My Choice

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In my kit bag of memories
swirl moments of darkness and pain,
and moments brilliant with sunshine, laughter,
and the growing of a whole heart.

I could dip my hand in and pull out
the musty dark ones,
but those I banish to the farthest reaches
of my mind, to the Past,
to my youthful incompleteness.

Instead, my mind watches a constant smiling rotation
of beloved friends, beloved children, 
beloved grandchildren and other small wayfarers 
I have cared for,
beloved pets, 
all dancing on the green earth, in joy,
under the bluest of skies. 

My choice.

At Real Toad's last Mary's Mixed Bag, Kerry has set us the challenge to imagine holding a bag, carrying two items, one that heals and one that harms. Do check out the other links, for some very imaginative responses to this prompt.

Born A Woman

Kids, our wonderful Kim Nelson at Verse First has set us a prompt of writing in honor of women for International Women's Day. A few of you may have read this poem, which I wrote for International Women's Day last year. I didn't think I could say it any better, and am still recuperating from surgery, so I hope you will forgive me for posting a repeat. Be sure to check out the links at Verse First - you'll find some other wonderful poems written in honor of women.

The photo is of my wonderful and inspiring grandma, Florence Fitzsimmons Marr, and her horse Monte. She was the first girl in her farming area to ride horseback for pleasure. You can spot a wagon wheel in the background - no cars back then! Her father worked building the first national railroad in upper Montana, and my grandma remembered seeing ruts in the land, as a girl, where covered wagons had passed through. 

My grandma is one reason I am glad to have been born a woman.


When you think you have 
already faltered
under the load
you have carried
for so long,
and life brings you another 
encumbrance
to add to
your heavy burden:
dig deep.
You are stronger
than you know.

You have done
one of the hardest things:
had your body split in two
to bring forth your children
and, after that, you would
walk into the fire
or lay your life down
to protect them.

When you are trying to herd your chicks
safely past the hungry wolves
slavering in the forest
and they start running and flapping
straight into danger,
stay calm!
Race after them, and 
snatch them back;
set them on the path
yet again.
Repeat this
until they arrive at
the age of reason.
Then comes the hard part:
you have to let them go
and watch them flounder 
      and flop
          and fall
as they attempt to fly.

When you refrain from crying
because there are not enough tears
in the world
to shed for all that has befallen you,
go walk beside the river.
Hug a moss-covered tree
and let the river's song
wash the pain away.
Let the tree 
speak to you
about Endurance
and Simply Being.
There are times
when it is all right
Just to Breathe.

When you marvel
at the heart's capacity
to break
and then to heal,
to open itself once again
to trust,
reflect upon
how a broken heart still beats
and how all blind things
turn towards the sun,
seeking the light
even through their sightless eyes.

When you look back 
at the journey
of broken dreams, lost love
and pain,
marvel at the way
one can take the batter 
of this lumpy and mixed-up life,
all the wrong ingredients,
too much beating,
rancid flour
and still wind up with
a pretty good cake.

It's because you're a Woman,
and women may kvetch and complain
but, while they're doing it,
they're rolling up their sleeves
and starting to do the work,
because it's there to do,
and someone has to get up
every morning
and feed the children.

I see you, grandmothers of Africa,
looking after fourteen orphaned grandchildren.
I see you, mothers of Mumbai,
pressing red spots on your daughters' foreheads.
I see you, First Nations mothers,
living in imposed poverty,
trying to teach your daughters
the Old Ways
so they wont be lost.

I see you, Mother Wolf,
trying to get your babies grown
in the wild and dangerous woods.

I see you, Girl Child,
assaulted in the dark of night
and wearing the shame,
instead of the perpetrator.
(It is Not Your Fault!)

I see you, girl and woman,
told your whole life
that you are Not Worthy,
and I want to tell you:
Not only are you  Worthy,
you are a miracle of fortitude 
and Keeping On.
You are a song of survival 
and transformation,
and your shine lights up the path
of those who come behind you.

Sing out, you grandmothers
and mothers and daughters
and sisters and wives and lovers
and single aunts.
Sing out and say,
though the way 
may often be hard:
I'm glad that I was
born a woman.

Not This Time

image by Jukepoksi at deviantArt.com

It's like a spirit

-Something-

pulled back a curtain,

momentarily,

in the starlit sky,

allowing me a glimpse,

a hint of vastness

and eternal mystery

so infinite,

that my mere mortal minuteness

was revealed, at once

insignificant yet intricately

woven into the cosmos.

