Becalmed by Light

Only I can turn poverty into reality. Where is my real wealth? I am spotting it in so many places now. Is this my Nesara? My recognition of self & other’s worth? Yes, certainly.

I no longer need put up with what I felt that way about. I no longer need to feel anyone is not nourishing me, nor wishing me well, even if misunderstood in their reality. Yesterday I said hello to four strangers sitting in the wine bar, each with a long-stem glass in right hand, poised around a face… these faces looked up at me, the ruder intruder burgeoning in to wish all well! Here’s the scoop: I was looking for a lovely friend, the owner; not only that, but I had cleaned the very chairs on which they were snobbing. I mopped the floors under their single-foot-legs-crossed poses.

I laughed to consider they would consider me a “rube” or whatever they call hill-people-strangers these days. Rube is the most polite…

I rejoiced in the sharp sunset light, the long, long shadows fanning the street. I celebrated the memory of living in this town, of being in many of the houses. I reveled in the thought that I had cleaned the entire Lady of Guadalupe R.C. church entirely on my own, reliving my childhood effectively, this time with permission to touch.

It was a very releasing day, yesterday. Empowering.

At the end of it, I wanted only to be in my own home, put away from everyone. After the time “home alone,” & plague, I am still sensitive of others nearby. Literally sensitive. My skin feels them & I am no longer accustomed to being seen.

Poverty is not living as well as I think I want to. Yet it isn’t giving things up either or, rather, seems to me to be. Until I have a recognition like yesterday’s, a review of/in the light, an attention-caller to what was my reality only four years ago.

Perhaps it has always been only change which is familiar. I am willing to change, but I want to do it my way, in my own time, in answer to my own questions. I’ve had enough freedom & done things my way pretty much. Is that not an untold wealth as valuable as any chest of rubies in a sea-cave?

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?”

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.

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.


Human Kindness Undoes Old Woman

A man was tender with me today. He asked how I was with a tiny tilt to his head & intelligent eyes. I barked my usual, “Super!” & echoed the question.

I barely know how to react to original kindness, authentic inquiry. My heart has set up ramparts of glass & settled in behind, keeping watch.

That moment unlocked a faraway memory – holding hands. Which led to memories of sitting closely together, resting in each other. The love I have now is a pac-man thing…its jaws are always working, devouring any scrap of regard. These memories are in a tidal lock to my soul – they face one way, their dark side never revealed.

I’ve become one of the guys for the most part, taking my turn at the end of the line after the alpha males.

When I say something, everyone wants to resolve it for me. “Have you tried…?” is a favorite, or “You know what works for me is …”Sometimes I just want to say something & rest in another’s reply. I don’t want to be sent to the store or the website or the next room for panacea. How about you listen & nod instead? It’s not like I haven’t already researched what they are telling me as the ideas are seldom new. Perhaps simple communication is all that’s on the table, or across it.

To be undone by simple regard makes me sad. There were those who fought for me, riding white horses into battle or placing a shield firmly between me & trouble. i would pull a handkerchief from my lacy sleeve & wave gratefully. Then the world changed; maybe I should say my world changed. I had to be ready at all times to thrust the masculine of me up front, take it on the chin, get another job, do it ALL which rapidly became metronomic & a condition to be borne rather than a defensive maneuver.

I make only the smallest repairs; my skills with a tool kit amount to finding a place to hide it until I need to look for a connector. My finest hours have come with the Duct Tape Final Solution. I can’t drive a straight nail, hell, I can barely manage a pushpin.

I wrote a poem called “At My Age” about falling in love. It’s buried deeply in the files. That says it all.

I can peer over the walls, but won’t fit across the drawbridge.

I need, perhaps, to tuck my heart into a Faraday Cage, forget unexpected kindness, rub my eyes & see what appears when I stop.

How is it fashioned? Did I give up on dreaming or did dreams give up on me?

disintigrating with Distinction

I used to go out in the world in the morning, braced, like Rocky Balboa on the Philadelphia Museum of Art steps… Chest heaving, head dripping, I was beyond ready for my world.

Too bad I didn’t have this exact attitude at those times in my life. It’d been a lot more fun. But it was pretty good, as it was. Looking over my shoulder didn’t get me any real perspective. There is a Spiritual Review going on here & I’m not sure I remember signing up for it, but like some seminar you do not attend & then receive 68 emails about from every teacher who welcomed your attendance… Intent is the better part of something, but I’m not thinking valor these days.

Again, with Time. I have been dying to use this analogy somewhere & this blog is it: when I was once in Rome, I went to a set of famed hanging gardens. I was wearing cute little comfy flats (nothing to stop the skid.) I set foot upon the charmingly indented steps, slippery with only age, worn smooth meeting smooth shoes & somehow I skied down those steps & remained upright & whole & cute. It’s like my new job.

