Beautiful World

Kids, it's no secret that I have been in love with the beauty of this world my entire life. This morning, on Facebook, I came across the most wonderful site: it is called Our Beautiful World and Universe, and the moderator posts the most stunningly glorious photos of our world, and adds uplifting quotations and commentary.

I can't seem to find a name to credit either site or photos. But you can find it here:

http://www.facebook.com/#!/pages/Our-Beautiful-World-Universe/159928490751426

Here is the quote accompanying the above photo this morning:

This is my wish for you: comfort on difficult days, smiles when sadness intrudes, rainbows to follow the clouds, laughter to kiss your lips, sunsets to warm your heart, hugs when spirits sag, beauty for your eyes to see, friendships to brighten your being, faith so you can believe, confidence for when you doubt, courage to know yourself, patience to accept the truth,Love to complete your life.

~Theodore Roethke

Have a happy one, kids!

Flight Maps of Stardust Voyagers: a Poem

I found this image on Google, ascribed to nasa-space-station-info.blogspot.com.
The title of my prose post on this topic was so groovy, I decided to attempt a poem.
Here goes:

The flight maps of stardust voyagers
are imprinted on our bones.

We arrived here from somewhere else,
with scintillation from the Milky Way
still trailing from our limbs.

Andromeda watched our journey
from star to star.
A supernova fired us from Sky to Earth
and, ever since,
we have been searching the heavens,
looking for the map
that will lead us
Home.

A Word from Clarissa

[image by alian22.deviantart.com]

Eccentricity is the first sign of giftedness.
If you are seeking normalcy,
get over it.

Clarissa Pinkola Estes

Flight Maps of Stardust Voyagers

Sky Woman

These images were found on google, credited to greatpeace.org. In the Iroquois tradition, it is told they believe in a world that exists high above the world we know, where life is much as it is on earth. Sky Woman fell to earth from this Sky World, the first human being to live on earth.

Above, Sky Woman stands on the back of a giant Turtle, who provided his shell for her to rest.

This reminded me of a time, when I worked at the First Nations treatment center on an island just outside of Tofino, when as an exercise during group training, we were asked to create our own Creation Story. This is what I wrote. I miss those times. I so loved living and working among the First People, in our area called the Nuu Chah Nulth First Nations.

                                  *****     *****     *****     *****

Out of swirling gases, spinning for eons, particles forged in a celestial furnace were puffed into being by the god of fire. Gathering substance as they swirled across a timeless sky, fire and gas clouds scattered fragments that through the ages, galaxy upon galaxy, glittered across the velvety black canopy. Over millennia, planets, stars, suns and moons slowly fell into ordered composition. One of these specks was Earth.

Over millions of years, Earth grew, from primordial ooze to a lushness of green that carpeted land masses slowly emerging from the swirling seas. These masses changed forms and locations over time and, under the water, the friction of the obsidian shelf pushed huge mountain ranges up into the sky.

From protozoa that crept out of the sea onto land, from ape to Cro-Magnon man to us, through millions of years of non-human development, to humankind's arrival, our story took millennia to develop. Only in the last hundred years, with ferocious determination and greed, have we managed to do harm to every species on the planet. At the same time, our seeking souls, knowing we have lost our way, still look skyward, singing.

In my heart and through my being, Sky Woman sings, a song of the sea, a song of the sky, inspiration to keep looking up, to envision the world as it is meant to be and to live towards that truth and that vision.

I believe in everything: the Big Bang theory, evolution and creation. Because of the intricate beauty, precision, and interrelation of everything in the cosmos, it feels to me divinely guided, provided by an intelligence vaster than our human minds can comprehend. Every scientist, trained in facts, I am certain, must feel the touch of this mystery.

Primitive people felt the Presence of this force, and paid homage. The human spirit is designed to question, to seek the meaning of life. When we listen to it, it is this inner voice that yearns towards a higher purpose for our brief time on this earth, this lifetime that is our spirit's classroom.

