also a cairn terrier, who was rescued from a texas
puppy mill by colonel potters cairn rescue..
casey and susan schanen of laconner..


rosie 

smooth coated collie
bouvier
american pit bull
aussie shepard and more
all-american dog!

she was found in a gas station by joAnn
collar almost ingrown - 2 bullets in her..
my best guess is that rosie will return
in her next life as a highly venerated
activist of non-violence and human rights..
a john lewis, martin luther king, rosa parks

i had much more time with rosebud, rozal-berry, rosie -
who would often come into my wee hut
only after i had finished my one bowl lunch bowl
to dishwasher it as clean as a whistle..


* the bowl
         ~ jane hirshfield

if meat is put into the bowl, meat is eaten.

if rice is put into the bowl, it may be cooked.

if a shoe is put into a bowl,
the leather is chewed and chewed over, 
a sentence that cannot be taken in or forgotten.

a day, if a day could feel, must feel like a bowl.
wars, loves, trucks, betrayals, kindness, 
it eats them.

then the next day comes, spotless and hungry.

the bowl cannot be thrown away.
it cannot be broken.

it is calm, uneclipsable, rindless,
and, big though it seems, fits exactly in two hands.

hands with ten fingers, 
fifty four bones,
capacities strange to us almost past measure.
scented -- as the curve of the bowl is --
with cardamom, star anise, long pepper, cinnamon, hyssop.

* i read this poem to rosie out on the north forty
while jen and i were having tea..
rosie looked long and hard at me for a wee while, 
then cocked her head and looked over to jen..
and as jen says, with a look like..
what the farnbang?

i was on the mat one morning for practice
when she nuzzled at my door for treats..
i opened up, she wandered in,
went directly to my mat, sat down and
produced a wuffle-full of formidable interior gas
while looking directly at me..
then promptly went back to the door to be out, out, out!

rocky and rosie, these two national treasures ( & coco )
adored my ziwi peake treats from new zealand..
gluten free!
long, long, long ago, a pet store owner suggested
that i offer this to all and any of the four-leggeds i met ~
in order to seduce from them a handful of fur, a paw or a lick..
i carry a jarful everywhere i go..

these treats were my wooing cooing
awww, c'mon rosie, love me doo-ing
prasad  (sanskrit - clearness, kindness, grace)
and i have to say..
i do think she grew to love me..
for now and then i was licked and kissed
(when john was nowhere in sight..)
her head on my knee.. only now and then..
we did have many thoughtful, philosophical evening strolls,
dark early morning flashlight treks
and silly romps across the homestead yard..

rosie was 14 years plus when she dipped her paws in the river styx
leaving behind her two apple cats - pippin and fuji -
john and joAnn webster of mount vernon,

dear auntie kathleen
and me....


a dog on this master
         ~ billie collins

as young as i look, 
i am growing older faster than he, 
seven to one
is the ratio they tend to say.

whatever the number,
i will pass him one day
and take the lead
the way i do on our walks in the woods.

and if this ever manages
to cross his mind,
it would be the sweetest
shadow i have ever cast on snow or grass.


what a favored breed we are, we humanoids,
to come in proximity to these four-leggeds..
who share with us their integrity, humility, selflessness ~
where we are enriched and entwined
in genuine gladsome fellowship,
our hearts broken wide open with their wisdom
and their unconditional love sweet love..


little soul little stray
little drifter
now where will you stay
all pale and all alone
after the way 
you used to make fun of things
                ~ emperor hadrian
             translated from latin by
                   w. s. merwin

a handful of dreamdust

it's 3 am.
the stars are out..i am out..
gandering at the night sky
to scan an answer from the empyrean
the coyotes
have been frolicking
and yelping since midnight..
new moon
juneteenth..
solstice..
no wonder sleep gives me the slip..
and now.. just now..
the roosters have started their early morning
crooning and cock-a-dooning ..

what is that
poem
by langston hughes?

