Stairstep Miracles

In Taos, I walked a dirt road where many stones were heart-shaped. The end of the road was a heavy bar gate tattooed with “No Trespassing! Reservation Land” signs. I believe it was what is left of the Tiwa reservation. Originally, the Taos Puebloan people owned the land, allowing others to live nearby, build their small houses & stay. Now the Reservation is contracted as they seemingly sell edges of it for million dollar homes while fencing off the rest. I totally grok the “No Trespassing” signs. They have been trespassed upon quite enough.

There was a magpie flitting from yard to yard: remarkably colorful for being just black and white. Gambels Quail called liquidly from the sage, thrashers curried the yard.

A huge tree shaded the sun passing by.

Beautiful art everywhere.

Shady places downtown to rest.

Truth on mild display.

Mouth-watering food at Michaels.

Yard art.

Bees were a constant & the silence I so sought was based on their soothing hum. (I can go anywhere & bees will come to land on me. Taos was no exception.) I’m glad to refer myself as Carol B, not Carol Elephant! When they landed on my glasses I got the close-up. They investigated my pen, my books, my water bottle, hovering just to set up a sound track to “get busy!”

There were moments, however … as in any spiritual endeavor, doubt & phantoms come to haunt, to be dissolved into the confidence of prayer. I chanted my way through these & felt victorious to do so. Resolution came easily when I pushed through with not allowing it to frighten me, contract me, put me into a barred corner & poke me with old fears. Hallelujah!

A great retreat & time away for me, this Taos trip turned up to be. I was able to cull out many affirmative prayers to add to my personal resources. I experienced blessing upon blessing with a wonderful view.

Love to all –

Carol

October 28, 2021 0

Potpurri

I recently spent days in a place where scents were forbidden. Since my world includes incense, essential oil diffusion, sage burning, lots of patchouli & Somali Rose every day – to the point where opening my clothes closet is a bouquet drifting out, I was perplexed. How long could a shampoo with rosemary destroy peace of mind? (I know about allergies, I just don’t have any.)

My teabags became a problem, ginger heavily owning the air. I kept these on the bathroom windowsill & made sure the window stayed closed.

Scents are an important part of my day. Who doesn’t like passing the burger joint at midday for an appetite perk? I remember on the Boardwalk, the owners would roll up the shelter door & toss onions on the grill. Soon heads would turn, bathing-suit-clad people would drift up from the beach & line up for food & drinks. It was a no-miss situation.

I was really pleased to get home where I could light up the joss sticks, push the diffuser buttons after pouring in Spiritual Healing blend, or peppermint or wintergreen. “Ah! I breathed. “Home sweetly Home!”

October 28, 2021 0

Your One Wild Life

Poet Mary Oliver asks,

“What will you do with your one wild life?”

So I came to thinking about how un-wild my life had become

As it lived, how it loved, why it closed doors so quietly

sometimes the people being closed out did not even know.

I came to no life-altering conclusions save the one that altered it first:

Whose life has ever been theirs?

Knowing that set me up to understand there were many Masters to serve, some I chose my own self. There were also Those who chose me.

Now one by one, I begin the Divestiture

The Departure. The Conclusion Protocol ~ ah! (As many flowery ways to say “die” as flowers on a grave!)

Life deepened on me. I ripened from seed to nut to blossom to fruit.

Now to firewood? To blaze along a horizon between worlds?

Someone told me, “Don’t worry about it.” I never heard the “don’t.”

Until I stopped saying it to myself as I no longer did worry.

I lived rightly. I bowed my head in all the right places.

Remember, I had no manuals, only instincts & the Baltimore Catechism.

Betimes I was feral myself, I tasted of earth all over, and salt.

Is this the Wildness she speaks? Is it enough? I can’t care now for it is what was.

I walked the outer fringes of two worlds many times, perhaps always do.

I lived both vicarious & victorious; all life alluded to this me.