I find no conflict between evolution and creation. The creation story in Genesis was interpreted according to the understanding of the people of those ancient times in language they could grasp. The "seven days of creation" easily might have been seven million years in the unfolding.

We carry within us flight maps of stardust voyagers. It is in our DNA. This keeps us yearning towards the nighttime skies. It is what makes us strive for meaning with which to fill our empty spaces. We are all star travelers here, arriving on the planet still bemused by the Mystery.

We understand more easily the earthly component of the paradigm. I believe there are no limits to the possibilities, that there is so much more to us than this one lifetime in our earthly bodies.

We have been Sky Woman, we have been trees, we have soared with eagles, and sung with whales. We are singing still, that mournful song of living on this planet in a way that has strayed so far from the teachings of the Old Ones. Our prayers rise on the Old Ones' breath, to the listening ears of whatever gods may be, Wakan Tanka among the First People.

There is room for it all - by many roads we travel to the same source, which is called by many names. This same Intelligence which set sun and moon and earth spinning in their orbit, programmed into the DNA of every cell the unslakable desire to develop. To us was added the free will to reason our way through all the possibilities, and to choose our pathway through this life according to our highest truths.

Without belief, what would give our lives and our deaths meaning? If we were only living, like every other cell, would the ordered beauty of the world be enough to accept the pain and struggle of being here? Does a simple cell feel joy or despair? What gave us reason and intelligence and choice, and why were we given it, if not to somehow prove ourselves worthy of the gift?

When I look up at the stars, I feel connected, some of their dust light-years ago somehow having become incorporated in my being.

My belief in this Intelligence helps me view myself and my fellow travelers with compassion, knowing whatever our fates on this plane, there will be a balancing out on the scales of a much truer justice than we find here, so that no one's life and death is meaningless.

I dont use one word to name whatever set the thousand galaxies spinning; I only know something cannot come from nothing, that before the swirling gases had to be the space they traveled in.

Looking inward at the teeming life of a single cell, its structure is too perfectly ordered to be random. Looking outward exponentially, spiraling across time and space on a cosmic journey, each star, each galaxy, with its programmed pattern, I believe all theories contain some truth. The only theory I find difficult to understand is that all life is random, that we live, we die, and it means nothing. I cant find anything in the human experience to support that.

Traveler, there are no limits to the possibilities, only perhaps in our capacity to understand them. I believe the soul is part of the story of creation, that it does not die, and that "there is a landscape larger than the one we see," and so much more than to survive that we are meant to do.

The Tree of Peace

Happy News!

Happy news, kids! My youngest, Stephanie, and her wonderful man, Gord, have recently become engaged. I am thrilled. I told Gord that I have waited as long as Steph has, for a man like him to come along. She and I have both had bumpy rides on the road to love.

I love Gord for being the wonderful man he is, and also for putting the happiness in my girl's eyes, her voice, and her heart.

Steph and Gord, I wish you both continued happiness, through all the years to come.

Partings and Reunions

Oprah showed the youtube clip today  of Christian the Lion's reunion with the two young men, Ace and John, who raised him as an orphaned cub in England, until he grew too big to keep. The men returned Christian to Africa, where George Adamson (of Born Free fame) agreed to reintroduce the lion to the wild. I had seen it before, months before Pup died.

A year later, the young men traveled to Kenya, hoping to see Christian again. They were warned that the lion was now fully integrated into the wild and likely would not remember them, that it could even prove dangerous. They went anyway. There is a link to the reunion, below, which makes me cry every time I see it.

The total joy of their reunion, the strength of their connection, the inter-species love, trust and joy, wonderful as it is to witness,  just breaks my heart. This was the kind of greeting Pup gave me on return from being away. He, too, stood on his hind legs and tried to hug me, as Christian did Ace and John. It is hard to know that will never happen again in this life, when I so wish it could.

