stag and the ancient

how does it start? a beautiful painting, a vacant spiritual dwelling, a staircase. broken, mended, rising. for me it’s music. writing. high in the night sky. 

time to think and look out a window, a gift while i snack on chocolate in all the pretty scenery, my children roam their dreams. we see an observatory, shamanic caves, carved doorways to a distant time, a winding path through winter, antlers reaching for the great expanse. a snaking sunset river.

listen to the light ! the canyon demands our attention. a mirrored waterway, deep blue backdrop, gold draped everywhere. vision, space and soul. we may move swiftly though time wants us steady, slow. 

ecological release

bergamot baths London fog earl grey tea 

these invoke a deep sense 

of knowing 

somewhere comfortable

uplifting.

chasing the cosmos 

with receptivity. 

the last time i loved you

a pack of wild dogs ran free 

alleyways led to treasure chests

verdant paths meandered up active volcanoes cloaked in snow

the calypte anna stays through all seasons finding sanctity in enduring everything as home

vocal, buzzing

still

the mirages in vast desert spaces even catch my children’s eyes.

eternal bloom

sometimes there are many doors that open wide all at once down an infinite corridor. sometimes things feel caught in a net of disharmony. i am looking for the garden of our relationship. an eternal bloom while juxtaposing cycles of life. if we are made of patterns we have the key. sometimes it gets loud in here, with anger and wandering. flashes of images that need to nourish me gently haunt until i am in a salt bath with warm light, with beautiful women singing. do you ever wonder why things can’t stay the same. how we are attached to comets blazing across our universe, networking through roots underground, is the soil the past or future. each of us creation. why stars are children. that’s who i talked to as i searched the sky through tall giants every night, meeting the precise return of belonging. a flood, a fire - metaphors for a greater story. the dark knight almost falls back in his chair, enamored. water, skin. a birth. 

my favourite flower is Indian paintbrush.

vivacious

i want it to have rose petals, like a river. butter, silk, a phenomenon. there is a way of longing when all things are in front if you. soft and historic, white walls cascade towards a clear blue abyss. turn the music on louder. places that are the sound of altruistic weavings, quiet and benevolent.

healing is wild tobacco and sage, sailing through storms, little lion mouths. have i considered the miracle. a shoreline is a common ground for two wildly different worlds.

we meander through the wind holding hot chocolate. i try to find my body’s etymology, through a soft path of desert plants. when i hold my daughter with the great expanse, meaning is holy and clear. love is our greatest freedom. 

radiant positivity

now there is a gate to respect the sanctity of place. gather a few extra rules to guard our ever evolving history. i wonder if we all scatter in our minds around a story that is both a well and a solitude. if music invokes us in the same way. does my heart move with yours. that is what i am asking. beyond, at home, for the longlasting. you are who you are. what flavour. offer something, past judgement: a moonflower, the act, many small suns.

i

am 

carried 

by the fire 

and the song. 

true sand

masa. an astrologer. a mother. an old ally. at horse thief canyon we missed the sun falling behind volcanoes and bathed in all traces of colour down a dirt road through the cold air. i turned 39 today and reflected on the bounty of honesty that is necessary for us to weave our ways. relax in the visions of guidance.

small eternities

there is a waiting place. with openings and missed opportunities. a river of growth. the water changes from a mirror, to gold, then deep midnight. light and depth perceive the same truth. is it so that we only exist in the eyes of another? are we more meaningful relating. the drone of a boat being oared across the surface ever so calmly soars with this reception. sometimes our solitude is what reminds us of our whole self who at times meanders under a cloak of grief. just move your body says wisdom. be a movement that is its own. grand. 

to heal - 

i carry a black bear in my arms, two cartons of eggs, two hands. feel.

crimson cats

craft life softly, with reciprocity. 

the other night through a trail of coyotes i reunited with an ancient piece of earth bearing many stories. there is a viewpoint there that i’ve know all my lives. i think that says something about existence. when, on the way home the still, cool land winds through congregations of juniper trees, an arroyo weaves a water trail. sagebrush, a maze that illuminates the air. i find a photo of a journeyed stairway in Peru and knew it could take me anywhere. tending the fire is our role now, to gather, prepare, then converse with the spirit of the flames. the dance of cue and element. 

