Category: Posts

Lost & Found II

TRANSITING TRANSITIONS

Uprooting takes time, effort, care. Disengaging needs to be gentle. Moving is an exercise in many emotional cues & they come around like the black horse on a gilded & glittering carousel.

At times, I melt into an excitement of fear. My heart rattles & I find my tongue pressing the roof of my mouth so hard I know there are indentations along its edges. When I teach Qiqong, I often tell students “Let your tongue fall away from the roof of your mouth.” Voila! Instant relaxation since tucking tongue behind the front teeth brings body into Fire Position. Unsealing that common hold is a great way to bring the whole thing down a notch.

Things I’m nervous about: traveling with a cat in this wild heat & heading across Texas first, the largest state I’ve ever been in. I found a big-dog carrier today & another smaller one to transfer her into lodging. Then of course I wonder if it’s the rightest fit for the car. It’s not so much buyer’s remorse as buyer’s concern: Will these work?

The Move Sale comes up in a week. Borrowing tables, advertising, asking friends for help with various chores, distributing “stuff.” Wanting others to have the tools & tacks I’ve collected here, carrying as little with me as I can, I look around wondering  how I’ve not drowned in it all. I wonder what it is in me that I can turn & take off without taking it along. I know exactly where each item came from, but holding onto much slips away. Traveling Light has many meanings.

I drive into a troubled world where I must remain untroubled to continue sanity. My concerns must be transubstantiated from the water of “stay” to the wine of “go,” from hang-back to look-ahead. To keep that vision clear I avert my eyes to all asking for one more look of love. Others now can do that. A Course In Miracles says what is unreal does not last. Obviously I am still looking for my reality.

Did I inherit some wanderlust gene? Mom moved often, too, once she moved out of her marriage. She started businesses once a divorce left her just outside of a parochial 50’s society. She made her way with efficiency if not joyous love, but really, how am I to know that? Daddy stayed in one spot & died there young in a severity of anguish. Mom went on to fight for every possession, to sweat & curse, to love & deny her children in turn as none turned into her…and yet I have to large degree. I wonder if she looks down from heaven & clucks her tongue at my antics, or simply smiles.

Do I trust Fate too much? Do I have a choice? I have an understanding that for me the way of the open road is best. (I hit some odd key combination & Word opens a screen on the right of this document defining the word “Reality.” Just where’d that come from? Another sign for my imaginary road? This computer fortune cookie says: “The world or the state of things as they actually exist, as opposed to an idealistic or notional idea.” But in the end isn’t all of life a notional idea? It seems so tangible, so genuine, so real, yet life turns inside out in the space of a heartbeat – or lack thereof. I worry that my cat won’t be immune to what affects me but she has thrown her lot into my circus rings. We watch together for the black horse to come around again. In the absence of another reality, she “goeth whither I go.”

I move into frames of reality as though flipping cards in a deck. Life is a game of 52 Pickup. I deal & am dealt another winning hand. There’s little mystery: I do it all for love.

6

Thou Shalt Not Judge

But I do & do it all the time. My mind is like a Venus Flytrap, snapping at a pheromone here & there for food, for nourishment, of course. The words keep moving around in this cosmic shell game of choosing one, when the words no longer have impetus & meaning & are also in dire need of nourishment. I can feel my mind closing down with that same “Snap!” on this thought or that one.

Then I manage to get a hand in & pry the jaws open to check what it is I’ve just ingested. It isn’t always what I thought at first & sometimes better.

Everyone judges except those who’ve mastered the kind of Flow which stays even & uninterrupted by phenomena. Hey, I’ve had lots of lifetimes where I lived it out in safety & fullness. Late in life in other lifetimes, I was “hied” to a nunnery & it was peaceful after the tumult of running a household, husband, hounds & have-nots of yore. How is this life different if it ends the same as others, in contemplation, prayer, source-connections & observation? Has that always been the netted goal? It seems to be taking on the force of a heading.

This is a circumstance I am bringing about now that I’ve settled busy-bee-mind upon it, kind of telescoping the pole dangling that carrot… it’s closer now & more defined, this goal: life gets to a point where what’s best to do is just pray for it. I perceive prayer as the up & coming Tech still mostly undiscovered although we’ve sure heard a lot about it. Like that famous profile of Tesla, his iconic thoughtful pose, it’s been around for the ever part of forever & we are now being urged to get to know it more closely. Have you ever wondered why there’s just one rendering of that man? Not one company shot with ten lab-coated figures standing behind? Not one of him in front of that century’s equivalent of a whiteboard? No reporters on the steps asking how his interview with Mr. Morgan went, no microphones. Just universal energy. Nothing to see here.