I made familiar choices until I chose to venture around that.

I was given to make it up as I went along, imagination my only tool.

Carol Borsello 10/15/21

October 17, 2021 0

Resolve to Evolve

RESOLVE TO EVOLVE

How interesting, the faces of old women,

Maps to the many places we go,

Holding court as Queen or serving as serf.

Shadowing all between.

How fascinating the hands of old women

Shaping worlds, setting them free

Saying “Survive & thrive! Don’t even be

My child, lay no claim to me:

I did not create you: you came through me

And you came for me.”

(We seldom expect that which comes for us… do we?)

Blessed are the feet of old women

Travelled in bonelands & over water

Which have worn stillettos

And lazy mules, seeping at the seams.

Walking heaven, hell, just walking on;

Finding the strength to bear us up

For 70’s, 80’s, and 90’s of years.

Holy are the bodies of old women,

Our heads bowed,

Our knees unsteady.

Our hips fused.

Arms skinny with wattling flesh.

And none of the above matters.

We were here.

We were present.

We knew it.

We owned it.

We owed it.

We took it.

We won.

October 9, 2021 – Carol Borsello

October 9, 2021 2

Telling Time By The Tides

When all the clocks went away during lockdown, one of the pillars in my life gave way. First hours disappeared into the fissures this created, then I lost days and then weeks. Yesterday blended seamlessly with today which segued into tomorrow, each iteration essentially the same. Having lived for decades with it left Time a difficult habit to break.

I do not know about you, but I have always felt time as a second skin. It was a treat to take it off on Sundays which became the leisure day. Like bank drafts at midnight, it reappeared at 12 a.m. when the ticking resumed. I stepped right into march to it. At that time, it synced so well with my system. From syncing to forcible extraction I went.

We all did what we had to do, right? I have no media to binge upon, but I fed well from the free book tables in town.

I changed the energy flow in the apartment one room at a time, moving furniture, exchanging curtains among rooms. I wrote pens dry. I talked to myself quietly until masking, when I picked up volume.

I named the cats frequenting my yard on an enviably purposeful schedule.

Music sustained me, as did reorganizing files drawers, boxes, closets…you must understand these are not chores for me. There are bits of both past and future slipped in between all of it. It was time for me to check the notes & chuck what would never make reality hum for me. New emerged as each old slipped away.

Journals filled. The constancy of doing dishes became my daily joust with universe.

Of the dreams I found in storage, many had powdered to dust, having been moved too many times to contrasting environs.

I learned to live less outwardly. it was not a matter of fear, but a kind of response to the energy. I showered by ten to get me off the computer, then deliberately dressed well so as not to have too many Pajama Days in a row.

I missed Time. I missed the guise of being somewhere by nine to open by ten. I missed the candle-sized fires of being almost late & crowing to myself for being the first to arrive

I carefully constructed Other Rituals: lunch became a production that extended all the way to dinner & once that was done, the day seemed ready to bed down.

When Time got locked down, it pooled onto the floor, settling into a runnel of current that moved me to where I am now. It’s a different place altogether. I continue to change as Time flickers from pre to post to present.

I am regrouping now in this different location. Oh, the outside hasn’t changed that much other than wearing my transition face; yet the interior landscape is thawing an Ice Age. A reality I had relied on before has emerged with the clarity I needed to notice it.

I walk towards it. I became an Ordained Minister yesterday. I named my church Sanctuary. I stated my purposes of leading others to prayer of their choosing as the bridge to the next space. I pledged to be a Servant to Earth – to put my heart into that service. In a way, it was a wedding ceremony, a renewal for me, it gives me permission to wield my Free Will as holy.

This is serious since Time could have taken me to so many places. This is where I let go of the decades of obedience to exercise newly-acquired skills.

This is where I put the exclamation point for now.