But I also have to believe that one day, we will meet again. Just before Pup died, I told him that when I die, I want him to come and get me. The way the energy in the room changed, I knew he understood, as he understood everything. He had a human intelligence inside that black fur body, and his gaze penetrated more deeply than other dogs in my life, or humans either, for that matter. It was like he saw inside me. Our connection was deeper than I have had with any other being. And he loved me better, too, than any other being ever has.

I miss my boy tonight. I'd better not watch this video again for a while. It about does me in.

And today Faiza asked me, for the first time, the big question. Her husband, Bill, is on palliative care, but Faiza has had a hard time wrapping her mind around this reality. I have been worried that she doesnt realize how close to the end we are.

Their dog Lara has stopped eating. Faiza said to me, "Does Lara know something we dont know? Do you think it will be soon?"

I looked at her and said, honestly, but gently, "Yes, I think it will." Poor Faiza. I expect very debilitating grief and collapse once Bill dies. She has pushed herself beyond exhaustion, in her efforts to care for him and see him through. But once he is not there, it is going to be very tough for her. And for Lara. I expect I will be her main support, then,  as she doesnt really have anyone else.

And Bill? He made me cackle like a witch this morning. He asked the care aide to adjust the oxygen tube attached to his nostrils.

The care aide asked, "In your nose?"

"No..." said Bill, sarcastically, "blow it up my ass!" and I just cracked up. He gave me a faint little smile, to show the old fighting spirit was still in there. When I told Faiza she laughed so hard.

People - laughter - tears -  lions - dogs - love - hearts - connection - all pretty wondrous.

Here's the clip. Warning: be prepared to cry!

http://animal.discovery.com/videos/a-lion-called-christian-christian-the-lion-reunion.html

If a Tree Could Talk

I photographed this beauty, the Hanging Garden Tree, on the Tall Tree Trail on Meares Island, Clayoquot Sound, where I spent the ten most glorious years of my life. Standing in front of it was a more spiritual experience than I ever had in any church or cathedral.

If a tree could talk, it would tell you about endurance,
how it stands fast and deeply rooted when the winter wind
bends and lashes its branches,
holding firm to the knowledge that after the storm,
the calm will come again.

It would discuss its place in the scheme of things,
being a link between earth and sky,
necessary, contributing to and connected to all.
It would tell you there is no microbe so small,
nor entity so large,
that is not equal in importance in its position
in the circle of life.

If a tree could talk,
it would have to talk about beauty,
knowing its loveliness graces the world,
but that it always remembers that the stink weed, too,
inhales carbon dioxide and exhales oxygen,
and thus is as worthy of respect,
is as necessary to all creatures that breathe.
And it would say that everything that breathes
is worthy of existing, and has the right to live its life
without interference.

You might ask it how it feels
when it hears the loud chainsaws coming closer,
and it would reply that all of its leaves tremble
and that it quivers inside
with a terrible terror,
for there are so few left of the Old Ones,
they harbor and shelter so much life;
they are needed.

Before you leave, you might really look
at this tree's beauty
and relevance in the grand scheme of things.
Perhaps whisper a "thank you" as you turn away
for its thousand years of surviving
in perfect peace and most excellent contribution
to the eternal circle of life.

Maple Leaf Joy

[image from google]

It is humbling, and a wonderful, heartwarming reminder, to be walking along pushing a one year old and a two year old in the stroller, showing them the colored leaves, and then watching the absolute joy on their faces when I handed each one a gigantic fallen maple leaf.

How is it that we sometimes lose that simple joy in all that is so accessible and readily available?

Pick up a fall leaf, kids. Inspect its veins, its shape, its color, its place in the grand cycle of the seasons.

Is it not a freaking miracle?

The Old Woman of the Sea

[image source google: Pacifica (BCN)]

The Old Woman of the Sea
surveys the cloudscape,
while the wind billows her cape
as she stands atop a dune
from early morning until noon
watching the waves break.

