Yes

 Sometimes the poems come quickly, all of a piece.  This is one of those.

Anxiety rises and sets

like the sun.

Every day passes

like the last.

Sheltered, walking,

eating fine meals and

drinking bitter dregs.

We hold the tension,

pulled and pulling

this way and that.

Calm and safe

in an unsafe calm.

Holding on 

to a Christmas tree

past the time it should be 

tossed to the curb.

This is how we live

in the time of old age,

in the weary age,

in the world-beaten age.

This is what we have -

our hands full of salt,

our nights full of dark dreams,

our lives still shining with light.

Out of One, Many

Out of one, many.

    From the Great Mystery come

Asherah, Demeter, Cerridwen,

    Lakshmi, Hel, White Buffalo Calf Woman -

each a unique manifestation 

    of the sacred,

each a facet

    of a single jewel,

each a colored thread

    in a celestial weaving,

each opening a doorway

    to the One.

There is a goddess to touch

    every woman's heart,

to deepen her bond to

    this beautiful, bountiful earth.

Reciprocity with the one

    who chooses you

(who you think you choose)

    will yield a chance to

live as a tree does -

    roots down, branches up,

reaching for that

    which is greater

than yourself.

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:

Stripped down to the bone.

the essential pieces of a life

float in a basin of liquid, waiting.

They were not buried or burned

but are held suspended, so that

they might be fleshed out again.

Wing bones, leg bones, long and white

wait for what happens next.

Will the feathers still be white?

Will the eyes be fierce and dark?

Will the swan swim and fly freely

once more?

I am also reminded of the story in Women Who Run with the Wolves of the one who gathers and reassembles the bones.  It seems a worthy task.  

Also, another swan association is my SoulCollage® card for my 4th chakra (sorry it's not a great copy - just a phone photo):

 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."

A New Poem: Writing

I've heard Michael Meade say that some supposed poems are actually journal entries.  I get what he meant.  I don't really know whether this is a poem or "just" a journal entry, but you know what?  Right now, I don't care!  It is what it is.

A New Poem: I Go to the Trees

 

I go to the trees

for peace and

for grounding.

They show me

that to live well

you must root deeply

and lift your limbs

up to the cosmos.

What better guides

could there be

than the trees?

They drink nutrients

from the soil

and give breath

to the creatures.

They provide rest

for the birds

and splash beauty

across the earth.

I trust the trees.

They, like rocks, water

and mountains are spirit

made manifest, without

judgment, stinginess

or withholding.

It has taken me

a long lifetime

to understand the gifts

we were given.

My figurine and SoulCollage® card, Asherah of the Redwoods

A New Poem: Forgiveness

 

A New Poem: Forgiveness

Tomorrow I head into the double-dose chemo of round 6 (second of four potential rounds post-surgery).  This past week ("chemo lite" week as I call it) has been relatively easy, but I know starting next Saturday I'll be feeling it.  Nothing easy about this, as you know.  I'm just grateful that the air has been breathable, that I've been quite able to go for walks and to eat well (even if everything tastes weird and bitter), that I've had family around me and friends in contact, that I have a good home to live in.  It helps to feel gratitude in these difficult times.  My inner experience is pretty much in line with the outer experience of life in this chaos.

Forgiveness

My body 

did not betray me.

I am in need

of forgiveness, and

who I must forgive

is myself.

Meting out judgments

harsh and punishing,

I found a culprit 

to blame - the body

I've never rested easily in,

that never has lived up to

my required standards.

I've had so little tenderness

for its failings and foibles -

the belly wrinkled

from pregnancy,

the young girl's

awkward height,

the invisible issues

of the blood.

What I want 

is to cradle

my body-self and say,

"Shh!  It is all right.

You are loved."

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A New Poem: Forgiveness

Tomorrow I head into the double-dose chemo of round 6 (second of four potential rounds post-surgery).  This past week ("chemo lite"...