September 19, 2021 1

Amity or On Opening My Heart

The Heart seeks amity in all. Heart understands Discord, comprehends Pretense. In the end, however, Heart desires amity in the practice of Doing No Harm.

When Heart energy is attacked by an event, by physical/emotional shock or trauma, the chi in the body sinks. News hits: We sink to our knees. It is harder to raise energy to prior levels. Some damage occurs which time may or not resolve (re-solve.)

Heart workarounds function long-term but no longer last through lifetimes. As our collective vibration rises, as Source makes Itself known to us, we rise to meet It, hopeful & eager.

We reveal & suffer Revelation in return.

When I observe my conversation, I find too many flawed clichés. Since the “lot of mankind” seems to be bipartisan struggle, the effort must be conscious to climb above this into … you guessed it … Forgiveness. Ours is a ladderlike ascension to our best selves, led enthusiastically by Higher Self. There are future me’s awaiting my arrival, allowing my spiritual immaturity space to grow, always listening for that deep beautiful breath of awakening, that inspiration, to signal a closer harmony with All-That-Is. They hold the door open, or at least prop it with a rock. We, like feral cats meowing at the door for sustenance, may one day enter Paradise by virtue of a single step.

I am told to move on in my life. I hear “Walk on, Carol” when I stop to check some exciting new activity which doesn’t serve my ascension by direct approach to Home. Maybe you hear these sweet, compelling voices as well? I’m simply one who passes the message.

By now, we’ve all heard the Heart has brain cells within. It’s not far out admission to extrapolate this to each organ in turn. After all, how many times have you relied on your gut brain over time?

Overtime. We’re in Spiritual Overtime. We play out scenes causing our energy to sink, our Hearts to hurt or be hurtful to others. When do you think this will end? I contend it will be gradual as we learn to hear what Heart thinks about it all. I know my Heart has a reality where thriving is all that matters along with how to continue bursting with Life!

I learn I must speak to my Heart each day & listen for reply. Often my Heart answers more quickly than my brain processes.

I know if I let my energy dip to liver, anger emerges. I allowed one such interaction recently & have listened to Heart going over it many times since.

My only resolution (re-solution) is scrambling into my Heart as fast as I can. Therefore I keep my own doors open, with gratitude for those I’ve been able to close.

Does this make me a better person? In a word: yes.

September 6, 2021 1

The Fade

There was a cleverer beginning to this, but it seems to have faded off in the time it took to boot up. I’m sure it will return & if it doesn’t, we’ll just make something up.

I was never one to enter morning by way of staying up all night. There were a limited number of these, I can perceive now, from this farther-along-the-timeline-perspective. To do this now – to have what my friend calls a “creative overnight” to stimulate talent… Well, for me, this would be one tired following day during which I had energy only enough for systems on low power. Why would I do that these days? These days, when I find myself cherishing every action I take, even the pads of my fingers skimming the keyboard.

I tell people these are my last days, but I’ll tell you directly, that I am hoping they are. I will be here as long as agreed, but I was ever one to promise More. And grow restless at the end.

First the days got long, being locked down, being forced to face a direction I could hardly believe was coming into view. The alt news hosed me down with bracing hope each day. It all is happening behind the scenes. While I am not thinking it has fractionated beyond recovery, I am putting a lot of Trust into the Hope bag – discordant as deflating bagpipes – yet this is something I wrote years ago:

Faith is hope grown strong enough to hang your heart on.

When I emerge from this mask-maze, I understand This was not necessarily About That. Does that make sense? I feel my entire life has been only the product of a “look over here” complex practiced by master illusionists. I am freer, now, of the Stereopticon Life. I choose now to participate from a molecular level. I understand molecular experience to be my building block to knowledge, for knowledge will be all that is left aside from a bit of DNA here & there. But believe me, World, “they” don’t want to clone me. I have that for a flat fact.

I reside in the idea of now as it was made & meant to be lived; as I live it now, one pure moment at a time, attention to all, intention to some, joy like lights in a bottle, aglow around every detailed molecule.

