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Seeing what I want to see
inevitably
ends up being
what I need to see
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if I really understood this
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I’d never be fooled
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Tag Archives: Relationship
Every single living thing
~
every single living thing
on our planet
moves and shakes
in the moment
~
nudge nudge
Counting cars
RED
~
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
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Alchemy
It is an artist’s alchemy
to sketch a sphere
with a line
flat on a page
We can all hear the same story
but each word is a bird
flying home
Every human heart is
bravely
blood and muscle
At any given moment
millions of hearts
beat the same
~
Art: Salvador Dali
~
~
Knots
exposing
vulnerability
drawing J.H.White
~
~
Being held
In
the
depth
and
connection
~
drawing J. H. White
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~
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
~
painting: J.H. White 2007
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I want to thank my fellow traveler, Geo Sans. Even though it is a solitary journey, no one goes alone.
~
~
Speak to me a cappella
it’s the small intimacies…
the ones that gentle
boundaries endangered
that have weathered
our distance
~
touching yourself
surrender
until you are
only
slow aching
in the lightning
capsizing this turbulent abstinence
~
and set us free
~
Duet
~
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.
~~
“”””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””
Ceremony
~
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.
Poetry of Light 