The Old Woman of the Sea,
she feels a sadness,
for the times that are no more,
for all that came before,
for all the losses
as she stood waving goodbye 
on the shore.

But  the Old Woman and the Sea
-this the Wind did tell to me -
joy also rises,
for the times that came before
have filled her spirit More,
suffering bringing wisdom
in life's disguises.

The Old Woman of the Sea,
she is a wild one.
She has a poet's heart,
she took too long to get this smart,
but the old woman of the sea
-and this the Wind did tell to me -
the winding path that led her to the sea
is the route it took to set her spirit free.

The Old Woman loves the sea
and feels joy rising:
so much beauty everywhere,
she can only stand and stare,
at a loveliness almost too great to bear.

The Old Woman of the sea,
she is a traveler,
back and forth to the seashore,
to memories of time before,
her heart beating to the rhythm of the sea
and - this the wind did finally tell to me -
she knows all is as it was always meant to be.

The Spirits Are Here

[image from flickr.com]


Hey, kids, here is something spooky,  but in such a cool way.  Remember Faiza and Bill? Bill is living his final weeks, and today his face was yellow and rather sunken. Week by week, I am documenting his passage from this world, always wondering if he will still be there the next Thursday.

Before I went, this morning,  I checked out Imaginary Gardens with Real Toads, where the prompt is: write something spooky without resorting to the obvious. No vampires and goblins, aim for the psychological if possible. Well, I loved the prompt, and left a comment saying I'd be back later. And am I ever!


While I was cleaning, Faiza was chatting away to me as always. You may recall that Bill has been "seeing" people and/or spirits, of late........he saw his beloved dogs, who  died a few years ago. He saw a man sitting on the roof of the house across the street. He said "angels" assisted him onto the commode, when Faiza found him sitting on it, in the middle of the night, when he was unable to get there of his own accord.


So here is what Faiza told me this morning. True story. Lara is their highly psychic, sensitive and intuitive Doberman, who alerts Faiza any time Bill needs her.

     *****     *****     *****     *****     *****     *****    

"I just lay my head down on the pillow for a rest,"
Faiza said,
"when the doorbell rang, just once.
Lara gave one loud bark. Only one.
I walked into the living room
and saw it filled with people,
people I did not know.
I saw them,
just as I see you now.


"Bill said 'The spirits are here.'
As clearly as that.
'The spirits are here.'

"I went to the door.
There was nobody there."


"Wow," I said. "Messages.
Telling you to prepare."
"Yes," she said,
"and my heart is broken."


A small front room in Anywhere, Canada, The World,
simple, sweet-hearted people,
married 39 years tomorrow,
a room full of one pure-hearted dying man,
once so gallant, with his big blue eyes,
his kindness, his white suit and  big-brimmed Fedora
set at a jaunty angle,
his big smile, which he still flashes,
making me fall in love,
one adoring and broken-hearted wife,
hovering at his side,
attentive to his every wish,
and  a crowd of spirits,
sent by the Community of Souls,
come to shepherd their next voyager
Home.

Walking on the Winds of Morning

Artist is Christopher Walker, of Vancouver Island

This fellow looks exactly like my Pup, peeking around the corner of the Common Loaf Bake Shop in Tofino, where he and I spent so many happy years.

Traveler walks

on the winds of morning,

gentled by the soft mist,

attuned to the music

of the spheres.

Tiny birds alight

on her shoulders,

then lift off, twittering,

to follow her passage,

branch to branch,

through the sleepy forest.

She is Sky-Woman.

Though her feet are planted

on the earth,

her eyes never leave

the sky.

There are footsteps

softly padding along

behind her.

She does not turn

to see who comes.

She knows.

He is invisible,

but she knows those perked ears,

that arching tail,

that long black snout.

Walking on the winds of the morning,

their two spirits touch

through the veil of mist.

Their two hearts

are never

apart.