gather out of star dust
earth dust
cloud dust 
storm dust
and splinters of hail
one handful of dream dust
not for sale

and i wonder..full of wonder..
not so much that i don't love enough..
yet wonder... full of wonder..
if i speak it out enough..
telling all i love..
and maybe even some i don't
that yes, indeed, i do love you
enough to tell you..
to tell the all and every
of my tally of loved ones..
i love you..
so maybe it's not that we don't love enough..
it's that we must declare it..
in any way
in a myriad of ways
in allways
in everyway ~

everything that breathes is hungry
                         ~ gary snyder

what is it we are hungry for..?
what whets this swelling appetite ..?
it must be love, you think?

hafiz says ~
with that moon language

admit something:
everyone you see, you say to them, "love me."

of course, you do not say this out loud -

still, though, think about this, this great pull in us to connect.

why not become the one who lives with a
full moon in each eye that is
always saying,

with that sweet moon language,
what every other eye in
this world is
dying to 
hear?

the candles have burned low,
the night sky has shapeshifted
to dawn this laudable day..
the aire is full of chirpings..
robin, rooster, frogs a' freeping..
hummingbirds queue up on the clothesline
and await their turn to slurp the syrup
from their red round diners..
swallows sweep the blue yonder
to feed the yawning mouths of young..
stardust fades to dreamdust ~
these are the days and this is time
to speak out from the arrow in our hearts
let's not waste another moment..
now is the time - this is the place


how do i love thee? let me count the ways.
i love thee to the depth and breadth and height
my soul can reach, when feeling out of sight
for the ends of being and ideal grace.
i love thee to the level of every day’s
most quiet need, by sun and candle-light.
i love thee freely, as all strive for right;
i love thee purely, as all turn from praise.
i love thee with the passion put to use
in my old griefs, and with my childhood’s faith.
i love thee with a love i seemed to lose
with my lost saints. i love thee with the breath,
smiles, tears, of all my life; and, if god choose,
i shall but love thee better after death.
                            sonnet 43 
                            elizabeth barret browing



           

talismans ~

the everyday practice is simply to develop
complete acceptance and openness to all
situations and emotions, and to all people,
experiencing totally without mental
reservations and blockages,
so that one never withdraws or centralizes
into oneself.
                          ~ dilgo khyentse rinpoche


i will give you a talisman.
whenever you are in doubt or when the self 
becomes too much with you, try the following expedient:
recall the face of the poorest and the most helpless being
whom you may have seen and ask yourself if the step
you contemplate is going to be of use to them.
will they be able to gain anything by it?
will it restore them to a control over their own life and destiny?
in other words, will it lead to .. self-rule
for the hungry and also the spiritually starved millions of the world?
when you do, you will find .... your self melting away.
                                                    ~ gandhi-ji

talisman - tongen practice..

tonglen is tibetan for sending and receiving..
it is a path and a practice that conjures up our willingness
to take on the pain of others and offer whatever may
ease, console and soothe their sorrow, heartbreak and misery.
it is the practice of the wide embrace..
a bigger container to hold the human condition..
tonglen unconditionally exposes our interconnectedness..
tonglen dissolves the barriers of the heart...
the talisman of tonglen frees us from the cage of the self...
when we are free, and open and spacious..
the world is free and open and spacious..


you are the world and the world is you.
                    ~   j. krishnamurti


three treasures  (talismans)

everybody says my way is great
but improbable.

all greatness
is improbable.
what's probable
is tedious and petty.

i have three treasures.
i keep and treasure them.
the first, mercy,
the second, moderation,
the third, modesty.
if you're merciful you can be brave,
if you're moderate you can be generous,
and if you don't presume to lead
you can lead the high and mighty.

but to be brave without compassion,
or generous without self-restraint,
or to take the lead,
is fatal.

compassion wins the battle
and holds the fort;
it is the bulwark set
around those that heaven helps.
                        ~ tao te ching
                           ursula k. le guin


like the earth, water, wind, and fire,
medicinal herbs, and the trees of the wilderness,
may i always be made use of freely
by all beings just as they wish.

