The Old Woman of the Sea

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.

In 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 t'was always meant to be.

One from the archives of 2011, kids, as I am severely under the weather this week. Will make my way to you as I am able. Thanks for your patience.

Inner Witch

tanasworld.com

\

As we get closer

to Hallowe'en,

I can feel my

Inner Witch

rising.

(and let's not even TALK ABOUT my hair!)

A Kindness Revolution

Instead of anti-bullying campaigns,

let's have a

Kindness Revolution,

teach children to have compassion

for babies and animals,

for the disabled and vulnerable,

for other children

and for themselves.

Let's hold workshops in every school

where kids share who they are

and the pain they carry,

so all may see

that each of us has 

our challenges, our fears,

our own burdens and heartaches.

Let's teach them to look each other in the eye,

human to human,

to reach across the divide 
of perceived differences,

to honor the samenesses 
of being human

in this world.

Let's teach them to say, 
"I see you, friend,

and I'm here for you."

Let's take our Revolution to the streets,

march singing, holding placards that say

Occupy Kindness,

through the main street of town, 

drums beating, smiling, singing,

inviting the homeless, the elderly,

the abandoned and unwanted animals

to join our parade.

Let's make a place at our table,

in our worlds,

in our hearts,

for Hope, and then

serve it up in heaping spoonfuls

to every child who needs a hug,

every oldster who needs a smile,

every homeless dog who needs a friend.

If we hold a Kindness Revolution,

and everybody comes,

the bullies will all be transformed

into children in pain,
who have lost their way,

to whom we'll hold out our hands

and invite them to the party.

Kids, the video above is about the KindActs movement, centered in Vancouver, B.C., founded by Brock Tully, whom I am proud to call my friend since 1980. Brock has devoted his entire life to spreading kindness in the world. He holds an annual Kindness Concert, which totally rocks out with great feelings, and has programs happening in the schools to help kids get back in touch with their hearts.  I love what Brock says in the video: "Bullies are not bad people. They have just lost touch with their beautiful hearts."

Posted for dVerse's challenge: to write about bullying for Anti-Bullying Awareness Month. I think the only way bullying can stop is when there is enough love that the pain stops, inside the hearts of those who bully. And that takes all of us.

Namaste.

for Toads

The mask I have to wear

to make it through the day

wears a smile

that covers disappointment,
loss, and

all the words I dare not say.

Soon I will fly over the mountain pass,

breathe deeply the energy 
of being where I belong,
among my people,

where there is no need of masks.

Where masks are what doesnt fit.

belatedly, for  grapeling's mini-challenge at Toads: Masks 

Sudden Grace

Traveler
has always wanted
to walk the Camino.
And now she is traveling -
a 500 mile pilgrimage
to the center of her soul.

She readies her kit bag
of memories,
to sort through,
one by one,
at the base of a tree
come nightfall.

She has marked the places
where she will stop
to find water
and shelter.

She has chosen the finest
walking-stick,
to companion her journey.

She has prepared for dark places.
She has prepared for pain.
She has prepared that the journey
will be difficult,
might be terminated,
that night might find her 
still with miles to go,
but a shortened path.
She has prepared for 
sudden endings.

What she has forgotten
to prepare for,
what she could never have anticipated,
is sudden grace
and the removal 
of her burden.

Kids, I am home,  resting and recuperating, too tired to be online very much. But everything went wonderfully! The aged hotel we stayed at in English Bay was perfect. From my bed on the 17th floor I could watch a strip of beach, and admire the lights after dark. 

The last words I heard as the anaesthesia closed in were: "Imagine yourself in Tofino, walking along the beach, listening to the sound of the waves....." I did, and then I woke up in recovery. To my astonishment, I am largely pain-free. It is like a gift. I was prepared for everything but Easy! 

I am happily home and resting, and now waiting only for the magic words: "it was benign", to liberate my spring.

*google image

Letter to the Farm

Dear Little Farm,

You were my mom's farm

where, for the last years of her life,

her dream came true,

the one she thought it was too late for,

then she found you

and you wrapped your 
big old haystack arms

around her.

Then you were my sister's,

where her dream of a horse 
in her backyard came true,

and she spent the years 
honoring our mom by loving you

Thanksgiving, Christmases have all been 
spent within your walls.

Kids, grandkids, great-grandson 
all came and gathered

you became the hub upon which 
our whole family traveled,

coming from far to have
those happy hours.