Morning Chores

I don't have a source for this wonderful photo of elephant joy. It came to my inbox. And I am really hoping this elephant is swimming free, and not penned up in a tank somewhere.  I love the expression of sheer joy on her face, the big old sweety-pie.

In the dark of early morning,
I lead the horse out to pasture,
her big jaws grinding
in anticipation
of her morning oats,
her big feet clopping along
next to mine.

It is so early,the rooster
has not yet crowed,
and, in the bushes, 
the little birds' heads are all
tucked up under their wings,
resting up for their busy day
of feeding and twittering.

The dogs are subdued
in the dogyard
by the still darkness.

A slice of moon gleams
above the tall pines,
and one would think this earth
was an Eden, put here for our delight.

I wonder what kind of Eden 
we will all co-create today.

Have a good one, kids!

How Many Times Can a Heart Break?

Keegan and his dad had known hard times. Both had a thin, worn look, shabby clothes. The dad's face was the worried face of a man whose life had been blind-sided.


Last spring, teenage Keegan was getting thinner, and more pale.The diagnosis of bone cancer stunned everyone. Keegan and his dad were determined to fight. But right after graduation in June, Keegan was told it was terminal. The community rallied to collect funds so Keegan's dad could stay home from work and be with his son.


Now it is fall, and on the news tonight, there was a recently taken video clip of a thin, unsmiling, pale and saddened Keegan, followed by a clip of his father, head in his hands, sobbing.


Keegan died at home yesterday morning, holding his father's hand.

How many times can a heart break,
and mend itself again?
What keeps us moving forward
through such overwhelming pain?


Somehow we wake each morning
and survive another day.
We don't know how or why,
or even want to  live this way.


But our hearts are stronger
than our wills,
when we're walking Sorrow's street.
We walk because we must,
because a broken heart still beats.

And gradually, through the months and years,
we begin to laugh again,
though we thought we'd never stop the tears,
we'd never ease the pain.

Those we love and miss would want us to.
They don't want us to grieve
but we can't help our sorrow.
We couldn't bear for them to leave.

Between pain and its passing
lies a valley we walk through
known by all who love and all who lose,
known by me, by you.

Down the farthest mountain
and up its other side
is the trail of tears we mourners climb.
Our pain can't be denied.

Keep walking, weary traveler.
There is comfort at the end.
The Community of Souls will guard
your child, your mate, your friend.

The day will come that you'll cross, too,
the river of life and death.
You'll hear them singing as they come,
and take your final breath.

I have to believe the soul goes on,
that we don't just fade away.
Our suffering makes no sense
unless we'll meet again, one day.

Rest, Keegan, rest.
May your dad rest, too,
though his tears run hot and free.
May he feel your spirit very close
to keep him company.

Waking Up

[I belatedly discovered that most of this post somehow disappeared upon posting. Will try to remember what I said:)]

Whoa! I haven't had the tv on for some time, as have been so busy between my elderly clients and the little folks I look after, not to mention all the livestock on the home front. Blues Clues has been on my tv screen and the news has been on the back burner - I figure bad news can always wait another day or two.

So it is only today that I am belatedly becoming aware of the grassroots protests occurring world-wide, in solidarity with the month-long Occupy Wall Street movement in New York.

In a rather terrifying youtube video here,

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zjfhOPCPJnE

police in riot gear club protesting citizens, likely acting out of fear, or Orders From Above.
One man in the video passionately proclaims "I Will Not Be Moved."

This movement has begun to grow and has spread across major cities in North America, as well as other countries around the world.

People are tired of corporate greed and the effect of this greed on us and our planet.

My son attended the demonstration in Vancouver. There, the police were respectful. My son told me one policeman said he thought the movement was great. My son assured every policeman he saw that the crowd was not against them. He said one of the policemen had tears in his eyes and told Jeff he loved him.

Quite different from the video above.

