In the garden

In the garden,

I sow seeds,

seeds of hope and beauty.

In the garden,

I grow food and medicine.

In the garden,

my presence is love.

In the garden,

I am embodied, strong and lithe.

In the garden,

the noise of society fades to music of winged creatures.

In the garden,

confusion clears and suffering subsides.

In the garden,

I am being.

In the garden,

I am breathing.

In the garden,

I belong.

Here, I am flow.

I am capable.

I am whole and purposeful.

In the garden,

I am a sun-kissed,

rain-drenched,

muddy-footed,

goddess of life and death.

Untitled

When I think I may succumb to loneliness,

art saves me, every time,

as does walking to riverside.

Wildlife draws near,

stirring up some kind of magic,

reminding me I am of this earth.

I am rabbit in the meadow at dawn, vanishing elusive.

I am doe at forest’s edge locked in gaze, awareness pure.

I am crow sharpening black beak on river rock.

I am coyote bewildered on noonday city block.

I am midlife she, crouched, one hand upon knee,

one hand in a sacred gesture, relaxed and ready.

In the dream-time season,

the spiral of descent pulls me inward,

a deep breath,

a pulsing path of shadow and light.

I encounter you there in surprise.

Tell me,

are we ourselves?

or, are we reflections of each other?

A Journal Entry

Exploring my edges–the nature and purpose of my boundaries, my sexuality, my creativity…I may have been long familiar with the idea of how human sexuality and creativity are inextricably connected, however, I am learning about this connection in a deeper and more personal way. I am listening to circulating questions, ideas and messaging. I am learning about what it could mean to liberate my love–to liberate the ways that I give and receive love, as well as how I cultivate and express it. And to be clear, while how I choose to share my body with other people is one aspect of my sexuality, it is not the only aspect and I am getting at something much deeper and different than what some may label as a practice of free-love or casual sex. Longing, desire, attraction and pleasure are my teachers. I am becoming conscious of the direct link between my sexuality and my creative impulses, my sexuality and my inspiration, my sexuality and my ability to think in new ways, my ability to deconstruct the social conditioning of the dominant patriarchal, white supremacist, colonial, capitalist culture of war. I am seeing more clearly how the oppression and the repression of sexuality leads to a culture of fear, shame, mental illness and violence. It leads to a suppression of creativity and an emphasis on conformity. If I don’t know or believe in my power, if I am detached from the natural force of my unique sexuality, then I am easier to control and less likely to imagine possibilities, less likely to innovate. However, if, and when I connect to the power and the unique expression of my sexuality–to the energetic essence of boundless love and eros that flow through me–then I am more alive, more creative, more agile in imagination, more open to possibility, more likely to overcome and transcend everyday violence–I am more likely to live into my purpose.

 

August

August longing heats

the quiet terrain of solitary bodies.

August longing radiates

cells that ache with thirst,

parched, dry tinder.

Skin, not as tough as bark,

ignites under touch electric.

Stoked and stirred by hot fingers of wind

encircling,

caressing,

filling in,

drawing out.

We burn for days.

We burn for months.

We burn for years.

We are burning now.

Smoldering cores of coal.

Lover’s kisses quench the moment.

Earthy blackberry crushed on lips.

Salty blood-licked thorn-prick.

Callous hands meeting softness.

We smell of cottonwood resin,

of river rock,

sun-baked minerals.

We listen intently for the call

of water at twilight.

Entering slowly,

savoring coolness.

Our roots,

our hearts,

our crowns

emit steam, rising.

We immerse

one and two,

becoming one, then becoming three.

We are multiplicity.

We are transitory.

We are fluid,

playful dreamers frolicking like otters,

our eyes reflect the starry seas of our birth.

We are wounded

warriors seeking

the medicine of touch,

love healing,

willing community.

Community willing the will–

the will to resist,

to undo violent behavior inherited, learned,

the will to cultivate what does not yet exist.

 

Summer

I have loved you from the beginning,

like the hot eternal flame of creation that stirs in every life.

I held the memory of spring’s renewal,

of summer’s abundance

through the deaths of autumn

for you.

I kept you warm in winter’s veiled dormancy.

I blessed your sown seeds

with water, time, heat and light.

now I await,

I anticipate,

I watch for the opening of your blossoms

and the development of your fruits.

Perspective

Today I walked an old familiar path through woods I have known since young childhood. Only this time I began where I usually end, and I ended where I usually begin. Everything looked different, altered on the flipside. I came upon unmarked trails leading into mystery–had they been here before? I had lapses of disorientation. Where was I? Do I know this grove of cedars? …this seasonal pond? this patch of horsetail? this steep incline? this creek? I turned in a circle. The path lay quietly behind me and before me. I felt, more than thought, I know this forest, this compacted earth beneath my feet, this April sunlight illuminating trillium and salmonberry blossoms. I know the unseen presences surrounding. I am known here. It occurred to me then, that perhaps I was undoing a spell cast through years of footfalls, or maybe I was weaving a new one–a spell of spring, one of transformation and renewal.

Another World is Possible

(To the paradigm of patriarchy and all who uphold it.)

I reject your attempts to vilify me.

I reject your efforts to desecrate me.

I, woman of power.

I, bringer of life, mother of children.

I, keeper of soul fire.

I, owner of this earthly body, my pleasure and pain.

I am stronger, wiser, and more clever than you will ever be.

The void in you is distressing.

Your lack of willingness to share power enrages me.

Your inability to love yourself saddens me.

I hold my boundaries with the strength of the trees.

I cast away the stones that have weighed me down, into the river.

I wash my hands clean of resentment and fear.

I return the blame and the guilt that do not belong to me.

I free myself from your constructs of war.

I forgive you.

I give to myself all that you could never give.

All I have ever needed is here within.

 

I open my heart to receive healthy, whole, reciprocal love.

I open my heart to give healthy, whole, reciprocal love.

I acknowledge the hungry ghosts and do not feed them.

I accept nothing less than true love.

I call upon the four winds,

I call upon earthly and cosmic forces,

I call upon my ancestry:

 

Guide me.

Be the wind at my back.

Be the ground beneath my feet.

Help me to protect my children.

 

I maintain my belief in the sacred,

my right to ceremony, and

my faith in goodness.

I allow my heart to swell with compassion.

I flow in connection.

I dance in ecstasy.

I sing to heal.

I sprout and grow, bloom and seed, season after season.

I live a thousand lives and die a thousand deaths.

I embrace possibility.

I accept the challenge of creating another world.