Then you were my home,

and I put down roots so deep

I thought I'd never leave you.

But life is change and, even before I go, 

I grieve you.

The Language of Flowers

photo credit: Mammaoca2008 via photopin cc

Speak to me

in the language of flowers:

sensitive to the nuances

of soil, moisture,

climatic fluctuation
and response.

Look beneath my surface,

for what is there,

waiting to be discovered.

Part the fulsome  greenery,
gently,

and find the bud
in the place

I keep most hidden.

The blooms of our two lives

are heavy-laden,
heads tipped and toppling,

nodding in the breeze.

From underneath

their most precarious weight,

our hands emerge,
as tentative

as leaves.

Speak to me

in the language of flowers,
if you care to understand,

and perhaps,
somehow,
my heart

will find   an answer.

At Imaginary Gardens With Real Toads, Kerry set us to writing about the language of flowers, a topic that speaks to me this morning. I did recycle the concept of "the blooms of our two lives" from an old 1980's poem, but it is a new write. Not as good as the 1980's version though. Nor am I. Hee hee.

Food and Writing

google image

How is it

we can take the batter

of this lumpy, mixed-up life,

all the wrong ingredients,

too much beating,

rancid flour,

and still wind up with

a pretty good cake?

***   ***   ***

When I write, 

I write the way 

I want my life to be.

When I eat,I eat the words 
I cannot say.

   ***   ***   ***

Kim at Poets United's Verse First wants us to write on the topic of Food and Writing.
Hmmmmm..........the first regurgitates some lines from an earlier poem. The second popped out and made me go: "whoa!" 

Spirit, Rising

printshoppacks.com

To my sisters, in Kigali,

who somehow survived 

the horror of genocide,

losing so many loved ones

in the bloodbath,

to my sisters, survivors of rape, 

brutality and displacement 

in the Congo,

yet still able to care about others,

in whatever refuge you have found

upon the desert,

to my sisters, enslaved around the world,

made beasts of burden

who grow thin

so corporations and 

the military industrial complex 

can grow fat,

to my sisters in Palestine,

trying to survive 

amidst the bombs and tanks.........

know there are women in this world

whose reverence is for your right to life,

unassaulted, on the plot of land

on which you find yourself

attempting to survive.

You have our respect and, even, awe,

that in the midst of rubble, 

and the bombing and the burying

of your children,

you somehow find a way,

still, to live.

You find a way to make a life:

when no soft bed is near,

you make a nest with stones.

What happens to one,

happens to us all,

and so I weep for you,

but also I applaud you

for being Woman,

the Divine Feminine,

which, if it were allowed,

would create the world we need,

in place of this world 

of unconscionable 

violence and greed.

There is much work 

for we women to do.

We cannot feed and care for all,

but we can feed and care 

for the ones

right in front of us.

You show us how.

We do not set aside our ethics for money.

We do not waste our effort making war,

when it is needed for tending

the living:

planting gardens and trees,

even when the only water we have 

to nourish them

comes from our tears.

I see the spark 

that kindles

in your eyes,

that warms

when you recognize 

we see you,

Sisters of the earth,

in your struggle to survive.

We applaud your courage

as we hold our breath

and watch

your spirits rise.

Last Chance To Slow It Down

Yes, sorry, kids, it is gloomy old me again. A friend sent me this video this morning, about the urgency of slowing methane emmissions (at risk of being massively launched by global warming and the melting of polar ice and tundra) in order to prevent going beyond the tipping point where it will be too late. This is a succinct, clear and well expressed explanation, and an urgent message made by global scientists. I feel compelled to post it, as until enough of us become actively opposed, we are all in peril. More frightening, our children and their children will be dealing with disasters on a global scale.

Child of Trauma

[idesigniphone.com iphone wallpaper]

Child of Trauma,

walking in your cloak of pain,

I see you.

Know that the misery

you are living now,

caused by the big people in your life,

is not your life.

You will grow.

Your own life awaits you. 

Up ahead, you can be

anything you dream.

Dear little being, you deserve

to be told every day

that you are unique, and worthy,

and well loved.

Take these words,

and fashion yourself

a garment of hope,

to warm and remind you

that this is just a chapter

you are passing through.

One day

you will write your own story,

and it will be brighter

than you ever

could have dreamed.

posted for Victoria's prompt at dVerse: to write a poem to a child

The Sadness of the Trees

greenpeace.org.uk

Wood nymph, sylvan, she slips

through the trees,

fog rising around her ankles 

from the forest floor.