It's like the sign says. The 99% are getting tired of struggling while the 1% get tax breaks, subsidies, bailouts and tax exemptions.

Maybe this is the transformation of consciousness taking place right now. Wow.

Two Poets Who Love the Earth

[image from google:  aarp.org]

The interesting prompt at dVerse is to take a poem you like from a published poet,
and to write your own poem, imitating its idea, format or meter. I chose Wild Geese by Mary Oliver, because I am fascinated by the meter and the feeling of the lines, which always puts me in some sort of a trance.

Here is Wild Geese by Mary Oliver

You do not have to be good.
You do not have to walk on your knees
for a hundred miles
through the desert, repenting.

You only have to let the soft animal
of your body
love what it loves.

Tell me about your despair,
and I will tell you mine.

Meanwhile, the world goes on.
Meanwhile, the sun and the clear pebbles of rain
are moving across the landscapes,
over the prairies and the deep trees,
the mountains and the rivers.

Meanwhile, the wild geese high in the clean blue air
are heading home again.

Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,
the world offers itself to your imagination,
calls to you like the wild geese,
harsh and exciting -
over and over
announcing your place
in the family of things.

Wow. So good, hey? My poem follows:

ALL YOU NEED TO BE

You do not have to be Superwoman

You do not have to leap tall buildings
with a single bound


You only have to get through
this one intricately challenging
and slightly preposterous day
with as much grace and humour as possible


Tell me how hard it is,
sometimes,
to just keep going
and I will hear you


Meanwhile the myriad galaxies spin
in their mystical and so mysterious orbits
across a midnight sky bejeweled with diamonds.


Meanwhile the generous sun comes up each morning
offering a brand new day for trying
Meanwhile all beings in the cosmos
arise and go about their single day of solitary living


Whoever, you are, whatever your state of being,
the world awaits your constant co-creation -
issues you a blank canvas that cries out for
all the vibrant colors of your day,
you the living paintbrush, to draw forth
all your fire and fortitude and passion
and your deep, sweet peacefulness
at resting in the life that is oh so sweetly
and familiarly
yours

On Hunger

For Poets United's Thursday Think Tank topic: Hunger


The world is hungry for peace,
yet gorges itself on war.
It is famished for justice and equity,
yet is indifferent to a world order
that cries out for change.

There is food for all,
yet big-eyed children starve,
while in other countries,
corporations, people, even dogs and cows,
grow fat and sleek,
with a voracious greed
that can never be sated.

How to stop the endless gobbling
of the Haves,
how to turn all guns to ploughshares,
till the soil and feed the global famine,
in a world hungry for peace,
that gorges itself on war?

What will it take
to satisfy
the world's hunger,
ease the longing
in the hearts of mankind?

Wild Woman for Peace

[image from google]

Wild Woman read that our accelerated experience of reality these days, time speeding up, could peak around October 28th in a global experience of Unity Consciousness, leading to an expression of a harmonious new way of being on the planet.

Wild Woman says "Bring it on!"

(Wild Woman is so peaceful, she has been nearly catatonic for a decade.
It hasn't affected world affairs so far.)

Seriously, though, kids, Mimi Lenox at Mimi Writes is once again preparing for the annual BlogBlast for Peace that she hosts every year on her site, facebook and twitter. You can check out how to participate here: http://mimiwrites.blogspot.com/p/blogblast-for-peace-2011-how-to-get.html

On November 4th, peace loving folks from all over the world will fly their peace globes on our sites. Mimi began this movement in  2006  and it has grown exponentially every year. This year promises to be the biggest yet.

We can feel the building desire for peace on this planet, the recognition that one cannot achieve peace by war. So maybe this Unity Consciousness is happening, will happen, after all. Please join us, today, on the 4th, and after, in breathing peace onto this turbulent planet full of suffering human beings.

[image from lifescapemag.com]

No Turning Back

[image from http://www.thepowerpath.com/]

On the path of transformation
there is no turning back:
autumn turns to winter,
middle-aged to old,
every step and every moment
moving us forward.

