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..

high

to pray you open to your whole self

to sky, to earth, to sun, to moon

to one whole voice that is you.

and know there is more 

that you can't see, can't hear.

can't know except in moments

steadily growing, and in languages

that aren't always sound but other 

circles of motion.

like eagle that sunday morning

over salt river. circled in blue sky

in wind, swept our hearts clean 

with sacred wings.

we see you, see ourselves and know

that we must take the utmost care

and kindness in all things.

breathe in, knowing we are made of 

all this and breathe, knowing

we are truly blessed because we

were born, and die soon within a

true circle of motion.

like eagle rounding out the morning

inside us.

we pray it will be done 

in beauty.

in beauty.

                    ~ eagle poem

                            joy harjo

it is hot..hot like bangalore, like cairo

i have taken up roost in a red plastic chair

these last few days

with my spy glasses, used for viewing great distances ..

in any shade i can find..

watching, surveying, witnessing the eagle nest

chaliced in a faraway tree ..

leaping greenly spirit branches keep me guessing ~

is it a bird? a plane? a superhero?

and yes, indeed it is..

an eaglet..fledging..

the hero of my morning look outs

hopping in the depth of the eyrie to its very edge, 

expanding the span of great wing,

fluttering flaps of fantabulous faith

lifting ever so and springing to a nearby branch..

o imagine

what courage and gallantry to rest on the verge

of upward mobility and downward dive..

then

back to the nest

and 

stillness

and 

rest 

gathering the cliff notes 

for flight

for fly again for the first time

breathless..

not able to lower my specs

awed

and so strangely melancholy 

and so strangely exuberant 

and say out loud  

to myself 

to those deep listeners..

we must be our best selves always..

we must be 

nothing small 

or narrow 

or  low....

 

seasonal greetings

 yes ....

seasonal greetings..

this is an expression that the folks 

in india use to give voice to their hearts 

without offense to any one's credo or faith.. 

this early easter morning..

a chorus of owls..

singing praises for the day..

seasonal greetings..

in the morning's grey cool light

just beginning to stretch out 

across the blue yonder ~

one right on the roof top summit..

silhouetted, close-in presence

holy whooooo.. 

whoo, whoo, who..

then, the well timed reply of a trinity ..

hither and yon.. up and away.. yonder and thither..

standing in the nippy daybreak dawn

a congregation of one..

beholding the inquiring resonance  

bringing back to life that which never dies..

o my..

just yesterday, i myself used the expression

seasonal greetings to an elder (ha!) on the morning path..

a small woman with a coat of many colors..

camera in hand, binoculars around her neck..

walking slow and golden-aged..

her rainbow coat matched my rainbow shoes -

we are a pair, i said.. as i caught up to her

your coat, my shoes..

o yes, she concurred..

we chatted on about what she had spied on the field, in the waters..

where we lived and what great good fortune to be alive and thriving

even in our olde and elder and wizened lives..

as we parted, 

seasonal greetings !

she offered back..

passover for me !

i responded..

o! we have passover persons

in our family..

i was just at a seder..

and i sang out : 

LET MY PEOPLE GO!

she rang out :

AMEN! 

her hands uplifted..

her shining eyes aglow..

palms folded -

we bowed to one another 

i, with my rainbow shoes..

she, with her rainbow coat..

walked the path away from one another

joined at the heart

in the midst of 

seasonal greetings ..

and in the sweetness of friendship

let there be laughter, and the sharing of pleasures.

for in the dew of little things the heart

finds its morning and is refreshed.

                ~ kahlil gibran

leonard says it best

'tis a full year now this month ~

we have lived through  (and many have not)

the most astonishing of times

there will be more to wade through..

no doubt..

come healing!

o gather up the brokenness

and bring it to me now 

the fragrance of those promises

you never dared to vow

the splinters that you carry

the cross you left behind

come healing of the body

come healing of the mind

and let the heavens hear it 

the penitential hymn

come healing of the spirit

come healing of the limb

behold the gates of mercy

in arbitrary space

and none of us deserving

the cruelty or the grace

o solitude of longing

where love has been confined

come healing of the body

come healing of the mind

o see the darkness yielding

that tore the light apart

come healing of the reason

come healing of the heart

o troubled dust concealing

an undivided love

the heart beneath is teaching

to the broken heart above

o let the heavens falter

and let the earth proclaim:

come healing of the altar

come healing of the name

o longing of the branches 

to lift the little bud

o longing of the arteries

to purify the blood

and let the heavens hear it

the penitential hymn

come healing of the spirit

come healing of the limb

full moon ferlinghetti

 

the world is a beautiful place to be born into

it's late..

it's early..

it looks like noon outside..

noisy, too..

the geese are moving..

trolling for a place to catch forty

winks

i am up in a pool of brilliance..

the moon/

after much reflection says/ 

Sun is God

i've gone back to the beginning 

(of the blog..and this longstanding missive)

~ the walkabout from anacortes to california ~

attempting to traverse the usa

what is light what is air what is life so passing fair?

coming up on 14 years 

(march 10)   long live tibet

since we gathered at mt. erie school

and walked to deception pass together..

there are some gems of poetry tucked in..

many stories of random acts of kindness ..

hints of things to come..

