A Curriculum About Challenge

["And this button on the keytab opens the hatchback." from cartoonstock.com

I so needed that button yesterday!!!!!!!]

In an altercation

with a jammed

hatchback lock,

Wild Woman

manages

to sprain

her foot,

and takes

Hobbling

to a

whole new level.

As Ram Dass

would say:

"Isn't this an

INTERESTING

Curriculum

About

Challenge?"

Wild Woman and the Sea

Wild Woman

sings a song

to the morning star.

She wanders

the woods

where

all the

wild things

are.

Birds come

to her

and nestle in

her hair,

and flowers

sprout

as if they

have been

planted there.

Wild Woman

is one part

wolf

and one part

sage.

She has learned

so much

by living

for an age.

She has

learned things

from the wild

that give her

wings

and when she's

by the sea

her spirit

sings.

Wild Woman,

keep me

wild

and keep me

free,

and take me back

to live

beside

the sea.

More Beautiful Than Anything

[image from google]

In my dream,

I was sitting

with the Dalai Lama,

watching green and blue

ocean waves

tumbling and rolling

on the other side

of a huge glass

panoramic window.

And a mesmerizing song

was repeating

over and over,

like a mantra,

the words:

"More beautiful,

more beautiful

             than anything..........."

Two Wild Women Walk Together

Wild Woman of the North

woke up her first morning

nestled into the root-bowl

of Grandmother Cedar.

Her first breath was

of salt and the sea,

and her glance opened

on giant pines

poking tall spires

through morning sea-fog,

and a great blue heron

picky-toeing his way

along the

water’s edge.

Wild Woman of the South
began her soul journey
beside the sea,
where her every dawn
saw the sun rise
from the bending bowl-edge
of a watery horizon
and her cheek was brushed
by the cold fingertips of
an on-shore breeze.                                         

                             

Wolf pups came

to entice her to play,

and they gambolled happily

together

on the

sandy shore,

turning over scuttling crabs,

clambering up

the molten rock

to poke

stubby fingers and paws

into the tummies of

retreating anemones.

They snacked on kelp

and fiddlehead,

and sipped dewdrops

daintily

from cupped salal.

The morning beach embraced her

when, as a wild child at play,

she lay upon the sand to peer

down tiny holes the crabs made

when the waves

chased themselves

back to their parent breakers,

or when she held a new continent

in her handful of silica

and shattered shells.

Growing wild

along the shore,

child of the forest,

lover of the sea,

she watched Brother Eagle

making lazy spirals,

wind-surfing the sky,

her teenaged dreams

flying along

on his feathered wings,

on mellow afternoons

when the tide was out

and fishermen

not yet home

from the sea.

And now it is

just before evening,

a rosy dusk

creeping across

the encroaching hills,

which blush rose-red

like a startled matron,

surprised

at her toilette.

A cyan sky of afternoon arched

its beautiful body

above her tangled teenaged head

and her back was turned

on the silver surf

as her path took her into the hills

and valleys of mist

where a smooth river stone

joined the creamy cowrie

she kept in her pocket.

The first star

of evening

turns her direction

homeward,

back to the sea-cave

where her family waits –

two now elderly wolf-pups

with grizzled muzzles,

who raise their heads and thump their tails

slowly,

when she appears,

and whose gaze never leaves her

as she prepares

the evening meal,

the meal that will be

their last together,

for her guardians

have now

grown old.

And now, at eventide,

the Wild Woman of the South

must watch the barrier of spears

prick the dying sun

until its inky blood flows over

mountain range,

and her unchained heart

cries out for the voice of the sea

to sing her to sleep

once more.

Towards midnight,

Wild Woman

stands alone

once more

beside the shore,

the only sound

the sursurration

of the lapping waves,

moving through her being

like a pulse.

Sister to the Moon,

her hair now

long and silvered,

she hears

an owl calling

from a nearby branch.

Bereft,

she sends

one keening

wolf-howl

of love and longing

into the midnight hills,

from the depths of her

Wild Woman heart

and waits,

it feels like forever,

to hear

an answer.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
written in collaboration with Kerry O'Connor at Skylover :
a poet extraordinairre I am proud to call my friend

Trail of Tears

[The Lute Player ~ Michelangelo Merisi Caravaggio]

I.

