Ransom Notes

I have come to believe that vanity, and not hearing, is the last sense to leave the expiring body. I settled into this physical shape as though it is the most comfortable in the world for me – and indeed, it is!

Once upon a time (that beginning making the tale worth the tell) I wished for a perfection of form, an enviable figure with a trim waist, bubble butt, hair down to here & legs up to there. Yet this body is the crowning achievement of my physical plane.

In 2009, I succumbed to peer pressure & went for a physical. The assistant measured my height at 5’1.” “Wait a minute,” I said, “I’m 5’2.” She didn’t even smile as she said, “Not anymore.” I could hear her thinking, “Another of these over-50’s with no understanding of shrinkage.” Wrong…I did know shrinkage, just thought it’d never apply to me! I knew it as dry fact, without the damper of experience.

“I can be as tall as I imagine myself to be,” I mumbled, standing under that slim metal measuring rod. Gravity, whether pulling me down or pushing (a late-arriving theory) can do its worst. I need not pay attention. My visual world pretty much ends at 5’3”, so if the item is on the top shelf, I don’t buy it until the younger (taller) attendants walk me back down the aisle to my etheric imprint to show it to me. “Up here, Ma’am, see?”

(I quit doing Girl Scout troops when the third graders collectively looked down on me. I started training adults instead, where we were all around the same height.)

True, I never returned to a physician’s office. No need for more bad news, yeah? They seldom have tidings of great joy. In fact, their track record is quite incommensurate in that regard.

I call it compacting, or condensing, not shrinking. Semantics rule…I should know.

I’m not timing out, I’m indemnifying.

In the days when I had a cute little figure, when I bought for fashion at boutiques & trunk shows & fixed my hair for husbands, I didn’t really pay so much attention to vanity.

It was a fleeting time, to be sure, before the situation changed. The Pill put on ten pounds I’ve yet to lose 50 years later. The hysterectomy seemed to create lots of storage space for adipose. And since the area is stretchy to allow for growth; wait, I don’t want to go there. You’ll see no profile shots of me on this site. I didn’t think my female parts took up quite as much space as has become available.

This body is the go-to one. I wake up to reassemble it every morning, molecule by molecule. So what if it bulges here & there? This is why science invented elastic & necessity invented Spandex.

I burst into song to be free of single-minded vanity which reduces life to what actually fits & looks nice. Too limiting! It’s a burden I’d rather not bear. My smile weighs a lot less than the rest of me & that’s what counts. I love & honor fresh greens; I just prefer pasta.

The twinges & creaks concurrent with approaching seventy nourish the stellar joy of rising to walk two miles, attempting to dance my ass off now & again, & knowing I’m not competition for anything but a contest of wits.

Being a plushie surely stands out over all those Barbie’s.

I guess I’m still growing into me.

 

Off the Cuff & Up to Snuff

Life rolls the dice as we sit at the table, playing the game. I don’t know all the card-playing mantras – seven come eleven & that…but I believe in living forward with a healthy dose of mystery pouring around the edges of any shades I’ve inadvertently drawn.

Dark never lasts. The light breaks through in the most unusual places. I find signs (literally) like the one above on Bullard Street in Silver City. The note on the door said they were in meditation session, so I could not explore further; however, I was quite satisfied with as much as I did find. We are all in need of grooming, four-legs & two-legs both. Wouldn’t you say?

We groom our lives incessantly, trying to get all the edges lined up, all the stripes aligned in colorful rows. We try to keep to the speed limits & see to our safety. We keep in touch with old friends as we discover new relationships. So we outpace the question “What’s in it for me?”

Circumstances morph to need. If you can unlearn old habits & pour energy into the more rewarding & fulfilling “new” ones, all circumstance can be satisfied. This is what is so intriguing about the Biblical phrase “And no one pours new wine into old wineskins. Otherwise, the wine will burst the skins, and both the wine and the wineskins will be ruined. No, they pour new wine into new wineskins.” This would seem to be more difficult in practice. We age & our bodies are old wineskins… The new life we pour into them seems at first to create untenable situations. Where do we find strength to leave old relationships, to forge new ones, to remake what once held meaning into what we are called to do for fulfillment at this exact moment?

