LATE SUMMER

The glory of a late summer afternoon,

when crepe myrtle blooms in fuscias and lilacs,

and the heirlooms of the earth 

brim with ancestral flavors.

Coral and rose stone fruit drips its juice down my wrist faster than I can savor it.

Blood red plums,

misshapen but flavorful,

enrich my eyes maybe more than even my mouth.

The energy is high!

But the season has peaked,

summer days shorten now, and

the apples are falling.

Have you felt the early morning briskness? The need for a light sweater in the evening?

Have you been avoiding, like I have, 

that the first tree leaves are turning to 

warm shades of autumn?

Enjoy the late summer season!

Walk in the trees and breathe the afternoon heat into your lungs.

Soon, it will be replaced 

by dry, dusty crinkling leaves swirling in the wind and a

particular state of grief when saying goodbye, once again,

to the heart and heat of summer.

(in the spirit of Northern California)

around Mount Burdell, Novato, California

MY PRECIOUS SORROW

My heartbreak will not be healed by a miracle from God, a so-called answer from a misguided prayer for relief.

I don’t pray for relief.

I hope to have the wisdom,

and the courage, and to 

simply remember, 

to meet my pain,

and all that arises within me,

with love.

I won’t ever do enough “work on myself” to heal the wound or make the heartbreak finally go away. I’m not waiting for that kind of proof to show me that I’m finally worthy of living.

I’m living now,

and I embrace all that is,

with my broken heart,

my whole heart,

pulsing with infinity.

My precious sorrow cannot be healed.

Not even by my lover’s arms around me, nor the sweetness of his kisses. I may melt in his embrace, and receive his adoration and love with absolute surrender, yet

my sorrow is not an illness to mend,

it doesn’t need to be fixed,

it’s not a mistake or a problem.

and it certainly isn’t something to violently carve out of life.

It is life.

I bow to my pain, it is also ...my glory.

THE EXQUISITE MUSKY FLAVOR OF THE WILD

As the moon brims,

she draws out 

the tide of emotion.

Can you feel the pulse 

that beats with a wolf's 

howling blood,

crying its yearning to the 

brightly lit night sky?

Do you hear the primal call?

This wolf, she dances,

struck by moon shine,

exploding with angst,

restless hunger,

and juicy desire.

Can you smell her scent,

wafting through the fog 

as it quickly rolls 

down the hillsides,

and into the seemingly

mundane plane of existence?

Open your senses!

Taste the wonder

of the exquisite musky

flavor of the wild.

It wants to take you,

take a sip, a taste, a sniff;

or maybe you'll just 

dance, until your sweat

transforms you into the wolf yourself.

⚜💃🏻🌝❣⚜

A GATEWAY TO MY SOUL

A gateway to my soul.

At the entrance, there’s
only one way in;

feel deeply, the
sorrow, sobs and
surrender.

Miraculously,
a swiftly moving magic carpet

scurries me across 

the sacred threshold 

into the fullness of life and 

the expanse of the feeling world.

Doors can be tricksters,
they don’t open until you
allow that thing in.

You know the one.

It’s the thing you avoid,
deflect and distract,
in order to pretend
it’s not there,
and that you are happy;

when within

boils a cauldron

…of hope,
to love that which

hurts

most.

GRIEF

I'm grateful for grief. I have avoided feeling grief my whole life. One fateful day an event in my life brought grief through a portal and into my somatic field in a way I could no longer deflect or avoid. Now I welcome grief as a sacred emissary of love and wholeness that continues to provide me with gems in a rainbow of colors. Grief is my most powerful ally. Grief is my protector. Grief stands like a pair of guardian eagles at the gate, wise and widely seeing. Grief runs through my blood and brings me home.

REMEMBER HER

Love, a steady flow of 

gentle and ferocious, and

of pervasive purpose.

She yearns to hold that which believes 

is unworthy of the embrace.

For that, love is a trickster.

She'll show you the most tender beauty,

not to simply enjoy forever-after,

or to hold onto with a white-knuckled grip,

but to use as a sacred demonstration.

So when you look into your Beloved’s eyes,

and there’s a disruption, 

and it’s shaky ground;

remember her.

When the chemistry of emotion stalks

you like a pack of wild wolves;

remember her.

When life’s howling waves of 

grief and sadness, and

fury and fear appear;

remember her.

Love can be so sweet, 

yet, she can’t help but be herself. 

She will permeate the darkest and 

deepest crevices of your existence.

Don’t get in her way. Ready or not, let her in. Let her have her way with you, without a fight. Give into the pack, let them rip you to shreds, if that's what it takes.

And then, maybe then, you can even forget about "god",

and recognize it's all about love.

Love is always around, she silently tracks you.

She is there, even when you don’t think you feel her.

She is a magic wand, with invisible arms

wrapped around our hearts,

always, and in all ways.

Remember her.

TAKE ME TO THE WILD

Take me to the wild,

where I surrender my grief

to the power, the force 

of life.

It's evident in the raging and calm waters alike, 

as they slide down the mountain face.

One-by-one,

all impurities unfold,

absorbed along the way

by stones of the earth, and

sifted through fallen tree moss and algae.

Take me to the wild,

let me gallop freely in the 

floral meadow of life, of love.

LEANING IN

I raged to avoid

the overwhelm of grief.

It came in my dreams

as a mounting ocean wave

readying itself 

to crash over me.

No rhyme or reason,

or maybe many.

This despair aches 

to be seen, felt

and loved.

So strongly it wants

to be held, as is. It 

chased me through life.

I raged and ran from the power it 

seemingly had over me.

Life stopped me.

I breathed.

I slowed w a y down.

Leaning in, I discovered a key into me.

Leaning in, the power enlivened me.

Leaning in, I'm held in a superb intimacy 

with the universe.

Let’s take a swim, the water is warm.