A Friend Loses Her Hearing

​​Dear One,

I heard you yesterday when you said your sense of hearing is diminishing. The sense of isolation comes with that, of distance as the world retreats to a hum of a murmur instead of a vibrant soundscape, tho likely you hear in ranges, maybe birdsong but not conversation. I am sure this is a severe life change. Yet all is somehow to be made to work to good in our worlds. And in this temporal, fleeting, strangely difficult & beautiful place, man flourishes & suffers both immense beauty with understanding & suffering without. I feel for you as tides shift & retreat & the gold coasts of full function come in & out of view. 

At older ages much comes clearer even when vision doesn’t physically allow this. Entropy, not syntropy, happens when we shift our attention. As children the vividness & clamor, the shooting stars of hope with the fading of heaven when worldly interventions push in between inner & outer layers comprise reality. Our imaginations are so central to function, even what others say is distorted when lined up against our childish reality where wishes come true, become those horses we ride on out upon despite the old rhymes of denial. Doubt becomes a debt; setting out upon that sea is to find self a long ways from shore almost immediately. And there, with no place to put down our questing roots, we float upon a surface so tenuous we cannot use feet or legs to carry us forward & arms only reach so far, only bear the strength to move half the body. We recognize no longer being whole when it would be worth our lives to be so. 

That’s where either Divinity kicks in or despair. Tho we dislike depending on others, we begin to understand that was the entire message: Love One Another, the corollary to which is Love Self.

Celebrate your understanding! There are more circumstances around clarity than we can handle in a loving way. Not quite comprehending our humanity we reach once again for the miracles so attendant upon youth which drifts far beyond reach. Life happened while we watched it in others rather than lived it ourselves. We settle into reduction with not quite the same fervor we welcomed earlier growth. Yet growth is the only forward motion so we struggle with the promise butting up against reality. Some retreat into promise. Most settle for what is, tho uncomfortably with much flailing against the “what is”. 

Yet life is always forward. When the leaps of bodily progress become limps of decline, we adjust our thinking which is always to be unlimited. We deny God’s love for us just a we are for the mortal world’s claim we will never be enough. Of course not! How can we be immortals in this all too mortal world?

I know you recognize this although the years of denial of decline fog the view. We’ve climbed many mountains both figurative & physical. We continue to believe in our reality despite a fair ‘proof” that there is no such thing, In spirit, we know we are the realist figure God ever created, the most unlimited expression of Self [im]possibly created, cobbled together from the love of spirit & the mud of man, 

Love yourself. Let go of what might have been for what is, but never release the knowing there is so much more to it all. These skinsuits wear out even as our divine essences move frontwise to lead. Continue to learn & give & open to possibility for that’s the Miracle sought so long, realized so little. Stay unlimited where it matters! Bring love to the fore & mount it as a figurehead to lead your voyage home.



Lost & Found II


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.


As my “exhibit wall” expands, I do, too. I surround myself with what lifts me or brings me more into vibration with God.

(I write as I await the computer to return to me after faithfully reporting in to Big Brother. We are at 90% on updates, I have two pages to write in the book before it resurfaces its little all-seeing eye upon me.)

My space is not crowded, though I am finding more to put up. All of this will stay for some little while & then recharge the day I get up & take it all down to start.

The change I am experiencing usually comes in September, which has always represented a “beginning month” to me. (It’s mid-August, but I swear in my own truth it is September.)

I am more keenly aware of all not aligning with where I am cannot remain in the “energetic I” long. I think of the frame in the movie Whale Rider where she rides the beached whale into the sea after laboriously convincing him to turn around to face his own reality. When the whale sounds with her, she floats from his back, more than half-frozen, eyes closed, hands unwillingly opening. I cannot see yet at what cost, but I let go, opening my eyes now. Something in the mechanics of being alive changes profoundly.

I thought I needed to get a job & earn money. So, I figured maybe a little weekend work at the café when they are busy. The server there is many-years experienced, but I noticed she could use support work. I figured to bus tables & speed things up – maybe earn a “coinly” wage to supplement supplies. I wrote an application letter to the owners. I gathered up my mail for the post office as a via point, walked across the street & into the café. As soon as I entered, my eye fell upon the second server! Guess this was not my job. Which was as well because taking in their black slacks, stiff white blouses & natty black aprons, I realized I probably can never wear a uniform again.

I deepened other activity times, walking West in the blaze of glory which clothes sunset in New Mexico. I walk to the bridge to see how high the creek is running. This enlarges my morning walk, East, into sunrise, bracketing it nicely. And a new-again Yoga practice to devote myself to.

All of me is coming together. Even as I take the time in consciousness to slow down in my head, I pick up physical speed. It feels good. I do not have to have music or a book; in fact, I begin to recognize a more specific effect that others’ words & stories have upon me. I ask myself if I wish to participate? Cannot tell you how many books & movies I’ve returned to the library after a cursory perusal of contents. But where I once became anxious without a book on hand to dive into, I find I can sit outside of an evening to wait for whatever sounds may float by. I light my luminaria on the table & put my feet up. I psychically repel mosquitoes.

Who will emerge when the Hillsboro Chrysalis opens is anyone’s guess. The women in the West with the best survival rates have always been warriors. But the warrior I want to be carries no weapons; remains defenseless, never calls upon remorse or blame, offers only witness as the ultimate in participation. Bringing none, blaming none, bluffing none. It’s just me again, facing another door & liking the me on the other side.


Transitions (11)


Lay down expectations like boards

Build you a bridge to inspiration

Hammer these down with nails of patience

Paint them in colors of inevitability and change.

Stand in doorways where the transition

Of forward & back will balance your brain.

Find my hand in the total darkness of eclipse

Pull me into that pregnant moment of emerging light

Frail is it may be

Enlivening all that ever was.