There doesn’t always seem to be a way through. An old adage from the Orient tells us “Be water. Flow” The teachings of Abraham (Esther Hicks) were at one time all about going downstream instead of fighting against the current. And this, Abraham repeatedly said, was so hard because as a culture, we do not feel we are in accomplishment unless we are fighting.

But fighting is part of the old paradigm. The new life pouring into the planet in the form of children who are aware of the the prism of love all must filter through shows us just one example. The expressiveness of our four-leg friends/mentors/companions is another. Every morning pries us open, begs us to allow in the untried, untested, new, while simply glossing over that stubborn “no!” we want to hide in corners & wail. Yes, species die off. Yes, trees are drying up. Yes, oceans are dying. But let’s all just sit in the space of Yes! long enough to understand that this same vacuum we see forming is abhorred by the continuum of Life living itself all around us in glory heretofore untold by history.

We are based in history without the references as to why & where our habits arose. We feel more comfortable to practice the old far more than the new & it’s time for that to stop. It’s time to welcome in the change we are invited to become. If those invited to be trees want to move into another life, we must needs understand this enough to help redirect their energy. We must fashion the new wineskins, hold ourselves open, allow the pouring overflow to fill us. We must groan through the growth process this engenders with the sure & certain trust we were fashioned to have this happen in precisely the manner it does.

If you find you’re guilty of some sin, make amends. Make Amens – sum them up & bring these to closure so refreshing, novel, au courant (coeur = heart) that fresh information can manifest. If the trees die, look for what now grows there. If old habits have packed up their heavy trunks & laid these by the door as you walk out, leave them behind.

Try it. Close your eyes, press on the lids lightly, envision what you would rather have take place & pour the new wine of your beautiful Light energy into your refashioning life. It can be easy if you don’t make it hard. It can be done if you start somewhere, lay something down, pick something else up. I told a friend to write a love letter to his ailing knees & he wrote back to ask, “What should I write?” I replied, “This is your task. Find a pen, smooth out the paper in front of you & begin.”

All we need is at hand. Reach for it! Give life permission to stomp something out so that making new wine becomes all there is to do. I can’t tell you how to do it – I can only suggest that it has worked throughout time. I can tell you there are paths through the forest waiting for your feet; footprints in sand which fit only your size eights, ideas which only you make manifest & bring into fruition. This is the promise we are given. This is the talent we are not permitted to pull a bushel over anymore.

When everything else is closing in, walk on. Expand, try, seek & bring the finding close enough to inhale. Breathe life in & allow it to explore your body with the love it bears for you.

Smile, too, & don’t forget to have some fun with it. No one can hold us down when it is our time to fly. And at times that may mean mean jumping off the cliff to see if the wings work. Determine what you want to be & become who you are, leaving behind who you think you were.

Find Your Yes!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Home Sweet Home (Revisited)

I have lived in many places – sometimes – if not usually – in the very same town. The stretch between being in one place and the other can make it feel like I’m living in two different universes. Already in Hillsboro, I’ve moved once again after landing late March.

Living at the Barbershop Motel was like living in an Edward Hopper painting – you know, the one where faded people sit in chairs at open-all-night bars (look up “Nighthawks”) or sitting by themselves somewhere, seeming as though waiting for life to stop by for a visit.

I have felt for a long time that life has better things to do than come by my door. A singular encounter released me from the motel. What a growth opportunity this has been! It was joyous, fun, enlarging & definitely extraordinary.

You see, I believe in alternative stuff…disinformation, “fake news”, all kinds of breathy pulsating topics which are sidereal to what’s often called mainstream. I am not sure I believe in any-much anymore except one-to-one conversational laybys with friends who have history with me. And the event which propelled me from the “Hopper Effect” was highly spiritual in nature. But, the details aren’t to be listed here & the cover story will serve.

