Rambling Roads 🏵

I am a European American citizen.     I say  citizen but though it is legally true, I do not consider myself an American.     From my point of view, the only true Americans were the ones who were already here when my European predecessors arrived on this continent.     I struggle to live with the legacy of what my ancestors did to wrestle this land from those people and the indignity and arrogance of us now claiming it as ours.     Not only   that  but for us to have the   audacity  to tell  more recent  immigrants to “go home” is humiliating.     And to further our disgrace, we plundered the natural treasures of this land and even enslaved   other  people and brought them here to do our work for us.     And now we think we can claim the inheritance of their work?   Their land?     And   bully  the rest of the world to follow   our  example?...

Towering tree  with protective branches Not to be cut down and used as a crutch or a stump. Fuck that Giving Tree bullshit, just another way to indoctrinate and exploit women and mothers throughout time. Get off your ass, young man and show some respect for your MOTHER. Fierce waves crashing in the sea and blustering wind, rain pouring down your face as you cry bitter tears grieving your failures and missteps. Did you think you wouldn’t make them? Own them. So you can own your own power. Then come to me, face wet, muscles soft. Come to me as the little boy under all that posturing and rustling of feathers. There we will meet, two travelers with open hearts. And I will take you in my arms, like the sweet runaway bunny coming home. There I am all tenderness and love for you. I will dry your tears  and remind you who you are. Then send you on your way,  to try again.

I’m older than time Even though I occasionally forget I can tap back into Her womb And lose my little self to the bigger one Both mother and daughter I sit here amazed Who is it that watches me? Who witnesses my thoughts, Who acts? Who feels the emotions And who allows them to wash over clean? I love the smile that inches across my face As I dissolve in meditation Realizing my story is one of many Wrapping back through a deep, deep Herstory But how do we go forward? I am perched on the moment Eager and tingling What of me will be carried forward? Through my daughter, my daughter’s daughter, my son? How would their father carry on if I were not here? Even he once said he would make the small details special because that is what I do. Something settled inside me, Maybe this is my imprint on time

I walked on fire again last night.   Surrounded by women I may have never met. Except for our shared searching in the dark  for the light of fire,  still burning in our bellies. We’ve always gathered in circles, cycling back through ages. But every time feels new as I stare into the shimmering, crackling coals. I try to tap into that ancient wisdom, the retelling of stories until each woman’s voice blends into one. And we toss them all into the flame through tears and laughter and pounding drum. Burning the illusions and agreements  that no longer serve us, wondering if we too  will be consumed by heat. But a funny thing happens  as I step out the other side, as my foot touches the cool, moisture of grass. The sensation of heat and cold lose their meaning. And all that is left is a sense of tingling with life.  The old fears, sadness and pain rise like smoke, leaving me giddy and light and ...

Here we are Eye to eye And thirsty Tenderly testing the waters Of this deep, crystal clear pool. But we are no longer young and foolish We can still hear the sizzle from the last time We let such enchanting water  put out our roaring flame.   We are sweaty and weary And wear our battle wounds with pride. We are warriors not unfamiliar to the weight of a sword We’ve slashed ties and built a fortress And guarded it fiercely to raise our young. So we dance carefully around each other Stealthy and alert We poke and pry And make careful notes of each response. But allow ourselves to be curious  of the shape taking form in the stone As we each chip away at deceptions, mirages, and alluring sleights of hand. Our machetes drawn, we are determined  to clear out the briars of our own illusions. The taste of salt and blood rests soothing on my tongue.  And we find scars braid stronger where the skin was torn. ...

Starting over   is an eternal beginning.   The bruise of night bleeds seamlessly  into the rosy pink of dawn.   Standing up too quickly  from the amnesia of sleep,  leaves me dizzy. Like the swirling, spiraling, somersaults  of a snake consuming its own tail. Lifetimes merge when I look at you.    How many times have we stood  before this reflection? Like stacked shadows of past lives. New stories unravel from your mouth, but your eyes still feel like coming home.  And when I put my trembling hand to your chest,  I cannot tell where your heartbeat ends  and mine begins. We reset at center. Eyes wide open, we step resolutely into each other’s arms. Every time you touch me, and respect the sacredness of that act, I open a little more. Every time we dare to dance  in forbidden spaces and find the other  still holding our gaze, we learn ...

I was listening to Two Guys on Your Head the other day on my way home from work and they were talking about the power of words, something I think about a lot.     They were saying that if we choose to identify with the “resistance” or even “deconstructing,” we are actually limiting our choices to reaction and therefore letting someone else dictate our actions.     We lose the power of agency, of defining our own reality.     Toltec shaman teachings as taught by Don Miguel Ruiz talk about the conscious dream, the dream of the planet that we are all a part of.     We are all dreaming while wide-awake.     But what do we do with that dream?     We may not have control of the ingredients that the universe provides each of us on our journey, but we do control what we do with them.     Do we curse the stars and waste it away?     Or do we make art?     Do we become co-creators with the universe, with th...