We carry nostalgia
for the times that are no more,
resistance to the speed
rushing us through
our shortening days.

The secret is to let go
like the last leaf
on the fat old oak
and drift dreamily through
the present moment,

Knowing that above all,
around all,
beyond all,
all is as it is meant to be.
We wander through our days
wrapped all in beauty.

The moon will be full tonight.
Listen for the Wild Woman's howl.

Notes: I read today that October 28 is the last day of the Mayan calendar.
We do not know what to expect after that.
Cool.

Whatever Happened to Leonard Peltier?

[image from lifeatwar.net]

Gunfire, commotion, confusion,
bombardment - 
Was it civil war?
On the Pine Ridge reservation,
suddenly,
the people were under attack,
gunfire coming
from over the hill,
so they fought back.

When it came to trial,
up against the FBI
and the US government,
their story was not likely
to be heard.

For 34 years,
Leonard Peltier,
political prisoner,
has spent his days
in an eight by six foot cell,
all appeals denied
on his two consecutive life sentences.

They say he knows who shot
the two FBI agents,
but he will never tell.

In the spirit of Crazy Horse,
and in solidarity with
the Lakota people,
to this strong warrior
I raise my fist in salute.

May Wakan Tanka
keep your spirit strong.

[image from google]

Above all, you should understand that there can never be peace between nations
until there is first known that true peace which is within the souls of man.
-Black Elk, Lakota holy man


Notes: a great read about the events of that day on the Pine Ridge Reservation is Peter Mathiessen's In the Spirit of Crazy Horse. There is also a 1997 movie by that name. Here is a link to a youtube clip, which is beautifully done.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZrjR0ReSBh4

Bumper Stickers on the West Coast

I see people are writing about bumper stickers today, for dVerse. Well, cool.

I saw such terrific ones in Tofino.

My other vehicle is a broom.

This car is not lost - it just Pauses for Thought.

Hug a logger - you'll never go back to trees. (Grrrrr......I prefer trees!)

A really good one is Evolve, dammit!

Money is a drug - Heal the spirit.

And my all-time favorite - Money Rules - the Spirit Liberates.

A friend of mine, Ron Aspinall, a doctor and passionate environmentalist, created the last two. He told me he was talking to someone wealthy about the environment, and how Clayoquot Sound was in peril, and the fellow told him, "Yeah, but you know, money rules."

Ron said he walked away with that remark really bothering him, he kept thinking about it, till finally he realized: Money Rules - but the Spirit Liberates. He handed me the bumper sticker, we exchanged delighted grins, and it promptly joined the other bumper stickers on my rusty little car.

I now have a bumper sticker that says I Love Tofino. Because I do.

Wild Woman Does the Turkey Trot

Cartoon by Mark Parisi of offthemark.com

Wild Woman

is very busy this weekend.

She is leading a Turkey Protest,

and finds it damned hard

to keep the turkeys focussed

and walking in straight rows.

Plus the drummer is having trouble

with his drumsticks,

and the beat is all wrong.

Note: It is Thanksgiving up here, so the turkeys are quailing in terror, as it were:)

Traveler at Home

Real Toads has offered an intriguing prompt today: to write something about oneself so readers can get to know more about the person, not just his or her poetry. Cool. I could go on for hours in prose, but poetry is a bit of a challenge. Let's give it a go. I doubt the result will be a poem, we'll see what happens.

Welcome.

Come into my abode and have a look around.
I'll put the kettle on.We'll hear it sing.
Come sit upon my gigantic comfy couch
that dwarfs this small room
but offers comfort, rest,
when weary Travelers fall into its welcoming arms
to replenish for the journey.

I've been a Traveler since I was small,
in search of  Home it took me decades to find
within my own soul.