I came to New Mexico for one reason; to help others. So long as I can live rent-free somewhere, I can afford to live. Ha! I’ll bet many of you reading this could say the same. I am free from “earning” a conventional living. I am one of those seniors now affording to live on about $1,000 each month of Social Security. The government has generously given me cost-of-living-raises of $3 per year since I took early retirement seven years back. I am exploring the altered state of not having a regular job to report to. If I curtail pretty much anything which costs me money, I can make this work. Once the credit cards are paid up, I’ll be relatively wealthy.

This is simplified since I live in a town with only antique stores, no bank, no bodega, one café where the food is mostly selections from a menu I don’t eat, one wine bar (I don’t drink) – imagine! No Starbucks, no Walgreens, no fast-food or retail outlets, no movie theatres… An outstanding all-volunteer library is up the hill. Some of the most spectacular scenery in the world is nine miles away (Gila National Wilderness), everyone in town is a Master of something. We have artists, natural food growers, writers, engineers of all description – but in the end, we’re all old farts who live in a town of 150 where the list of what we would seem not to have stretches much farther than what we do. But how much would you pay for peace of mind, knowing your neighbors, uninterrupted sunlight, cool nights & no cell service downtown?

You have attained “favor” here if you have a tree to park the car beneath & can remember what day the Pickin’ Circle meets to play outside the Black Range Vineyards Wine Bar. I have attained my own favor because I know the people on my street (which is, by the way, is the main drag among three others.)

Malcolm Gladwell, in his book, The Tipping Point, writes a chapter on how 150 is an optimum number of people to have in your circle – whether social or employment. There are 150 people in this town. Internet data will inform you we’re a “statistical entity” with a population of 120 as of 7/16. Guess we’ve had another gold rush if the numbers are up by 30 in a year!

It’s unusual to hear children unless the “grands” are visiting. In a town this size, everyone becomes a character worthy of their own sitcom. Most of the women are gray-haired, most of the men have beards or handlebar moustaches. There’s a tiny stable on the upper corner with a white horse & her two companion miniature horses. At the diagonal opposite is a road which is crossed by Percha Creek when it rains (which it seldom does.) Our town park could fit in a backyard.

I love it here.

Tonight I am headed to a concert with Randy Granger, a world-class musician who plays any number of instruments with whole-hearted soul. It’s outdoors under the white-pointed black sky. I will even have to look for a jacket to wear! I’ll see & greet neighbors, enjoy the tunes & drive the nine miles home in the altered state only live performance can create.

Cheers!

 

 

 

Life is a Scavenger Hunt (11 Poems)

Life is a Scavenger Hunt

A leaf

A flute

Being in the presence of the lion

As differing from its photo.

Behind inter-twining gates

Breakthrough

(Brake-through)

The whole world moves on the wind

Shifting north to west to south

Where are we &

Where are we willing to go?

A wind’s message

Telegraphed by leaves

Danced in boughs.

The birds don’t worry on wind

Tho made of only spun-lace bone & color

Riding feathers upon it.

 

Before I get off the subject

I didn’t even know I was on,

Even as my pen brushes the page

More dirt settles upon it

I write crunching words

 

The wind taps this tree

Thrums that one

Shivers of its voice

Measure density

In a code far too random for comprehension

Yet I’m reading every movement.

 

This could have had such a different ending

Instead of these hasty walls

Thrown up between –

Barriers of denial

Relating to levels of anger & fear

I let it all go

One petal at a time.

They love me,

They love me not.

 

Washed Tin

It’s a busy street here

When two people pass one another

To either side, one walking a dog.

My heart is simply full of itself

With many lives to live,

Gaily leaping timelines,

So much potential

The designated “poof!” of hours…

Yanked from quantum entanglement

To seem a moment’s solitary

Accomplishment (hitting the “play” button often)

It all had to happen, though

Forgiveness unforgiven.

Momentary gaps in the thinking it through.

Beleaguered & beyond redemption.

Befriended by ascension

The wavelength to be on

Find-able

A smoother ride than along

The coast road.

 

I couldn’t answer the phone

I was buttering my hands

Um, yep, butter

Too long to explain

Not for everyone anyway

Tho more than a few would favor.