LEAVING DESERT

Like Prayer, to sit again in a room looking out

as rain spends itself furiously against my windows

to watch the light change & blur, to see the world greening visibly

healing with every drop.

to contemplate – not complicate -this world again,

moving heaven & earth, finding one beyond the other

while still strong enough to do so.

I can hardly imagine a whole day of rain.

~Carol Borsello

3

Moving On

MOVING

A tribute to T or C where we’re all here mainly cause we’re not all there.

I always give a piece of advice I like to repeat: “Don’t put down your glasses when you’re fixin’ to move.” 

Now, I step within the framework of these words to peer out from inside them. The view assures me I am in a different space, a more variable space. I untie from anchorage, my homemade balloon striped with new experiences, breathes in air element. For a longish time, I have been letting go of Earth, one tie-down at a time.

I have claimed to be a battery. I don’t carry out the work so much as charge it to occur, or to continue, or to simply watch the success happen. The work presents itself with interest & need, & I plug in. I could be a meanie & say T or C owes me, but the truth is I leave it with a greater debt, for so much feels unfinished. Yet it was not mine to begin with since, I can only ‘inneract’ with it all.

Then that tiny voice teases inside my ear saying, “You were here for the boost, kiddo, battery, remember?”

It’s taken years for the Age of Aquarius to wash over me. I brought along a boat & dory first time I left home, now I leave with power-pack made of thank-you notes, the kind I always write.

I’ve dismantled my desk, dismembered my writings, disbanded alliances dependent on geography. T or C is a cauldron; I can only cook so long before looking for another recipe. I’m not being flip about any of it.

But change just tickles the Hell out of me.

3

Itinerant

I feel a bit stranded, the deflating balloon on the corner pole signifying “party’s over.” It went well, this longish gig as a ‘homeowner.’ It is no longer upon me to remain here.

There is a strong parallel resonance going forward on all the other me-lines, too. To you who choose to partake of this reading here, Salut!

It is the best feeling; not to be netted in ego but to find a bit of a better way to squeeze through it into Spiritual Sovereignty, or what I feel that status to be. It’s a glass bridge at best, another showdown with Faith that has us both walking away, slapping at dust & grinning at each other.

It occurs to me that I am following a different & distant directive … that one about when the time comes to Believe, one lets go of perceived security & hearkens on, finding safety in the journey. Faintly I hear the beat of a distant drum in-heart, resonant into fade as I listen, distinctive when I don’t. It is not in my nature to be or become complacent anymore. Recently & just along this path, I’ve deduced that my greatest progress is made reining to a halt to listen.

Unlike many, my heart quickens at the thought of owning nothing & being happy. Wasn’t that at one time the goal of all Pilgrims? All you had to do was get your dream off the ground in your mind.

One of my earliest-recalled poems phrases lines about being at home wherever I land as my lifelong goal, indeed, ‘free as a bird,’ finding sustenance always to hand. Reputations have plummeted over ages, but there were true-thinking  Servitors, true to prayer & dedicated to a set-aside life, a ‘holy’ life. We are Pilgrims, owning only this moment. Often the willing Traveler opens the way in joining the currents of the roads, becomes iconic & of itself, an Avatar.

Walking a Pilgrimage has drifted to the bottom of my bucket list, yet I am having the thought drop in that this life now has been exactly that. I’ve lived & “done” my time. For some reason, I squeaked in past the censors to be born here – an inside-out spirit only now fitting in as all of life turns itself so.

The older I get, the more my life resembles a smudged carbon copy, well-penciled, with many phrases dug out from repetition. So what if I turn out to be an  eccentricity foisted upon a life which started out on track but somewhere jumped the rails.

All I hear is, “Yahoo!”

1

Fire

Once upon a time, high up in the Sandias outside of Albuquerque, I sat comfortably in my van, in sunshine, while ten yards in front of me a solid wall of snow slanted down, making the rattling, that sliding sound as when there are so many snowflakes they bump into each other.

Today I prowl indoors, couch to kitchen to couch again. To go outside is to venture into a marshmallow clasp of heat, clingy, smoky, stinging if you are driving with your arm out the car window.  The apartment is sealed up, the swamp cooler refining & wetting the air.

Tonight I walk outside to the grasp of smoke long tired even of itself, yet still pouring upward, the smoke of a forest being transformed from earth to ash. It is an exhaustive fire. It is not going to sleep for the night. It’s an irresistible heat, sustained, defensive & bullying. Smoke nestles down in the bowl of the town, a cloud from a distance, yet seemingly clear from within it.