Behind a fat cedar, she peeks 

at those gathered in Circle.

Draped in antelope hide,

white feathers in his long dark hair,

Wise Shaman speaks with

 Bear and Wolf and Deer,

truth warriors, 

consulting together

about the sadness 

of the trees. 

Messages In Ice

Mendenhall in winter, 

frozen Mendenhall Lake in foreground

creative commons attribution - share 

As your icefields melt,

an ancient forest

is revealed,

voices from

another time.

Ice Forest by Abby Lowell, Juneau Empire

I googled the glacier, and discovered the retreating ice has bared the remains of an ancient forest, tree remains between one and two thousand years old, now being exposed to the air for the first time since  the advancing glacier swallowed them up. Wow.

The short poem above is all that came, after which I was speechless, so in awe I couldnt think of another word.

posted for Hannah's prompt at Real Toads -  Hungry and Haunted: The Mendenhall Ice Caves

Do check the links at Toads. There should be some intriguing responses!

sources:

http://frontierscientists.com/2013/09/forest-revealed-under-glacial-ice/

http://juneauempire.com/outdoors/2013-09-13/ancient-trees-emerge-frozen-forest-tomb#.UmFx73CsjlM

Anti-Fracking Activists Arrested After Violent Standoff in Eastern Canada

The feather in his hand means he wishes to speak-

and that he comes in peace

My heart is heavy tonight, kids. Today has brought a prolonged anti-fracking standoff by the Mi'Kmaq people and their supporters in Rexton, New Brunswick, to a violent eruption, as a heavy and intimidating police presence moved in on the protestors - who prefer to be referred to as Protectors, because that is what they are.

They have long been opposed to fracking in their area and have peacefully protested. But today police presence was so intimidating, it pushed everyone over the edge. Videos show  crying elders, young people yelling, "we are not armed, we do not have guns", aggressive police lines advancing, yelling "MOVE!",  on  terrified people, who might be understandably confused, in that moment,  as to what country they were living in.  

The men in camo are police and 

yes, those are assault weapons.

And yes, believe it or not, this is Canada.

Pepper spray and rubber bullets were used against unarmed civilians who had, one would think, given we live in a democracy, the right to peacefully protest the assault on Mother Earth in their area.

Frustration and anger escalated, given the unskillful and disrespectful handling of the situation. There are reports a grandma was hit in the eye with a rubber bullet. Others were roughoused. The oppressive tactics, after generations of oppression under white rule, finally exploded, several police cars were set on fire, and 40 activists were arrested.

Red Power United photo

I do not condone violence in any form. But I can understand when people pushed to the wall get tipped over the edge by aggressive and confrontational behavior.

I was on the blockades in '93 to protect Clayoquot Sound's old growth forests. Arrests were made daily, and hundreds gathered daily to protest. But the RCMP behaved very respectfully, as the arrests were made. Their behavior ensured the situation did not escalate to what  happened in New Brunswick today.

What is fracking? Quick research  at Farm Aid tells me it is the process of mixing huge amounts ( 6 million gallons) of water, with chemicals and sand, then injecting them into wells at high pressures to break up the rock and earth and release large amounts of natural gas or oil.

It seems our thirst for oil will reach into every poor, rural, farming or aboriginal community, with no concern for the effects on Mother Earth, first and foremost, and, secondarily, to the people whose water, land and actual lives will be impacted in the process of filling our voracious appetite for oil and gas. The process is violent, blasting sections of rock,  releasing fuel, but also waste-water and chemicals.  

"Each well can produce over a million gallons of wastewater laced with heavy metals, corrosive salts, naturally-occurring carcinogens like benzene and radioactive elements like radium, in addition to carcinogenic chemicals used in the process. Much remains unknown about what happens deep in the earth’s crust as a result of a hydrofracking well. For example, it’s unclear how far wastewater and chemicals can spread or if hydrofracking deepens existing fissures in the earth that allow for leakage into groundwater and streams. While companies can capture some wastewater for reuse or storage in holding ponds, estimates are that anywhere from 20-70% of hydrofracking wastewater remains underground." (farmaid.org)

It goes on to explain that food and livestock will also be impacted by the chemical runoff......So, are the aboriginal people and other environmental activists right to not want this in their neighbourhood? Damn straight! I watch the videos with an aching heart. I regret police vehicles were set on fire. I regret more that the way the police advanced so threateningly on these people ignited the standoff to reach such a pitch where protectors, emotions already running high, and fearful of the antagonistic presence, were provoked past the point of restraint.

