Dear, Winter.

You hide the softness of spring and her fecundity

Nourishing and protecting the smallness in stature
The greatness of potential

I tend carefully to the inner flame
Hiding in my treehouse
Inviting only those in who also protect the light

Each snowflake a message from the Creator -
Be unique
Be love
Belong


Vermont

The full moon dances with clouds 
Its beams tickle my eyes

Lightning flashes, 
prepare to be startled,
yet no thunder follows 

Rains cleanse November’s wrath 
washing away an angsty month.

The angels are called  
11 11 11 over and over and over
270, we pray

December you are here!
Please fill us with love and good cheer

Yet darkness holds its cool embrace.
Covid sneaks in
and inward we face.

Take cover, the womb beckons
We turn in, brightness hiding

Gather in the center
Stoke the small fire
Tend to the soul's blessings
Receive, allow, enfold

Tuck in, await the return

Vermont

As the lioness cried
And held her paw by her heart
Comfort elusive
Frustrations expanding

The goddesses gazed from within,
above, and below.
Don’t cry they said

Don’t create anger or blame
From your throbbing pain
The thorn in your paw means you no harm.
It was just a thorn until it met your paw.
It can't reach your heart.

Soak your wound, gently separate
thorn and paw,
and keep thorn handy.

Keep it to remind you of its
innocence, its essence had no
intention of harm.

Your paw met that thorn
to remind you thus:  to know
Love we must know pain
To know pain we must know love

The lioness soaked her paw
in the purest water.
Thorn and paw released
from each other’s  grasp.

The lioness and her thorn
moved through their world
Finding nourishment and love,
And even more thorns.

It is ever thus.

Vermont

“I shall transcend myself in waves, oh god,
and may everything come and fall on me.”
Clarice Lispector, 1944

It’s mine
this sweet sublime.
And yet,
I seek the seed.
Longing for gestures bequeathed 
to others
withheld, denied.

If all nature is pure,
is walking in the way
to walk with light?
Are all roots the same?

Light lets us go 
as seasons change.

Grasping is to suffer,
the sublime was never mine.
Nothing is mine.
Nothing beholds everything.

Sweetness hidden 
sleeps in the seed
cradled in earth.

Await the return. 

Vermont

Of truth
Of status quo

Which truths?
Which status quo?

The trees?
The birds?
Or the siren drowning out
the bird songs?
Birds know their truths
Trees live their truths

But we humans?
We’re stuck guarding false truths
that serve the few who lead from fear

We stand before the gates
of truth
That the blue bird may be blue,
but its still just a bird

that the black or brown human
may be black or brown,
but is still just a human

the tree
the bird
the human
sanctuary and safe passage 
tenuously assured

We are each other
Whose truths do we guard?


Vermont 

To be saturated by sorrow
is to be a soaked sponge
heavy with dank dish water,
to be a rain-soaked meadow,
to be a grief-stricken being.

The sponge, abandoned,
grows mold, heavy with toxins.

The meadow with no stream to
cache its drain, no seams to the aquifer, 
loses wildflowers and grasses,
roots drowned. 
No bees, no birds, no color.

The grief-stricken being who
holds back tears,
​floods the mind,
hardens the heart,
strangles the spirit.  

Sorrow released allows tomorrow.

Vermont 

​Once upon a time
a jade grew gangly, 
welcoming yet wilting. 
Shapeshifting and caught in its pot, 
she could no longer mother herself.

After gravity had its way with her
snips were saved, tucked with hope in
water jars on sills.

Roots peek out, thirst quenched
relocated sprouts find homes
​in earthen pots.
Hope reaching up, up, up
grasping for air, light, sight.

Stretching for heaven, rooting in earth,
standing tall, and yet,
no limbs connect 
the east to west.

Fear not young sprouts, one pair
finds a painted pot,
set upon a light filled ledge.

The two find circles
flourish aside vacated squares.
Growing north, south, east, west.
Bamboo keeps the center.

Tended by the mothers
in harmony with the fathers,
they persevere.

Covid-Day 62, Vermont
​

There is a labyrinth near my home
I follow it there by Ariadne’s thread.

Up the road, down the trail, 
over the hill
nestled between meadow and garden.
Secrets sit nestled deep in its center

There is a before the labyrinth, 
an afternoon with roots stretching into softening soil,
fellowships sink on heels to rise, open and close through the mists.
A cover of green flourishing in the meadow. 

There is an after the labyrinth, 
when a line drawn by dragon’s tail left 
tiger pacing on one side. 
Fertile rabbit minds tend to the other side 
replete and rising of the resurrection.

Breadcrumbs, not thread align this labyrinth's path. 
Its secret deep in the middle 
unheard, covered by cries of Covid-19.

Love for all beings leads to unknowns, 
compassion steps in, the unraveling stops.  
We reweave the path to free universe’s secret.
No longer captive of the labyrinth’s dark heart, 
Freed by light.


postscript:  You continue to walk, lost, looking for the exit in the labyrinth. But there are clues under your feet. The flowers are there to help you navigate. You just need to know how to interpret love. How to understand hope. How to keep your mindset positive. Look for the good in everyone and allow compassion to be your best guide.  