The breaking mornings are coolest; a shifting night breeze has peeled off the smoke & the air seems moist in the absence of that forged heat.

Indelible summer arrives.  

0

Covid Heart

A short bout with Omicron has left me with heart flutters, a strange appetite for sugar & hotdogs with mustard only, for doughy rolls & canned food. What the hell is this? How could a virus change my organs? I am more timid, less allowing, rigid too. This outcome is definitely not of nature which has never forced itself against me so, obscene in overture, slippery smiles & tentacles snapping, reaching to snare my unwary parts.

I must be more conscious now. I defy these symptoms with salads, with rice crackers. I tell my heart, “Wait a mo'” while I fix a coffee to test the boundaries of its beats. I defy this new normal & create yet another unmoved by terror of failure. My past is already satiated & complacent. It is only the present with which I struggle.

I surge forward & upward, escaping the snaky holds. I will not cower before another man’s creation. I will not surrender if there is aught in me to continue the fight. Nothing not of God will enter me, control me, devour me.

COVID HEART

The fear in my heart pulls in the edges, isolates me

Protects itself, its waves recede;

The open beach left exposed is flat, empty,

Bubbles sink & dry, harden, their

Moisture drained. The winds begin a wail

Whip up frenzy

Heart cowers more, sinking deeper into self

Crusts over so little more can enter

Stung by sand whipped

Almost mooing, my heart remains bovine.

One morning, the winds will still

thinking me cowed…

The tides return; the memory retreats, That moment

I leap, anticipating its return, I leap

To an understanding – that knowledge that I have

Shown fear my future

& frightened it away.

Begone, Fear! You have no power here!

The vast engines of energy gear up with a roar

Stunned, my little self finds a vision larger to inhabit

Hastens there, slamming doors behind

That fear may not follow.

In the new light of being unafraid

Emerged from fear’s long shadow

I create again

I move again forward

I gather all about me

In triumph

Heart emerges in fanfare, confetti, parade!

I am healed. Unblemished. Ready.

0

Post for Mom

If the focus on physical is no longer working, it is time to develop a new focus: to assume Creatorship, also referred to as Sovereignty (Over-reign) (reign over). But we can only claim it one at a time & only for ourselves.

We’re more comfortable in a blend: Some braid in with the “growing trend” folks, others with the “oats” crowd. Few want to figure it out beyond their acculturated worldview. But in the rush to experience, depth is lost. Actions are unplanned, results not thought-through. Such randomness bespeaks chaos.

It becomes more complex when language is corrupted into a coarse string of trigger words – language used to be safe once upon a time, a “safe space” place.

Welladay, it’s been that for me in my life. More so lately, as I take time to relish it.

I figure no less than embracing the Transcendent will work here. What’s your take on it? How did you ever put down the Cosmos you are created to bring in, to participate, to populate to this place of here & now? Or is that memory gone, too, like so many that surely were real when happening? Where did our childhoods go?

But what life has proved to me overall is its ephemerality. Yet it is all we know … this physical tag along, drag along body. But it was what we came in for: the reason we dug down into DNA to make most of it automatic, to free up Creativity. We came back in the Michelin Human Suit just to experience shedding the many outer, ephemeral bodies, peeling these away (repealing them). We can only do one body at a time as we uncover to the core (le Coeur). How many of us can get that naked? Even for our God? Yet what else is there to offer a  god?

I came into it without even a blanket to my name. A space was carved for me by Mom: her tunnel to happiness was where she led me to, knowing it a fallback if others failed. I wandered around the landscape for awhile, but in the end, stepped into its cool interior & felt my way along its walls.

I took the bit particularly hard, being Libra. In being “set up” by Mom & Society & growing up in a once-removed beach resort. (In casting back, I realize I’ve lived in resort settings all my life – a place to be to celebrate, but also cheap living when they were not. That place to be when there’s no way change is to be had, as in being at your “last resort.” I was a child in a resort many resorted to for recreation (re-Creation) of their ragtop to Cadillac rides, a return to the mainline after a time-out in Wildwood.

A resort-dweller is to be permanent amongst the fluctuating crowd: those who did not know the beach or the boardwalk as part of the neighborhood. We natives opted to watch  them carefully; we were truly small-town folk amongst the city-dwellers & mostly profoundly grateful for that largesse.

I may be off-track already. I wanted to tell you there’s ways to go no matter who you follow, but you’ll always find the steadiest track to be the one where you’re comfortable. Getting comfortable takes more strength than we are given credit for & usually unprepared around when events happen in our lives. Being or staying comfortable in the spaces of enormous change are why we strip away all else.