 

The glasses shatter on the fireplace,

Finalizing the celebration

But out come the broom & dustpan

The tinkling pour into the trash

Will it be replaced?

A decision for another day.

The two sides of every offering.

 

I have lost you

You who could have stayed far longer

To talk me into eternity

One way or the next

To talk me over the imaginary hurdles

I have created on my own

Spun simply & from loneliness

Your skin was soft from sleep

When I touched you to say

“I didn’t know you were sleeping.”

I dream of you now, con permisso.

 

 Living Divinity individually

Imagining duality

So, of course, a Singularity can occur.

 

I keep re/de/fining who I am

I’ve belonged to me for too long a time

I powerfully experience your turning-away

Do we cash out each other as we have been cashiered?

We tried this once before

To extreme disappointment.

I had One Escapade

But never saw the Devil I spat at…

I don’t have the nitty-gritty

Of being the fly on the wall.

Then he was summarily ejected from present company

Like a bullet, only one shot taken.

In his absence, we had no electricity for a while.

Without refrigeration, I am still frozen out for four days

From any/all conversation.

Until the PTB decide to sit me at a table

Pulling up chairs for accusation & disappointment,

Until I stand to say your life is not mine

And until you have lived it,

Do not accuse.

 

There’s a story here to tell

Untold & unafraid of itself

A love story stripping all else bare

To use the energy of the bones

I reminded her of an old friend

From voice inflection to flip-flops

So many interlocking pieces

With no interlocution.

Witness to sin

Condemned without trial

Or understanding

Yet walking free from it all.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Written Just This Time Last Year

In the infinity of choices, what choices does the world really give me?

  • Paper/plastic
  • Life/death
  • Stillness/movement
  • Yes/no
  • Eat/abstain
  • See/be blind
  • Youth/age

What gives me these choices? Why do I avoid growth to sit still – to “sit/stay” like a little doggie?

I can be fluid as water, yet I choose to be a rock.

Having made so many decisions about change before, I am feeling an affinity for sameness now. having made so much happen, I am now the target of happenings – the receiver.

I know the power is latent. I can bring it into activity at any time. I am toying now with stillness, playing with being trapped. I am this me now, after so much being that me.

They have not told me why; I have not asked that question.

But soon I will change, it will once again all change. This will not last forever. I will change my beliefs into understandings. I will leave the safety net below to fly off. I will forge a new future & not even look back. The past has no interest for me: I’ve done it. Right now are the beginnings occurring – advent of change. From this stillness, this stillpoint, I will push & pull, resist & allow, above all, I will create.

There needs to be some different thing or artistry. I’m far too young to be this old.

I will welcome my retiring soul by shaping my formative, birthing self. I will find freedom from reincarnation to simple incarnation which is a kind of mortgage of the soul.

The change is already in motion of emotion.

I feel the whole world chomping at the bit for change. I make the commitment to other than not making one.

All this mind-full-ness is grand, but where is it taking me, really?

I cannot let beliefs lock me down any longer. Not when there are dreams to be had.

5/31/2016

Note from 5/27/2017: This ‘resolution’ didn’t even last a year. But then, so many resolutions don’t.

 

Question for the Ages

What is your relationship to Truth? For some, there’s a passing acquaintance only – a two-finger wave getting into the car. I recently saw “Jupiter Ascending” for the second time & marveled when one of the characters said, “Lies are the reason I get up every day.”

Now that should make you shudder, Amen!

Is your relationship to Truth “immersive”? Like walking into the ocean? I remember the day I realized I couldn’t even take a paper clip home from my desk at work. Not that I’m so holy, but it was just so much easier to walk away hands-free & heart open.

Next question: Is honesty Truth? I think it’s like using slices of two different breads. They don’t always match – sourdough & rye, for example. We’re not used to this. My truth may be real to me, but dishonest to you. But my honesty counts towards Truth as I know it.

Children have refreshingly fewer filters on Truth. Art Linkletter used to ask the kids on the show first off, “Now, what did your mom tell you not to tell me?” All sorts of quotable quotes then emerged.