In my new job, I am required to track time once again after months of paying lip service to clocks & calendars & yet time is implied (get this done timely) instead of appointed (by 3 today.)

After all, the lockdowns were my first time not tracking time & almost nuclear in effect on me. I have always accounted for my time. In return I asked a valuation for that, something with cost-of-living built in. This corporate structure has disappeared into a fluid connective made of cyber-interstitial tissue. That ‘We Are All Connected’ Coke’ commercial takes on a whole new dimension when cyber or meta is looped in to be employed as an end run. (By folks you thought were on your side.)

Because time as I knew it lifelong – at the attention level it once demanded, is no more.

We knew coming in it wasn’t going to be easy. When I’d get that lump in my throat in other times, I recognized it for Original Fear – my original sin. I used to say if I picked up every stone I tripped over, I’d soon be unable to even walk. Wisdom & optimism lurk in fortune cookies.

I’m thinking now I got this. I’m thinking I’ve been doing it pretty well but nowhere else in this God’s Goddess-blessed world would be the place to emerge from whole except bearing truth or consequences equally cheerfully. Turns out life’s in Invitational. RSVP with love.

So Satisfied I’m On My Way …

Get going in the right direction. Which one is that? What is right currently? The basics have even shifted a couple of notches & when the directions change, which is right?

I guess it’s the one you’re in. it’s that “being in the present” thing. I can’t give you specific proof of my memories. Oh, maybe put you in touch with the Akashic Records, soon as I find the remote.

In a world where there is so much influence to remove us from basic cues on how to live in the world, I feel I have come through that particular (particulate?) tunnel. I see a lot more relationships. Many have sad stories to tell; they beg your appreciation. But my feelings may not align with sadness, tho my heart is capable of doing so. It seems my heart is capable of so many more things than I had ever thought.

Every day the most elusive of thoughts swims by, rare items never to appear again to me. I’d love to capture these. Often I am so certain I will remember I surrender them immediately. They disappear, torn apart by the fabric of my coherence being greeted by the growling world which needs these words. I am happy to have surrendered them as I know they will be encountered – one at a time.

 I love hearing a thought I have already thought. It unites me into engagement like a cell receptor key activates its charge.

My answers won’t really work for anyone else anyway. They’ll have to tweak them to get them to fit…thrust out a leg or something to line it up. They will do whatever it takes if they are inclined to think a new thought. Out here new thoughts move polka-dot out from the center. They move with  you & can, at times, bombard you with otherness of translation. For these, you need not engage the brain, indeed, the brain is too disconnected up there, preoccupied with brainy things; many times reactions are pushed down in the system. If they get below the heart, the real brain, events can take on & emit so much more energy.

Well, don’t stumble up any stairs on my replay. I am amazed to have touched you. I live in an unlikely town at an unlikely time. Eternity spreads her skirts & invites me to sit to watch, or at least send a representative to do that, while all journeys continue toward the Center of the Spiral. Take with you only that which will ruthlessly serve your unfoldment.  


My Prayer for Ferals

Is it forgiven if you pray it that? Even if you’re not always kind?

We live now & then, like Ferals. It can be on any wavelength: emotional, spiritual, physical, pineal. (Pretty much you can count on physical to accompany any of them.) It’s all of the above getting through as best as can. After a point one forgets completely about, “’Scuse me,” after an unexpected burp. In fact, I welcome the burp so I can watch myself not react.

Everywhere each of us has attuned to environment differently. In many cases, travel changes that. Reducing the ring to one key reduces it irrevocably. I, (who seemed so stunningly, daringly, original & intrepid …) such an Individual…

I set out alone only to find I was one in a long line. I could choose how long I wanted that line to be.  (Not like now when choices are made for us), but in a time when a choice meant where you might spend years of your life.

At times, we choose the longer line.

As a years-younger woman, I wanted to believe I could live like a bird. I wanted my habitat to precede me. I wanted it waiting for me as part of my all-around landing. I was amazed others did not think thoughts like me!

I grew up on the beach, as eternal & in-the-moment changeable as any element can be.

I confess it now to be a knowing. I could live like a bird. I could sing for my supper. I had not tried to name it before, feeling it was enough. Once we got together, though, she’s cut miles off my route. All it took was an exchange of names. Then came the Winters of our Discontent, flowering in below-ground cellars. However we’ve had time to grow into each other & interesting years to do so,

It gotten to be that whenever we come to a crossroads & check in, we both shrug & say “no matter.” (It never does if you’re plugged into at least the vista.)

I have been so slow in my awakening, other worlds have invaded the one of my visions. I have gotten off here, at this particular timeline, this colossal universe named for food. I’ve stayed a long while. Maybe even over-stayed; up to you.

In my campout days I woke to find the world around the tent had clarified – almost atomized – a face-full of Now. I made my marks on it, hot water & coffee, a poise upon the picnic bench all steam, aroma & a face-full of sunbeam.

