An impeccable twist

7897619839c03485326fe223eaa2d5a9~

Seeing what I want to see

inevitably

ends up being

what I need to see

~

if I really understood this

~

I’d never be fooled

~

~

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Counting cars

RED

2b6463922b811413b454f160eb1e91ed~

I’m just getting used to the old guys next door

They sit on the back porch

drinking and talking

I can’t decipher what they say

not understanding southern

but it’s not too different

than a murder of crows

~

across the street

two fire trucks

three cop cars

and the paramedics

blue and red strobe-alicious lightning these guys like to announce their presence

Should I move my car?

Alcoholic James gives diabetic Eddie

hootch

Someone calls 911

sister June lover of cats and brother Eddie

comes in and slugs room mate James the neglectful

POW

and the cops stand bACK

a broken hand for June and Eddie’s on vacation for a night

James better hide behind that tree.

~

Bella and me

sitting on the stoop

eating homemade popsicles

strawberries, yogurt and SUGAR

(a little bit)

It’s a RED car day!

counting cars

a few silver ones sneak in

but the red cars have it that day

~

~

They refused

to bury us

in the knotted masks of tall grasses

before setting fire to the cairn of chaff

~

our children

lie dormant

as seeds of light

~

we

as we were

are gone forever

 ~

now

defying gravity

I am here to witness

love breathing

~

through my own flesh

~

IMG_1745painting: J.H. White 2007

~

I want to thank my fellow traveler, Geo Sans. Even though it is a solitary journey, no one goes alone.

~

~

Duet

mud pies~

Four years from the memory of water

I watch

as you bake cookies

Your pensive industry concentrated, I

 stand silenced

by the gray distances you favor.

~

In our own ways

we are both tempted by sweetness.

~

I have already learned to adapt

to the rhythms of living in the abstract.

Engagement

not being within the code

of your weather.

~

So when you are busy elsewhere

I look in the cupboard

to find

one cup of sugar

intending to make the earth

sweet.

~

dirt    sugar    water

seeming the perfect alchemy

baking all afternoon

on an old tin

in the white heat sun oven

off the porch

~

The flower swollen and car exhausted air

seduces me

I gasp in the embrace

~

When it is time

my cookies still

taste like dirt.

But I am less interested

in this wounded conjunction

than the fine film

of sweat

that covers me.

~~

“”””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””

Making Mud Pies

Ceremony

kimberly_australia1

~

Down on my knees crawling through the blanket flap cervix

 the intimate waves of heat are in transition but I am ready

even though I’m ignorant and forgetful of this raw intricate birthing

Sweat rides my body in rivulets a waterfall’s surrender

I’m tense, but with senses trusting,

I watch the cindering stones as they concentrate

~

 with love and arrogance

I circle the entrance to myself

and follow them in

~

The speed of the stones passage to dust

 unravels my retread knowing

as their elegant sacrifice eclipses the barriers of skin

 and feverish memories collide zig-zag

unable to escape my hollowed mind’s eye

~

I am everyone pouring through my clearing eyes of perceiving

long occluded by the fallout of the human conceit

where even nature forgets her balance

when time has a mind

~

Vapors are rising from holy herbs full of grace

  Still, the undead congregate here like moths to our pain

every one, I’m learning, has a place in line

and I am naked and grateful on my knees and finally present

almost touching heaven

in the wasteland.

~

“”””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””

A little autobiographical note….While living intimately on 14 acres situated in the poorest county of NY State during the last decade of the past century, I had the opportunity to participate in monthly sweat lodge ceremonies.  The first was on a cold February Sunday…18 degrees outside. I began this relationship with the sweat lodge ceremony after hearing about a local man of Seneca lineage facilitating the sweats, who was being trained by a MicMac Elder from Canada.

During the course of this relationship, through my personal experiences of the sweat lodge and fasting with the Elder, I explored my own personal healing from trauma and our relationship with Divine Nature.  These sweats, and all I learned during this time, were only the beginning of this journey.

I’m grateful for the safety made possible and the care taken by the lodge keepers and most specially to Divinity  for answering my questions and challenging me to ask more.