How long I’ve sat on side rails, watching the entrained, entertaining world! But why would I make that into a query when the answer I really want questioned is “How much longer now?”

August 12, 2021 0

Yet Another Morning

I think I’m always a bit surprised to still be here. In a time of earnest, jolting change, as new outer vibrations appear in the airwaves, some of us elect to slip away in the dark.

The cricket sings at my front door, his tiny serenade silencing as the light grows. In the backyard, the morning glory sends up heart-shaped green leaves, still low to the rocks on the ground, but ready to send a study little climber to support its opening – each flower as delicate as the vine will be tough.

Each year this morning glory returns, tenacious & lovely. In this dull corner of a stony yard, along an old cyclone fence, a wisp of brown-dry dessication renews utterly. How deep are these roots?

In my neighbor’s messy yard, slowly filling with real junk, a dead washer, a used-up barbecue or two, the above “volunteer” soared to stand in our bright sun after unusual rainfall. All over town, real sunflowers sun-worship. This year there are few bees to worship them in turn, no furry legs tickling their petals. Strange to think of a sunflower being lonely, isn’t it? Their periscope flowers search all day for sun-borne bees.

Whether we’re on a planet or a flatland, the Earth is an inescapable backdrop. Life is brought to bear & bear down hard at times. We make a mockery of it & a mercy to leave it. We live, we launch, we seek those horizons to peer beyond. We subside again to Earth & we grow.

I write. I cook. I love. I pray. Every season I come up with new thoughts even hanging onto an old yard fence, sending these ever upward to blossom as they will.

July 24, 2021 0

Rainy Sunday

I am just thinking how life changes happen. In my early years I didn’t much like the self I was. Now I make up for that by valuing myself & my decisions.

I only learned this through tolerance & learning to love others. There are so many experiences I have had & will have – each one a re-shaping as each added to the original clay or took a chunk out when even a fingernail’s worth is noticeable.

I want to share now, after years of holding close, but with this being such a habit, can I even do so? I have equal bouts of handing over & clutching to my chest. I think, tho, I am now more likely to give, because when I think I will & do not, I am unhappy with myself for missing the chance to have done.

This is an enormously healing observation. I know many whose generosity exceeds mine. For my thinking (which used to be more insular) tells me practical pointers. My impulse engine that fires up the jets; however, always tells me to lighten the load.

I have too much air element & not enough water right now. I fill up on tumbleweed thoughts. Even the jumble is a coded message. Don’t think it hasn’t taken years of training to leave the mess alone. You didn’t know that gawky little girl, that mis’able kid sister, that unhappy wife fighting 20th century war with paleolithic weapons.

Regardless, I’m still the outsider/observer. These are such simple interactions to take part in, not to take apart.

I allow my spirit to pause in the quest long enough for Divine to find it in the all-I-do.

Amen.

July 18, 2021 0

This Writer’s Writings

I get abstract poetry

Words as puzzle pieces,

Difficult to believe in

As the sum or all its parts.

The words bully in, caring little for sense

Pushing only for placement & notice.

Blatant, this awareness of self

And the question will anyone else understand?

Yet even as it blinks on the mind-screen,

I peer around it to continue writing.

Writing as Root & Sustenance

It was instinctive, writing. I always had words lined up even as others chewed their erasers into the metal. Writing has been more in faith with my heart than I ever entrusted Love to be.

Writing holds my body, holds my hands, holds my heart & soul.

Unlike animals, it never passes away, tail waving in the distance. Unlike God & Man, writing always answers the phone. No cosmic hold; no options-by-number.

My life is forever in the distance itself. My tomorrows only arrive as todays. I am told it all will change tomorrow but without a tomorrow, really, the changes must be the ones I make today. That’s why I write them down. Or maybe I write them up. You decide.

Carol

7/15/21

July 18, 2021 0