may i be beloved of beings and may they
be more beloved to me than myself.
may i bear the results of their negativity,
and may they have the results of all my virtue.

as long as there is even some single
sentient being somewhere who is not yet free,
may i remain (in the world) for that being's sake,
even if i have attained unexcelled awakening.
                           ~ the precious garland
                              twenty verse prayer
                              nāgārjuna


         

peony wisdom

for my 70th birthday,
i was given the most exquisite peony
of such alluring color it made me blush
and weak in the knees..

it was fresh ~
plump and youthful ~
like the skin i may have had
when i was 17..

the depth of colour aroused
some heady seduction
down fathoms to blood and marrow..

opened and closed all at once 
in presence and aloof..
afar
if one was in the room
with this bloom
there is no way
you could look thither..

come hither..
dip into
the quintessence
the inner sanctum
the elixir of pollination
the antennae of looksee
a half a dozen nipples of venus
amidst a lion's mane of pleasure
miraculous mastery
marvel of minutiae
mysterious modus operandi
holy mo!

and fragrance -
subdued
coy, even
demurely inviting
the sense of smell
to come a little bit closer
you're my kind of gal
earthy and vague

it is now 5 days since my birthday
a pale ivoryness wafts about
still enticing
perfectly wide open
full and empty all at once
expansive and ceasing
the fragility of each petal
soon to fall like blessings
~ elderlore mist ~

ah ~ i see
this is me..

o sage of the peony lineage
i bow with palms folded -
as i myself fold
into senescence beauty
the ancientness to come
and go and go and go..

pollyanna

cindy laurance
a california pollyanna!

pollyanna ~
written in 1913 by the
novelist eleanor h. porter

often one is given such a moniker because they
seem to have an unfailing optimistic outlook..
excessively cheerful..
however, the story goes that pollyanna and her father
played the glad game as a method of coping
with the difficulties and sorrows
(along with good fortune and joy)
that shape one's everyday life..

the first one who whistled
thought they had a wren in their mouth.
they went around all day
with their lips puckered,
afraid to swallow.
               ~ wendell berry
                  * edited dl

the pacific wren (troglodytes pacificus)
is the true authentic without a shred
of even a nano tinge of a doubt,
pollyanna in winged form!

montaigne's maxim:
the surest sign of wisdom is cheerfulness!

most certainly this wee wren is wise..
for they sing and cheep and share their unfettered joy
for no reason at all..or so it seems..
yet their exquiste wren chirrupings bring
to all who listen,
to all who hear this triumphant trilling
into a place of fearlessness..
into an ease and a grace of being..
of being in right relationship with all things..
is it not so?

the practice of lojong gives us this slogan ~
always be sustained by cheerfulness
whereby we, as practitioners,
must bring everything to the path -
to the path of our lives..
the rough and tumblies,
the harsh and heavy,
the sicknesses and sours -
(along with good fortune and joy)
usher them right into the very heart of the matter..
actually training our minds..our hearts..
to be more wrenly ~
to actualize the wren's wise song
in the midst of viruses,
in wild and weird politics,
in zoomzoom yoga techno dramas,
even our old age and impending death !

make a joyful noise unto the lord..
the lord of love..

and so i say unto you,
be giddy, be silly, be joyful..
laugh alot and laugh some more..
kiss the air with the breath of joy..
even behind the mask!
for no good reason..
who knows?
could well be a cure .....

mountainal
this first-light mountain, its east peak and west peak.

the first-light creeks:
langunitas, redwood, fern.  their fishes and mosses.

its night and day hawk life, slope-life, fogs, coyote, tan oaks,
white-speckled amanita. its spiderwebs' sequins.

to be personal is easy:
wake. slip arms and legs from sleep into name, into story.

i wanted to be mountainal, wateral, wrenal.
                  ~ jane hirshfield


have a listen ! to one, or two, or three

https://youtu.be/1v5AQ2yiA2o