I have never traveled very far,
in miles,
yet through my wall of books
have wandered the whole world.
I have my favorite spots:
Tibet. Africa. Machu Picchu.
The ocean - the wild west coast of Vancouver Island,
and all the untamed places of the earth,
where beauty and nature reign
and wild creatures still walk freely on the land.

The inner distance,
that is something else again:
light years to this place
from where I started out,
and then full circle back
to my own hearth fire,
to make the trek complete.

I love best dogs, small children
and old people, and they tend to love me back.
I try to keep a true and honest heart,
to stay grateful, to give whatever it is
I have to give.
On the harder days, I find something
to cackle about, to lift my spirits.

You can see, on my walls,
the things I love:
wolves, and elephants, lions and dogs,
Tofino, Tibetan singing bowls and prayer wheels,
the Dalai Lama,
Asian figures, African drums, First Nations masks,
and a South American rainstick.
A thousand books. Shelves of music of all types.
Stacks of wonderful movies.
Enough to keep me entertained
for the rest of my life.

There is Enough in my life,
for my needs are simple,
 a roof, a little food and time -
time to rest and write and remember,
a gift of days to finish writing it all down,
and to walk through rainforests
in this autumn of my life.

My well being comes from peacefulness,
from a contented and ever-grateful heart,
from the beauty of this miraculous planet,
the comforts of my little home,
and connection with the wider world
through my tapping on these magic keys.

From my first comforting morning cup of tea
to my last read of the day before I turn off the light,
this is my world, a simple one,
pleasing to me.

No more tea?
I'll bid you well, then
as you go.
And thank you for
your gift of stopping by.

Wild Woman of Tibet

Some days

Wild Woman

feels like

an old Himalayan woman,

carrying a

larger-than-her-sized bundle

up the side of a mountain.

And that's

on a good day!

Hee hee.



The Serengeti of My Dreams

[image from google]

The Serengeti has long been the land of my dreams. Though I may never visit in my lifetime, I have read and dreamed about this one last place in the world where the wild  is still predominant, and man a small flyspeck on the landscape. Serengeti means "the place where the land moves on forever", the migratory route for more than a million wildebeeste and 200,000 zebra, where man has not - yet - encroached.

But not for long.

My heart sickened yesterday to read that a road is proposed straight through the migratory route, to the consternation of conservationists and UNESCO. The powers that be say the road is needed to ease access to certain minerals that are needed by China for use in cell phones, computers and other electronics.

Conservation spokespeople explain there is an alternate route which would avoid the migration, but the government stands firm on the proposed route and the project is set to go ahead, according to media sources in Tanzania.

Once the road is in, further development is sure to follow. Those speaking for the animals say that once animals begin to be hit by vehicles on the road, the government is going to want to build fences, which would stop the migration - a situation already experienced by reindeer in Canada's north.

I have so long dreamed of this one spot on the planet where the wild still lives, zebras crossing the land in staccatto like rippling piano keys, lions lying amber in the setting sun, a place where the land does, indeed, seem to go on forever and where man can feel his smallness, as a part of it, not its conqueror.

Is there no end to human voraciousness and corporate greed?  It is hard to hang onto hope when every day brings more stories like this. We were given a beautiful, pristine, balanced planet to live on. And look what we have done to it.

The Serengeti of my dreams may turn into my worst nightmare. Such a loss. Such a lack of vision. In the name of that holy of holies, "development."

Bigger Than the Sky

[image from google]


There are panthers
in the forests of Mumbai.
This sets me dreaming
of a land where temples
lean towards the sky.
A poet walks in footsteps
of Siddhartha
as another day
on Planet Earth goes by.

There's a doctor
in the refugee camps  of Gaza
who lost three daughters
to Israeli bombs.
He works for peace
and daily crosses borders.
"I shall not hate," he says.
I shall not cease."

There's a Sky-show going on
this very second!
We live in miracles,
Traveler,
you and I.
Look up.
Look up!
Let's never cease
our striving
to keep our vision
bigger than the Sky.