(my hip was mentioned early on 

and lo! titanium 10 years later...)

i really could write a book

what dawns on me

in this dawn's early light

is the precariousness..

(mid 17th cent.: from Latin precarius ‘obtained by entreaty’ 

(from prex, prec- ‘prayer’) + -ous.

and the big-heartedness..

the far rockaway of the heart

placing myself at the feet 

of so many along the way 

the prayers volunteered for my safety ..

it was a trip to be out on the highways  -

such freedom and travail 

rolled into one long ribbon of road..

made of love and light and dung/ 

some great immortal song

what made me start?

what made me stop?

 a mysterious sooth-sayer 

within

giving me marching orders

pushing me to halt!

I am signaling you through the flames.

now the now is always here

the kindnesses persist

in the smallest and brightest and most baffling ways

we are made for each other

poets of life, liberty and the pursuiters of happiness

wooing and cooing our way along the Way

the moonglade that glides us toward our destiny

will we walk? will we run? 

far-seeing sybil,  forever hidden, 

come out of your cave at last 

and speak to us in the poet's voice 

the voice of the fourth person singular 

the voice of the inscrutable future 

the voice of the people mixed

with a wild soft laughter—

and give us new dreams to dream, 

give us new myths to live by!

lawrence ferlinghetti

1919-2021

RIP

holy wall of molies..

for everything that lives is holy ~

              -william blake-

a wing and a prayer yoga shala

was often graced with a holy "man" wall..

a holy person wall..these days..

vast numbers of push pins on cork 

held their numinous presences in place..

from  marilyn monroe, thomas merton,

the 14th dalai lama, bob dylan..

to yoda and ET 

jiddhu krishnamurti, my mother,

john and yoko..

the stretching cowboy,

ananadamayi ma  ..

neem karoli baba and baba hari dass,

bks iyengar and tkv desikachar..

pir vilayat inayat khan..hazrat inayat khan..

mother teresa and marcel marceau..

ramana maharshi, vivekananda, 

sri aurobindo and the mother,

saradha devi and sri ramakrishna..

dr. vasavada and babar..

on and on..

they will all be blessed 

on the burn pile

when the weather softens..

having been stashed away for  safe keeping..

it's time, yes! time to liberate them.. moksha!

however, dear friends of the dharma...

if you have a yen for one such holy moly,

send me a note and i'll send you the divine in photo..

please note :

some are tatty copies, newspaper clips..

lovers gather and give each other shade,

relief from the direct sun.

stay close by that community 

'til you become light like the moon,

then like the sun.

                ~ rumi

leave no trace

 

water birds 

go and come back

without leaving any trace behind.

even so, they do not forget

the path.

               ~ dogen zenji 

alexander khimushin wanders the world..

photographing indigenous people whose 

lifestyles and settlements may be on the 

edge of extinction.. saving the memory 

of these vanishing cultures..

cheque out : the world in faces..

his stated mission is to capture the faces of 

these last vestiges of ancient culture..

here at home sweet home, 

feeling the weight of stuff and such, 

knowing in my cells and bones 

the wisdom of impermanence 

i have been rummaging through files and papers

that i have been saving/collecting

pictures, newspapers clips, letters of gratitude

(even a psychedelic letter to my mama from the 60's  - o my o!)

and wonder.. as i wander through this past..

am i documenting my history and last

vestiges of some ancient karma?

and wonder further..

who cares?

not in some self-deprecating way

nor in any poor me mode..

simply..who will care?

i am not a prominent stateswoman..

nor a celebrated yogini or a legendary actress,

certainly not an illustrious politician..!

there is no progeny.. 

to pass along the modest history of me..

we know life is fleeting..

the 8th decade is unfolding for me..

rather, it is folding up around me..

the fetters of this incarnation are receding ..

there is now a boxload to purge and burn and liberate..

my past will not follow me to the grave..  **

no youthful pictures nor sentimental poetry

will weave my stories of love and loss

sketching me back into existence 

... like the flight of birds in the sky, 

the path of the selfless is hard to follow. 

they have no possessions, 

but live on alms in a world of freedom.

like the flight of birds in the sky, 

their path is hard to follow...

...freed from illusion and from personal ties,

they have renounced the world of appearance

to find reality.

                      ~ the dhammapada

REQUEST:

I AM LOOKING FOR A BURN RECEPTACLE

TO SET AFLAME TO THESE ENCUMBRANCES..

~ ANY FIREPIT OR FIREPLACE OR BURN CAN

WOULD BE MUCH APPRECIATED ~

** this blog..

when i get closer to the veil..

what to do?

pictures and epistles that are floating about..

what to do?

it will come to me..