My voice caught

in my throat

and there were

--there are--

no words,

only that domed sky

arcing above,

us below, like ants,

looking upwards,

 at a portal to another plane,

the moon, purveyor of myth and mystery,

smiling her fat secret  smile

as we contemplate

the heavens.

From a dark tree, startling,

an owl wings swiftly across the meadow,

the wind from her wingtips

against my face

like a prayer for all beings,

a benediction, a possibility,

a promise

that all will be well.

And when I next look up,

the portal has been closed.

"Not this time," Spirit whispers.

"There will be

another spring."

Good news, kids. The incision is mending perfectly and the biopsy results say: "atypical tumor with no sign of cancer". Whu-hoo! this is Wild Woman, boogeying. And very grateful.

Harmony

Kids, this short video features some of the creatures who share this  planet with us, peacefully going about their daily lives. It reminds me of a quote from my environmentalist friend, Julie Draper:

"The animals already live in harmony.
They are waiting for us to join them there."

It amazes me daily that this beautiful planet is our home. Please help keep her alive, in whatever way you feel moved to do so.

[Video by Scott McKinley Productions, Produced for Rocky Mountain Elk Foundation for Ad campaign.  Licensed music by Kenny G.. This short video won Grand Prize - Best of Show at International Wildlife Film Festival in Missoula Montana!  The majority was shot on location in Yellowstone National Park, Grand Teton National Park and The National Elk Refuge in Hole, Wyoming.]

Wild Woman Learns About Limerence

Wild Woman has just heard about limerence.

It seems, when our aging and misfiring hormones
shut down our brains, temporarily,
the cure is falling crazy, ass-over-teakettle in love.
(surely a case of the cure being worse than the disease?)

Wikipedia describes limerence
as "an involuntary state of mind
resulting in romantic attachment to another person,
combined with an overwhelming need
to have one's feelings reciprocated, 
with  inordinate fear of rejection".
It is likened to obsessive compulsive disorder,
"involving intrusive, obsessive and compulsive 
thoughts, feelings and behaviors, counting on
a perceived emotional reciprocation from the object of interest -
the LO (Limerent Other)"
(You cant make this stuff up!)

Online sources suggest, if you find yourself
mooning about in joyful or despairing states 
about your LO,
that you find a treatment centre
dedicated to restoring you
to yourSelf.

"For those who wish a cure,"
these sources state,
"the most certain course
is prevention."

Wild Woman could give a seminar
on Limerence. 
She had to give it up,
as it totally screwed with her equilibrium.
She can now count thirteen years,
clean and sober!

disclaimer: Wild Woman does believe in love, kids, the real kind that grows over time with trust. She just fears the total plunge into infatuation, a course fraught with peril, in her experience.

* sources Wikipedia and Love and Limerence by Dorothy Tennov
* image from collegemagazine.com (google)

If a Tree Falls

Kids, this is Canada's Bruce Cockburn, singing his song 

If a Tree Falls  (in the forest, does anybody hear?) 

A song that made our leading B.C. environmentalist, 

David Suzuki, cry when he heard it. 

The images are ones that break my heart and haunt my dreams. But I don't turn away. In Canada, and around the world, we must oppose the multinationals, let our voices be heard, and stand on guard for the trees, the lungs of our planet, the home of the Wild.

.

Unexpected Grace

shutterstock.com

When one has readied oneself

for the perilous passage,

has set off with a high heart,

acceptance and courage

along the rocky path,

how unexpected

the diversion

into an alpine meadow

strewn with yellow-flower.

I sling down my pack,

sinking gratefully onto the warm, tumbled earth,

blessing, balance, and beauty

irradiating, infusing my being

-like the noonday sun-

with unexpected grace,

unsought beatitude and benediction,

unspoken petition as answered prayer.

My response can only be

a relieved and grateful

"Thank You".

Hi kids, all went wonderfully well in the city. We stayed at the coolest hundred year old hotel on English Bay. From my bed on the seventeenth floor, I could look out at a strip of beach, and watch all the lights come on after dark.

The last words I heard before the anaesthesia were "Imagine you're in Tofino, walking along the beach, listening to the waves...." I did, and when I woke up I was in Recovery. To my delight, my ankle is so well wrapped I barely know an operation occurred and I am able to hobble on it quite as well as I did before. I am still very tired, so I am taking it very easy. I have the neurological output of one of last summer's potatoes. Not much poetry happening here right now. 

So far, so good. Better than I expected by far. Sometimes, when we expect the worst, we get a pleasant surprise. Yippee!