How to start a revolution: disrespect the people who are stating they wish drinkable, not inflammable, water to drink, as a basic request.

In one of the videos, a young brave says to the police in front of him, "We're doing this for your children." Another voice says, "They don't care, man. They don't care."

I imagine some of the policemen have heavy hearts tonight as well. The problem is so much bigger than this one standoff. Oppression and incarceration will NEVER resolve the differences between the Establishment and the people living close to the land.

In the end, each one of us, wherever we live, will be impacted by the globally voracious appetite for oil and gas.

Red Power United photo

GRRRRRRR

Yesterday I added a bunch of new blogs to my reading list, in order to follow more people. 

This morning, my reading list shows me following NO blogs - they have Disappeared all of you. My on site old blogroll is there, but none of the sites I added. So I have a nice job ahead of me adding you all back in. Sigh.  If I miss anyone out the next day or two while I am Re-Doing my blogroll, I apologize. 

SO annoying. Blogger does not seem to like changes or additions, I discover.  

Autumn Harvest

wallpapersbuzz.com

Centering ourselves

under the smiling wisdom

of a full, round

Grandmother Moon,

what is it that calls to you?

Whatever it is,

Now is the hour.

That voice is the harbinger

of your transformation.

It is inviting you

into the fullness

of your autumn harvest.

For Verse First

thinkprogress.org

Crows gather around him on the pavement,

waiting for crumbs. Only they see him,

in the maze of legs hustling past.

All his hope is for the next cup of coffee.

As he tries to connect with all the averted glances,

his hands and his heart slowly grow cold.

He starts each day with hope and desperation.

Each hour finds him more disheartened. But

he shares what he has with his friends, the crows.

For Kim's prompt at Verse First: Half and Half,

I chose a homeless young man.

Of Shamans and Hooty-Owls

Port Alberni backyard owl

The shaman walks the medicine way

leaving no footprints.

The cry of the owl bids you follow.

Take up your staff, wrap up well in your cloak,

for the night is cold and the fog will poke 

its chilly fingers

into every exposed inch of human skin,

seeking to steal some warmth

for itself.

Hush! for there be spirits here.

If you listen, you will hear

the heartbeat of an ancient cedar.

In its bark is the memory

of who you were a thousand years ago,

when it and you and the land 

were young.

In the night sky

is written the promise

of who you are becoming

a thousand years from now.

Gaze well, and remember,

so when at last you meet, 

you will recognize yourself.

There are dreamers, and there are

the ones being dreamed.

Awaken!

The journey of transformation

is the shedding of the false self

- the one who meets the world -

and the stripping away of everything

that is not essence, joy, wonderment,

trust and awe.

Peace

is knowing

all is as it is meant to be.

All we need do

is Surrender.

The mystical hooting of the owl

bids us safe passage

through this eery midnight world.

Hasten, for the shaman guide's cloak

is already swirling 

with the swiftness

of his being gone.

Hi kids, in between my daytime cleaning job and my evening babysitting job, I decided to take a little metaphysical trip of my own. Ow-woo!

Indigo Child

Kids, this human angel gave me chills and brought me to tears this morning, with her voice and the message in her song. Indigo child - sent to show us the way. 

Your Dream Will Come

When anxiety and fear attack the fortress of your soul,

take heart, the cosmic plan  will soon reveal. 

The pounding hooves of Conviction claim the goal,

Faith galloping, with Trust hard on its heels, 

           Take heart, the cosmic plan will soon reveal.             The bugle calls to thrill your heart and still all doubt.

Faith galloping, with Trust hard on its heels,

now Hope arrives, to drive misgivings out.

The bugle calls to thrill your heart and still all doubt,

though you can scarce believe your dream will come.

Now Hope arrives, to drive misgivings out.

Your heart takes wing, to hear the pounding thrum.

Though you can scarce believe your dream will come

The pounding hooves of Conviction claim the goal.

Your heart takes wing to hear the pounding thrum.

 Anxiety and fear vacate the fortress of your soul.

The ship is the Duen, owned by friends of mine, who spent one summer giving whale tours aboard her in Clayoquot Sound. She is seen here in Tofino Harbour. Lone Cone is right behind her, Catface on the left.

