Baby Spring
Hanging Out with Hecate
Sunday, March 7, 2021
Two Small Poems for the Season
Friday, February 5, 2021
Morning in the Realm: A New Poem
Every morning I go downstairs to write, and I look out at the expansive sky, the land below the hill we live on, and over to the hill on the other side of the avenue. There's an apartment building on that hill that often catches the first beams of sun rising over the larger hills to the east. Sometimes I imagine the building as a castle, lit up by the dawning light. Here's a photo in which you can get a glimpse of this place:
Why am I telling you this? Well, the "castle" came into this small poem this week. Really, there's nothing at all spectacular about the morning, the building, or the poem. But I can tell you, when I manage to have mornings like this, I am truly grateful.
above the
eastern peaks
Thursday, January 21, 2021
A New Poem: And the Wind Blew
Inauguration day felt hopeful. Such a good thing. I wrote this a few days before, and even with some renewed hope, I can't forget or ignore what feels true.
Tuesday, January 5, 2021
Yes
Sometimes the poems come quickly, all of a piece. This is one of those.
Monday, December 28, 2020
Out of One, Many
Tuesday, November 24, 2020
I Dream of Swan Bones
The other night I woke up with a dream image; it was a plastic bag or a basin full of bones in liquid. I knew they were the bones of a large bird, and I felt that they must be swan bones.
I've had a thing about swans since childhood. When I was growing up in Baltimore, we used to go ice skating on a frozen stream, and there were often swans there that I loved seeing. I also fell in love as a young ballerina with Swan Lake. And then there was the story of The Ugly Duckling. Who among us hasn't felt as though we didn't fit in?
After sitting with the dream image for a while, I had the thought that one possible meaning was that I am about to embark on a new phase. Tomorrow is my last chemo, and when I recover from that, I will be considering how to put my life back together. This past 8 or 9 months has been a kind of spiritual dismemberment. Maybe the dream is showing me that I need to reassemble the bones and reanimate them. And not in the same way, not back to some old sense of "normal." There is no normal now, not for me, not for any of us. What will life be like moving on, especially taking into account all the uncertainties?
So, this poem came:
Sunday, November 8, 2020
I am moving towards the end of round 7, having had my double-dose chemo on Wednesday. Although there are always some surprises, I am very familiar with the side effects by now. They will pass (I keep telling myself).
I use my SoulCollage® cards daily. Sometimes I do Tarot readings. But lately when I have big questions, I use the I Ching. The other day, I got an astounding reading and this poem came as a result.
Yielding
When I inquire
about prayer and opening
to the Great Mystery,
the I Ching responds with
“Field/Yielding” and
the Mother Goddess,
the Dark Animal Mother.
Six young yin lines,
no relating hexagram.
It is pure and clear
in its message.
She gives blessings.
She receives the dead.
The field is open
and enfolds all things.
It is my task to yield
to each arising moment.
There is no way to doubt or to
brush away the guidance
with the customary wave
of my cynical hand.
I am in a great field.
I yield.
The SoulCollage® image is called "Offering."