delicious monster

it is kind of lovely to write to the ether. i wonder if anyone is listening. anytime frogs have sung their shamanic voices it nestles into my body, my memory, my heart. aren’t they all one. the moment transpires into a ripple of moonlight on water under mountains reflected by our momentous cosmos. delightful. unusually happy and sad, my friend and i collide she is bright and offers me sweet cakes under rain in the parking lot. people try to navigate around us, we are in our own world of appreciation. later my husband says he’s leaving. he comes back. there are two fires in us and the future will write itself. love is curious and we are worlds apart with maps that lead our return. 

that is why i leave the windows cracked. smoke can release itself from our walls. i stood in front of a thousand year old hearth and someone dreamed the same dream with me.

blue voices

i was in there thinking everything. cried with autumn rain. the chill had arrived and i almost forgot the season of preparation before winter, however long it may last. before the bears paw up osha after they wake from winters ceremony they sleep, a long dream, a different realm. i am reminded of light, music and solitude. even though we are a family at the table - a fullness of way - there are empty chairs where guests would sit. our family down the road, our family across the country, an ocean, no longer in this body. candles are hopeful saviours in a time where reflection on all our paths is given and illuminated. to heal, to go, in time for an October full moon. after the show, we hopefully listen for rest within. a grieving period arrives and leaves. let it. the past scene reveals how different our days can unfold and how we navigate it with realism and the supernatural. 

finally, juniper and pinon trails up to the sky from our house. the sacred incense of home. our place is placed under the stars and we must look upward to the roof, here is our atlas. yes, that sense of belonging is with us. all along. i watch from a vantage point greater than myself.

and, give thanks. 

flowers, flannel, lamplight

once time. that’s what my daughter says when she starts a story. she sings sentences often and tells me she is singing a little song. more of this natural state. sometimes it is impossible to fathom how time works or how  capacity can be so great. i am sorry for the land and people where water’s powerful nature swallowed history, lives. organizations have come together to decide on ancient ways of tending a healthy forest so that consumption is balanced and a universal anger soothes. burning low brush in certain areas under thoughtful conditions. a planned, spirit led path. when i inhale smoke and the horizon is hidden a part of me freezes. then i relearn how things can be done. 

distinctly a new chapter begins. friendship, tapestry. the dishwasher roars. freezing air escapes the faulty freezer. a mouse eats butter. candlelight, music. a bird book or two. our hands guide us. patterns, colour and plants.

my son learns about life from giant willow tree who is the guardian of our home. the unison of coyote. sacred epiphanies.

prescribed fire

muted rosewood. when i imagined the cave with candlelight that i would retreat to for a quiet dance, i was sitting on my bathroom floor surrounded by violins. just for a moment i wondered. 

clay joins with water in the shower in the music. at the grocery store i reach the counter and see a total price i don’t accept. why do wise ones across the planet become extinguished. why is anyone only now figuring out animals enjoy each others company in peaceful clearings on common ground. we did come here as love. we are here in a wild fire. running through a flash in the night produces such contrast to our outcomes. 

juxtaposition: sandstone, sky

i am a mother in the desert. 

my wilderness. 

a letter to the light

fire in the sky. i love the contrast of land silhouettes and colour. a chicken carcass is in the dust covered grass. i leaned against our adobe crying. for the love that is buried. for the remembrance of something sacred, essential, medicine for my heart.   

once i was like a light. healing connecting. watching beauty unfold with my spirit. i watched and felt and was guided. 

now burden tangles within, without. the wallpaper is peeling but when i see the beauty and intricate patterns it is always alive. through the music is what i heard. there must be more music maybe it sounds differently. maybe i am lost. i felt the cattail how it fluffs into infinite seeds, they stand there every night glowing from the scenery. every morning a path is worn. my son and daughter dance with me around the house. 

i am grateful for motion.

remember when

when i think about opening that door a flood comes in. of radical positivity, comparison, inspiration, truth, the past, a personal document of everything that does not and very much matters. how though did we live with no recognition that offers some intimate intrigue. oh, it’s you. is there a quiet world without gunshots and lethargy. one where our brains are washed with rainbows and weaved soft like a silk tapestry. can we move on through our maze of wondering. 

the sky is pink sunflowers shine from dusty roads waving their “hi hi” diligently. i am right here they say, i am edible i am beautiful ! prayer flags catch wind’s grace while patient, sweet plums say farewell. 

goodbye for now.

a constant passage of seasonal offerings bring blackbear to feast, buffalo to roam. sleep in darkness, persevere. coyote crafts stars all hours whether seen or not. talking spindles into indigo skies across moonlit desert landscapes. look where we are. i walk a trail to a familiar place that is my refuge with existence. it was said to be the end, remember when. 

hope to see you again my friend.