I learn late the lessons in of my “last hours of ancient sunlight.”* I am close to the Jump, but not saying yet, I don’t give a damn.

I want someone laying a little Boddhisattva on me for a change.

*–Thom Hartman: The Last Hours of Ancient Sunlight

Solstice Emergent

Ah, what the hell did I know? I could ‘move’ out to a narrow spectrum of music, mostly drums. I could ‘be still’ to a huge range more, the kind of music that puts me back together, finding new pieces to turn over in the sun. I only need to warm up a little bit these days. I have so much experience with that experience, yeh?

Where I lived on the fringe is now so mainstream as to be borderline boring. My outer fringe life just arrived earlier than for some others. It’s now absorbed in the culture – from outer edges to inner circles. It’s a place to not necessarily return to. I am absorbed in continuing the life I have now while recognizing I didn’t even have to think about it before. Life did itself. It offered what it gave me without having to check the library free table all the time.

Now, I have a kind of dollhouse life: each noise of is to be investigated. (“What’s running? Oh! The neighbor’s bathroom fan.”) Neighbors help turn that figure eight energy back towards me so I examine my actions – really my thoughts – far more closely.

We have proven we can do parasitic. How about cooperative? I’m ready for cooperative. I remember the places where I ground someone into the dirt & remember even more that I was ground in as well, tho you’d never catch me admiring it. My innermost doesn’t stay inner for too long. Nurture takes longer by its nature.

“You are exactly as you appear.” This sentence is from my astrological chart.

The lard of it all, or perhaps now the silicone spray keeping delicate gears dancing might be self-interest. My generation grew up just under the ones that wanted absolutely NO dirty laundry hung “out there.” The first ‘someone else’s crying jag’ I endured on one social media giant on MY own page, assured me control was out the Microsoft window. That was years ago.

I wander Twitter like a butterfly, alighting on a face I value a comment from. I’ve tied in a couple of Nature photography sites there, so along with ribbons of dire information or a tweet repeated 27 times, there are scenes of explosive beauty, pockets of other worlds peering out just behind the political one. The truest reality remains with mystery. Nature should never be second nature…it is Habitat. It is where we live. It needs to be acknowledged every moment.

I do put the polished stones of my thinking here on the windowsill of the blog. On the B-roll, I guess, since I’m at the recording process more assiduously. But what is left in my imagination is the White Stone Ceremony held each January at Unity where we chose one single word to model our new year. (I began writing on both sides of the stones just to move things along.)  

Although in slow-motion, this is a time of tail-spinning change. Whether I’m chasing mine or watching yours… And it’s all changing as it settles (life, I mean.) We have ideas after a year indoors, a time of push come to shove & it’s all happened at our front door with a big invisible hand pushing & shoving to keeping us inside.

I kenneled up pretty well, considering.

Listening Devices

It is my daily routine to open the computer & check favorites & newsy blogs. I saw the “update” button on the power screen, that tiny orange malevolency indicating such a highjack coming soon. I hit it last thing last night, hoping it would be over by morning.

But it wasn’t over, it just ran out the battery. I plug it in to 18% completed but “Still updating…don’t turn off your computer.”

I believe it’s true that Bill Gates introduced the idea of getting a “virus” & this requiring periodic “updates.” My best guess is some AI team in Nevada or Arizona, sitting in an underground room where (if they breathed) they could see their breath. I see their lighted silver fingers walking through my files. What will they do with poetry & prose, with editorial letters & preachy emails? Will they yodel to discover fiery youtubes about health & wealth & mankind’s skirting the lava plane of an active volcano? Will their tiny lights grow brighter? I’m still at the back of the threat line, yeh?


I am rambling around the point of this blog but arrival is at hand.


What, exactly, is happening to my computer? And how can I get to the point where I simply pluck information from the ethers as do so many of the folks I follow? If I can’t get the goods on creation from this vivid mountain air & this exceptional light, why do I hope to glean it from a machine?

The laptop is snuggled up to my leg like an indoor cat. I glance at it as I read my book. It is not an alive thing. It’s a package wrapped in brown paper, left on the peeling porch.


This computer (embarrassingly code-named “mylove”) [which name seemed foolish even to me until I saw a friend had named hers “beloved.”] must be given over to the nerdy A.I. in training, the one still needing corrective lenses to connect to humans.

The person who said “Three’s a crowd” had that practical wisdom thing going. I am speaking here of a machine, essentially a toolkit / file unit. It’s a comm device. Why would I not be comfortable wondering if nascent Big Brother knows he has a crowd reading over his shoulder?

(Sitting in that large warehouse room in a form-fitted, chilled cubicle, its green eyeshade canted just so to filter my frontier light, bionic fingers fluttering along a narrow, inky tape of my efforts to stay informed…)

22% still.

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