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i thank You God for most this amazing
day: for the leaping greenly spirits of trees
and a blue true dream of sky; and for everything
which is natural which is infinite which is yes
~ e.e. cummings
i thank You God for most this amazing
day: for the leaping greenly spirits of trees
and a blue true dream of sky; and for everything
which is natural which is infinite which is yes
~ e.e. cummings
Feed Yer Hope Wolf
Apr. 8th, 2011 06:38 pmAn elderly Cherokee woman was teaching her children and grandchildren about life. She said to them, "There is a great fight going on inside of me. It's a fight between two wolves.
The first wolf is fear and greed and anger and deceit and self-doubt and competition and all the ugly things in the world.
The second wolf is hope and love and trust and sharing and faith and cooperation and self-appreciation and all the beautiful things in the world."
They sat there for a moment and then one of the children looked up and asked, "Grandma, which wolf will win?" The Grandmother simply replied, "The one you feed."
The first wolf is fear and greed and anger and deceit and self-doubt and competition and all the ugly things in the world.
The second wolf is hope and love and trust and sharing and faith and cooperation and self-appreciation and all the beautiful things in the world."
They sat there for a moment and then one of the children looked up and asked, "Grandma, which wolf will win?" The Grandmother simply replied, "The one you feed."
I am hypersensitive lunar extractions breathing nervous pebbles.
I am coiled orbits spiraling in a heartsick terrain.
I am not harboring pent up pangs of pinging pink pinnacles.
I love coral mistakes conceived in a cosmic sea of magnetized mollusks.
I hate digging dirges and wallowing in horse quartz.
I come from phosphorescent sky murmurs, sacred circles suspended in space-grace.
I remember cherishing bliss in vast woven zones.
I forget clotted expressions of tangled parachutes conceiving bamboo in botched buckets of blame.
My heart says velvety vistas sistered up the sun while curious harps spooned beneath borrowed buttons.
My mind says sync up, butter dove, the elf owl is emperor now.
The moon says meet me in the kaleidoscopic dimensions of yes near Hallelujah Junction.
The river says semi-succulent dagger yuccas are smuggling horse crippler tonight.
Come back to me Tripoli, tuffed upthrows of arroyos.
I can't give you up saw-toothed suffering, lost box of barbed hoarfrost.
( Read about the poetry writing workshop I attended )
Don't Despair of the Labor
Mar. 12th, 2011 08:04 pmIf we could see Japan from outer space right now, with eyes we've never known, we would see a brilliant burst of lotus flowers hovering over the devastation, each one opening and giving birth to another. We would see this because the creative power that Dylan Thomas called, "the force that through the green fuse drives the flower" is violent and holy and terrifying and the fractals of beauty that arise when life is torn open by Life is likened unto a woman going into labor when she doesn't know she is pregnant, doesn't know what labor is, the concept of birth utterly foreign to her. Her body seemingly betraying her, her agony unbearable, her suffering seemingly meaningless. She despairs of God, despairs of Love, despairs of Light, until the giraffe of new life stumbles in the room, blinking on wobbly new legs and the continent grows hushed. Everything pulses with a soft pink light and her sorrow is transformed into inconceivable joy, rippling out into eternity.
Eons later she whispers to her ancestor-sisters on the earth, "Don't despair of the labor. Wait for what is to come."
Eons later she whispers to her ancestor-sisters on the earth, "Don't despair of the labor. Wait for what is to come."