Vermont

In the Chrysalis 
Moments to days
Days to evenings
Evenings to dawn

Dawn returns to moments

Minds flow, create, care
Bodies move in place
Spirits watch, wait, still

Spinning in the pupa

Listen, Sing 
Pause, Wait
Repeat

The secret sits

Covid-19 Day 25, Vermont

Tread (10) through light and dark
Ease out of the chrysalis
reach for light (46)
Work with grace (22) 
hold hope loosely in the dark

Lean into fellowship (13)
aside allies and comrades (7)

Duration to the left
steadiness to the right (32)
Pillars of strength
no sagging ridgepoles 

Let go
Hold
Close
Open

Hierarchies and teachings

Flow through pitfalls (29)

Modesty (15) and equanimity rule
while worlds collide
cracks become chasms
Back to the nest (62)

Vermont

Robins, alight in trees
over a blanket of white,
high and low, in branches they perch
peaking in my window.

A view of now
a creation of our moment,
together,
we gaze in each other’s eyes these beings and I. 
they float on air I can not see
lay footprints in snow visible only for now

as we share the moment I type black symbols
on to white light readying for students
to ask, what it is to be one?
What is it to be one with these birds, now?

We belong together these birds and I.
Will they let me join them?  
Can I imagine a future as one?

I open my heart to these 
dancing birds,
floating with them, not knowing 
tomorrow, only now.

Vermont

push from top
pull with bottom
paddle arcs

droplets form nested circles waves of light
ripples on water, wind made visible

glide towards asylum*
red eyes stare from black, white stripes and dots
anticipating salt water shores and winter breezes

sun sets behind evergreen silhouettes
cries from collared throats haunt nights.

water dancing isn’t just for loons
on to the season of yin
cold makes warm possible
dark makes light possible

returning. approaching. opening.

surrender to seasons, to love
formations guard; calls of warning
diving for nourishment

Little Tupper Lake

*A group of loons has many collective nouns, including an "asylum", "cry", "loomery", "raft", and "water dance" of loons.

Walking
     Clearing
         Holding
              Moving
in and out breath moves

water flows
cascades
tears waves drops

fate found in a saunter
let go
listen to emptiness

sap runs up tree
leaf lets go of branch

earthworms chew
woodpeckers tap

hearts beat pushing blood
in tigers, dragons, rabbits

grief releases, joy unbound

silence of destiny

Vermont

Breeze
Birds
Blades
Blue
Beauty

Waking to the summer-ness
To heat and air that scorches

Your side empty
save for a spirit
lingering in the air
Laying by my side, lazily moving
from dreams into arms

Awaiting the return

Vermont

Wait. What? May 31st?

Why couldn’t May have 41 days?
Just May. Is this greedy? 

I am not done with you,
month of May. 

The birth of green, length of light,
rising yang. 

Creation oozing from all beings.  

Savor, lament.
Winter’s entanglements in retreat. 
Monochrome no more. 

June arrives with more love and color.
Perhaps this year June will have 40 days. 

Vermont

Forms missing,
structures collapsing.

Oxygen reaches tiny flame
just in time.
 
Souls open
to voices unfamiliar.

Ancestral calls tend the fire,
sails are set.

Unknown charts ahead,
pathways open
new souls to receive.

Stars above, lava below 
space between. 

Flow restored from source to sea.  

Give.  Receive.  Flow.  Repeat.
Rip rap lines love’s banks.

Vermont

A fellowship took up residency in spaces of the heart.  
Places that expand to let in the love of soul friends.

That fellowship took spaces
vacated by the betrothed. 

Where did the betrothed go? Why emptiness?  
Who left first?    

Does the will exist to reclaim those spaces?  
Desire lives in ember's embrace. 

Can we reclaim a love?
Do we think the same?  Are we lost in the labyrinth?

Find fuel
tend to the flame,
return to the tiger’s lair.

Vermont

    Watch
      birds float,
        leaves rustle,
        branches weave
        clouds transmute
    Sky made visible.

    Listen
       peepers croak,
       crows squawk
       dogs bark
       children squeal
       coyotes cry
    Earth speaks.

    Watch, see. 
    Listen, hear.

Sky says to Earth
Don't forget,
I sent you there already knowing.


Vermont

Born, the me depends upon we.
A me must be to seek the we of 2. 

The we of 2 makes a we of 3, 
the beauty leads to the we of 4. 

Hours become years.  
The we of 4 sows hills and valleys.

Flowing through seasons
The we of 4 is no more.

The we of 4 becomes the we of 3.  
The we of 2 returns.

Light to dark, and back.  
From 4 to 3 to 2 to me, 
Space to be the we of two.

But, me?  Free to be.
In a we of 2, 3 or 4.
Family we will always be.

the me in we.

Vermont

Emerging from sleep
Assessing stillness,
quiet mind follows the
Muscle tapping symphony. 

Stretching out sleeps,
Aching deeply,
searching. 
Find the meeting place
between heaven, earth. 
Follow, join.
  
Center from the depths to 
greet the day.

Vermont