The trail

of tears

is the trail

of existence.

Stroke that

well-worn

lute

and know

the song

of peace

lies in

the space

between

the notes.

II.

The White Lions

are guardians

of The Way,

and lion shamans

hold an

ancient

history.

The path

to learning

what

they know

lies in

the stars.

Kids, I am reading about lions and shamans right now. At three a.m., I woke from a deep sleep with the first poem, complete, in my head. Sadly, I lay there a fatal three seconds and by the time I got to my desk, I had lost the last half. I have approximated something here which incorporates the feel of what was lost. But it isnt the "given" words. Argh. Part of the gist of it is in the second poem. My waking brain does not appear to have access to this sort of depth, hee hee.

A Small Act

Kids, I have become very interested in microfinance and how a relatively small amount of money from someone in the developed world can have such a huge impact on someone's life in the developing world. Beyond what we can begin to imagine.

Last night I watched a documentary on this very topic. Some thirty years ago a little boy named Chris Mburu was living in a mud hut in Kenya. He saw that the only way out of the poverty around him to a life of Possibility lay through education. But in Africa, it costs money to go to school and his family lived a life of subsistence. Secondary school costs about $40 a month, a huge sum in Kenya for those living in poverty.

Just then, an angel entered his life. Her name was Hilda Back and she lived in Sweden. She was a child of the Holocaust who lost her parents at Auschwitz. She survived because she had been sent to Sweden in her girlhood. She never married or had children, but in her later years she decided she would sponsor a child in Africa. That child was Chris.

For years, Hilda sent fifteen dollars a month and this made all the difference to Chris, who excelled in school, went to university and wound up graduating from Harvard as a lawyer interested in working for social justice. He now works for the UN as a human rights lawyer, working to end genocide and discrimination.

He always thought about the woman who had sponsored him and, as an adult, he decided to honor her by forming an education foundation to sponsor bright needy children. He named it in her honor, the Hilda Back Education Fund.

He tracked down the woman who had started this chain of events, to let her know about the foundation in her name.

Along came Jennifer Arnold, who decided this story needed to be told. She filmed the foundation's efforts to select the children who would receive the first scholarships and told some of their stories. Hilda appears in the film, and also attended its screening in Kenya. She and Chris now have a very close relationship.

Two girls' stories especially moved me. They desperately wanted this opportunity, as girls' lives in their village, when their families cant afford to send them to secondary school, are very harsh. Often by sixteen, they have one or two children, and little ability to feed them. These two girls did not qualify for scholarships, after completing the required tests. But I was happy to see at film's end that the film crew decided to sponsor them, so there was a happy ending for them as well.

This film shows what an enormous impact a small amount of help can make when poverty is so severe. An amount we dont even think about changes lives.

Information about Chris's foundation, and film clips about the kids, can be seen at http://www.asmallact.com/

What impressed me most was how hard the children in the film worked in school. They know it is their ticket up and out, and they value the opportunity. They were devastated when their marks werent high enough to qualify for scholarships to continue their education beyond primary school.

I couldnt help but think about teens I know all around me,  who have every opportunity in the world, but absolutely no motivation or work ethic, who waste their opportunity, goof off in school, drop out, lounge about. On the other side of the world, children fortunate enough to have the chance, fully apply themselves and work very hard.

I love stories like this, that show us ordinary people the small things we can do to change lives and address the inequities of life on this planet.

Spirit Wolf

You were my wolf-pup,

my companion

and my guardian.

I will have

no other

like you

in my life,

for such

special beings

come to us

but rarely,

and I knew

the whole time

how great

your loss

would be.

For years

our spirits

ran and played

together

along the

forest trails

and by the sea.

In later years,

forced onto

tamer paths,

and at a

slower pace,

you missed the wild

but gave it up

to be with me.

Your spirit strong,

your love for me

unwavering,

you followed me

to the very last

breath

of your life.

You resisted

death,

you didn't want

to leave me,

but it came,

to ease your pain

and set

you free.

It felt

impossible

to walk away

that night

and leave you.

It had always

been us,

and now it was

just me.

I love you

and I miss you

beyond telling.

Somehow I

simply have to

now believe

that you are still

my guardian,

my companion,

that somehow

your spirit 

still walks along

with me.