I find a west window of sunlight

Sit down, facing my back to it

As my neck warms and my hands,

I write poems

A tiny flag of incense curls

In the light

Music knits an afghan of sound

For a simply singular afternoon.

All I “should” be doing goes undone

In favor of these words flowing from this pen.


May get me places,

But all journeys

Are made of expectations

Foregoing familiarity.

When only the scenery changes

Is change enough?

My life seems a layby off the tracks.

(Twinned steel cutting the horizon, glistening.)


The habit of gifting

Is one to cultivate

I have been on the balance beam

Of gifting & receiving

While meditating on insufficiency’s

Pyramidal center…

I have pierced these veils

Of unknown power sources

Skirting the edges of vortex

Many other times.


I have invited crucifixion

By my own emotions

And intransigence of purpose.

If all these beginnings

Lead to similar endings

Why even ask the questions?

I am the hapless beggar

In the Promised Land,

The starveling at the World Feast.

I have wandered the Lost & Found of life long enough…

Even when no Path appears,

I shoulder my pack,

I move on.


I am in Soul Rehab

Stripping walls of flocked paper strips

Snapping bowed valances to sweep velvet shreds

Of conscience

I tear at curling floorboards

A stale, sour smell of old wood

Rising from the sawdust cloud

I have no idea how to rebuild this!

I have only the belief I can.

The house groans, settles,

Creaks; obligingly dismantling itself

As windowsills tilt & slide

Down separating walls

I pull nails bare-fingered.

Standing, I push support beams

With strengthened shoulders,

Digging in my heels.

For all this determination,

There is no center to demolish.

Only a guess at what will bring

This structure down;

Only a hope it will not take me along.


In all this time of walking forever forward

Of wearing out shoes in differing directions

The compass whispers me to north & west

South & east

I do not heed these siren songs

I am a turtle with a rock upon its back

Thrusting forward my head, neck & finny legs.

Swimming stillness.


Off to a rough start:

The bloodletting of loneliness

Collapsing my fluid body

To knots & gnarls

Tanned to roughened leather

A wrinkling purpose

Overlaid a pristine map.

“But,” I argue with the mirror,

“did I ever know? It was given to me:

‘Travel, stop, begin again’ over & over.”

These I did: a trio of begettings.

Would you have me make a list of my sins?

There are few enough to recall to my forgetting mind

I do remember toting buckets of them to

The confessional incinerator

Where sparks burst & flew

Into heaven.


Dying is one of the best things I will do.

I don’t know how I know this…

Perhaps informed by intimate experience?

I am content to blossom as a rose,

Exploded of scent, explored for color

Curled & peeling petals taking

Flight for faraway –

Plucked to die, dreaming,

On a kitchen table,

Beheld with love each glance.

Not knowing how it knows this…

The chance to return

As a miracle on the Tree of Life.

But I say this not being in line for


Not really believing in death, per se

Remaining the nonbeliever, tho afloat in

A sea of total incrimination of

Evidence & experience

Responding to more of what I would not do:

I would not regret or mourn

I would be as fierce in death

As in death-defying life!

Cherished as the moment of breath

Breathed out after the intimacy

Of circling the heart

Form into formlessness

An eternity of time

To dip into life once again.



Momentary fulfillment &

Long-term lack

The land that once rolled toward me

Traveling up & out-away

Impulse decentralized

Purpose diffused

Once measured in steadying mileage

I am disengaged from movement

Bereft of directional impulse

Uneasily content to be part

Of a landscape

In favor of making landfall.


I would be bold before the Throne,

Demanding face-time with God,

A hug from Jesus,

A fig from Buddha’s Bodhi Tree

A tear from Guanyin

A knighthood with the sword of St. Germain

A high-five from Michael Archangel.

I would sleep for a thousand-thousand years

Each dream the petal of the rose

I would return in.



There was a beginning & there will be an ending, but I always seem to be in the story’s middle. The part where the beginning is so far back it’s not even a dim memory. The part where the future disappears into a great cloud of unknowing.

The sages tell me I’m responsible for my consciousness in all three zones while the pundits tell me get to the point! (Is there a point of “know returns?”)

Meanwhile, all I am aware of is the dailiness of Now; whatever changes occurs in this moment, uninformed or wise. But change takes place so slowly until, suddenly, it does not. Change accelerates & decelerates of its own will. Change dissembles, seeming to be one thing & then – blink – another! Both theatre & dance, stillness & movement, fractal & whole. A Trinity of Time: past/present/future.

No wonder we take drugs which alter time. No wonder we believe in unbelief as belief can take so long to manifest. Unbelief is simpler somehow, if less fulfilling.

The future is contained in a kaleidoscope where each incremental change brings exchange in time-space. Or is it space-time? How will we ever know?

I do things for the simple sake of doing. We all do, no? we spend money not yet earned. We exact wishes rubbing on an imaginary magic lamp. We expect the Youniverse to respond to our heart when sometimes our hearts aren’t even on the same wavelength.

Each day of my life, my life disappears; small bites nibbled from the timespan. I seem to be caught in its alimentary tract, inanimate until digested. I make a smooth contact, like a receptor into a brain cell,  then into light-life I spring.

The Winter Home

Farewell daylight savings time

Long-lasted hours of darkness

Cloaked invisibly about me.

Goodbye the sweetly dreamed

Brought on by heavy covers pressing me into sleep,

With only my nose exposed to brightcold air.


I shall miss the sly-bold pride

Of rising hours before the world’s light

Far ahead of the Sleepers…

Now the days no longer round their way to bed

But perceive it as an interception to the light’s

Sharper edge, murmuring

“Stay awake!” “There’s more!” “Don’t go!”