Children enter the world with a broader perceptual spectrum upon which culture starts applying boundaries immediately.  A child soon finds out that a broad spectrum needs to narrow considerably to get along in society. It’s a far lesser bandwidth to occupy; only “admissible” truths meet the criteria – sometimes nothing imaginary and especially nothing which doesn’t support the current belief system.

I know adults who throw up fences as fast as they can when certain topic arises in conversation. One scientist whom I met recently said firmly, “No woo-woo stuff here!” about Tibetan singing bowls being used for physical healing, as she admired another’s playing of her bowl. However, she nodded at the comment, “I feel that tone all through my body.” Well, that’s how the bowls heal, right?

(I used the photo above as it seems to represent a truth all of its own – it was taken at a drumming circle fire in Maine. None of the other photos in the same grouping contain this figure.)

We just need to keep enlarging our truth/Truth by broadening our spectrum to permit others theirs as well, whether imaginary or scientifically proven. We have to be free-range Truth-Seekers to discover what resonates in us for once & all.

 

 

 

Walking Rain

Our Father – Another Update

Hey Dad –

You live in the best place possible to increase joyous experience & productive certainty!

Your name alone is meaningful to me, as are Your works in bringing about the world that Mom envisions.

May all You do be in aid of life & creation…please keep us to making improvements!

It is Your fulfillment to see the entire world productive & happy, more connected to activity expressing Love.

For here is the dwelling-space of Your children: we of Your accomplishment, fulfillment & amazed pride.

All You do sources Life at its best-lived level.

To You we bring our disappointments, all that limits our positive growth, our mistakes in this Grand Experiment; anything at all that doesn’t engender Joy. Erase these from our being that they may be replaced with Lovinkindness.

From You we learn how to be innocent of error. Light up the best roads for us to follow. Encourage our hearts, flow through us into each other with Your empowering grace.

Amen.

The Prayer Flags

Share their messages with us all

Trembling with shredding edges…

Praying to a heaven which (if I may loosely paraphrase)

Seems hell-bent on descending to reach us.

The gods finger the fringe

Thumb the coded symbols with diamond fingers

The flags send messages to the itinerant saints

“Forgive these humans who are never beyond Your forgiveness.”

Choose what you will say: hang your flags to pray.

Dear Mother Death,

When you see my soul wandering in your flowered fields

Catch me up, won’t you, please?

Fashion me into a hard rubber ball

Bounce me for the delight of children

For the elastic jaws of dogs

Place me as a leaf atop your highest tree

That a bird may sing to me in passing, wing me with a feather-touch

Open me as a shrine, put a candle within,

Set me gently into a baby tumbleweed blowing bravely uphill

Place me as the flat tongue of a tubular bell

Calling down the valley for all to enter prayer.

Grow me as a sprig of brilliant purple on the sage-gray desert

Toss me into a great black thunderhead

Trailing rain over mountains thirsted for weeks

Or, failing these, just sit me on your lap & watch me glow.

Water-Wind

All in place; nothing missing

And just in time

For now the wind rises in the north

Arranging itself upon a current whistling over the edges of my ears

You always start the same: a spatter-sprit of drops carelessly flung

Against the glass door

From friend to fury, drops burst like small bombs

Then comes that burr of thunder

A mighty split of light forking the sky

There are messages all over the horizon

Runic reveals beyond Revelation

To one such as me, quietly seated

On the inside, looking out with a cup of tea to hand,

Book laid aside for real-time drama, 3-D life

A dance of elements to rhythms I can only ponder

As I sip.

Poets Throw Dice

Of words

Sixes & ones

Sevens & fours

Chance & circumstance

Conspire to frame the day.

 

What we see is up to us but not ours

Miracle or meddlesome

A beginning of ends

No moment lost

As dice are tossed

We write as does nature

Lines on leaves

Runes on water

Words on winds.

We join gamers

Reporting back to divinity

Invisible & reckless

Trapped or galloped free

Ev’ry blank page a sensuous invitation

We shed blood to write with if no ink is at hand!