I live in a land blasted by light & by the irregularities that have happened here. Once again, it is ramping up behind me, breathing a certain fire to singe the hair on my ears. Once again, I turn to stand in it, to face it, to absorb it, to resort to light for my healing. So, tell me again, why do I need this body?

To feel the light?

(Thanks for watching. Love you, C)

0

Where. From. Here?

If the focus on physical is no longer working, it is time to develop a new focus: to assume Creatorship, also referred to as Sovereignty (Over-reign) (reign over). But we can only claim it one at a time & only for ourselves.

We’re more comfortable in a blend: Some braid in with the “growing trend” folks, others with the “oats” crowd. Few want to figure it out beyond their acculturated worldview. But in the rush to experience, depth is lost. Actions are unplanned, results not thought-through. Such randomness bespeaks chaos.

It becomes more complex when language is corrupted into a coarse string of trigger words – language used to be safe once upon a time, a “safe space” place.

Welladay, it’s been that for me in my life. More so lately, as I take time to relish it.

I figure no less than embracing the Transcendent will work here. What’s your take on it? How did you ever put down the Cosmos you are created to bring in, to participate, to populate to this place of here & now? Or is that memory gone, too, like so many that surely were real when happening? Where did our childhoods go?

But what life has proved to me overall is its ephemerality. Yet it is all we know … this physical tag along, drag along body. But it was what we came in for: the reason we dug down into DNA to make most of it automatic, to free up Creativity. We came back in the Michelin Human Suit just to experience shedding the many outer, ephemeral bodies, peeling these away (repealing them). We can only do one body at a time as we uncover to the core (le Coeur). How many of us can get that naked? Even for our God? Yet what else is there to offer a  god?

I came into it without even a blanket to my name. A space was carved for me by Mom: her tunnel to happiness was where she led me to, knowing it a fallback if others failed. I wandered around the landscape for awhile, but in the end, stepped into its cool interior & felt my way along its walls.

I took the bit particularly hard, being Libra. In being “set up” by Mom & Society & growing up in a once-removed beach resort. (In casting back, I realize I’ve lived in resort settings all my life – a place to be when things are great, a place to be when there’s no way change is to be had, as in being at your “last resort.” I was a child in a resort many resorted to for recreation (re-Creation) of their ragtop to Cadillac rides, a return to the mainline after a time-out in Wildwood.

A resort-dweller is to be permanent amongst the fluctuating crowd: those who did not know the beach or the boardwalk as part of the neighborhood. We natives opted to watch  them carefully; we were truly small-town folk amongst the city-dwellers & mostly profoundly grateful for that largesse.

I may be off-track already. I wanted to tell you there’s ways to go no matter who you follow, but you’ll always find the steadiest track to be the one where you’re comfortable. Getting comfortable takes more strength than we are given credit for & usually unprepared around when events happen in our lives. Being or staying comfortable in the spaces of enormous change are why we strip away all else.

I live in a land blasted by light & by the irregularities that have happened here. Once again, it is ramping up behind me, breathing a certain fire to singe the hair on my ears. Once again, I turn to stand in it, to face it, to absorb it, to resort to light for my healing. So, tell me again, why do I need this body?

To feel the light?

(Thanks for watching. Love you, C)

0

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?

3

Post No Bills

Attach nothing to this life.

this life is nothing in & of itself.

I’ve been doing it for maybe longer than you

all I’ve learned is I no longer want to be a particle

but a wave.

What do the words mean anymore?

I understand when I say them, I’m posting the wrong message

the one that these go for in this time.

I’m not talking them in today’s terms, though.

I gave up the moving forward & am taking a u-turn.

I need to have my today re-couched in yesterday.

And not just any yesterday, but a specific, focused, energetic of a yesterday.

the one where words had definition, & borders amongst themselves, & meanings.

I speak them that way at times.

I’m zooming in on my past, doing a close-up on who I was; with who I Am

aligning the two.

Once I got that, I’ll bring in who I want to be.

Life’s Little Potato Peeler

I like the analogy of being a whittler, of tiny shaves & curls of wood

tickling down to feather at my feet.

i like the idea that there might be a beginner spirit in the wood

waiting to get out, to sit on the shelf

to move among the thrift stores of the world.

I know at times, I do this with my life.

My pen makes a great tool; the sharpest knife ever,

that, & my words.

Each memory I consign to the forest floor

will blow into someone else’s tale.

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