REMEMBERING MARCEL

You were always waiting for me

on the corner

of Elliot and Richter 

in the snow

all those dark sub-zero

bitter weekday mornings

in the crystal dead of winter

long ago,

under crisply winking stars

fall in beside me,

our steps crunching

across the frozen snow

towards the lighted school

where you would play

my champion,

towards the lighted school

where I would play

the fool.

We need not speak;

you were just there

to guide me

you supported me

and loyally you cared

through all those years

you walked,

silent, beside me

so full of all the words

I could not speak

so left unsaid,

brittle with so many

tears

I knew not

how to shed.

Your presence

along the deep abyss

that I was skirting

was a comfort

you, the only one

to see that I was hurting

you, the only one to see

who I was

really meant to be

hiding behind the gay bravado,

the laughing eyes,

the laughter,

you saw me shining then

and ever after

all my life long,

you've always been

my friend

Perhaps your presence

kept me from

the chasm,

my pain hid deep

behind my

thousand smiles,

you knew I needed

help

along those

so-precarious miles,

and up that hill of pain

so steep,

someone

who would

my painful

secret

keep.

You were so loyal,

you asked for nothing

but it is true

that in those years

that burned us deep

I was your defender, too

When other boys taunted you

beyond your years,

so sage, so wise,

till angry tears stood,

smarting,

in your outraged eyes,

frustration at living in a world

so cruel,

I would fall in beside you

as we walked away

from yet another day

survived in school

I lost you for a long and lonely time,

went looking for you many years ago

you, the one who always made me laugh,

you, the only one from those sad years

who "knew me when"

and who was still my friend

I needed to thank you

for always

standing by,

be your friend

better

than I could be

back then

when you watched me

breaking my heart

over silly boys

who decried me

while all the time

someone who cared

stood right beside me

One day your name was there

on my computer screen

it was so good to finally

make up the lost years

in between

But, Marcel, you left too soon

and suddenly.

This time I thought

that there would always be

more time to tell you

all you mean to me

especially how

kind you are

and rare,

how clear you see,

how loyally

you care,

we still had so much

friendship

left

to share

Once again,

as if the years

had never intervened,

there you were

supporting me

behind my winking screen

making me laugh as I did you

with stories

all too ludicrous

and true

because laughter after pain

is what we always knew

I took for granted

this time you would

always be

at the other end

of an email

never lost again

to me

We never had the chance

to meet again

If we did

I knew your face

would be the same

because your heart was

throughout all the years

unchanged

We did not metamorphose;

from those young ghosts

our spirits rose

and we became

more truly

who we are:

delightfully deranged,

two solitary souls

who are

wicked awesome

strange

I still had a hug

to give you

in this lifetime,

wanted one more time

to look into your eyes

You left too soon

but this I surely

promise:

Marcel,

you'll always

be a friend

of mine

I have to believe

that one day

I'll be crossing

a clear and frozen

landscape

all alone

until I reach the

far and distant

corner

just past the morning star

the corner

where you are

just waiting

to fall into step

beside me,

your presence

in that moment

not denied me,

to support me through

that last stretch of the journey

Once more

I will be

Heading Home

with you.

Marcel,

back when you loved me then

so true,

I'll bet you never dreamed

that it would end up

me and you.

Marcel with his beloved Paprikas, 

two weeks before his death, 

when he knew he would be leaving.

Marcel was gay in 1960's Kelowna, and was taunted mercilessly by the Good Ole Boys, who would goad him till he erupted in a tirade of Shakespeare - "Begone, thou milk-faced fools!" - red-faced, tears in his eyes, while the other boys fell about laughing. Always a champion of the underdog, I became his friend and he repaid me with utter devotion. 

We lost touch for a few decades but I had only just found him again when he was gay-bashed - assaulted and with limbs broken - by a homophobe in Vancouver. The police did not pursue charges, though Marcel identified his attacker, who actually stalked him for a while. At the same time, his insurance company denied his claim for disability (for other serious health problems) and Marcel said "I cannot work and I will not beg." Altogether, he gave up and definitively took his own life in March, 2001. I read the above poem - crying all the way through it -  at his memorial.

I wrote the story of Marcel here.

I am posting this for dVerse, where Brian has called for us to write about friends, as our community mourns the passing of Dave King, a lovely poet and fine gentleman, who will be greatly missed.