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.

A Hall of Mirrors


Recently, I compared my life to having lived in a hall of mirrors. There were mirrors that reflected me in beauty, shining. There were mirrors that reflected me as shriveled, dulled. Then it occurred to me they were the same mirrors.

I meanwhile found a greeting card of a woman looking like an “air corpsman’ with a dragon on a hoop on her shoulder. I immediately thought of three women or more I could send this to as statements of our lives. Nurturing dragons is not easy. It is a task brought to the wiser among the women. Dragons ever call for quick thinking.

By these & other omens do I determine my days. I have taken steps to change my home & my energetic signature within it. First the rearrangements to create space. The space becomes organic & begins to grow. The next step in growing is invited in & the energy changes: boom!

So is it not with my life? Refilled over until one day, only new will serve. I am approaching this “new.” As the timelines around me collapse, my life flashes in front of me – a Tarot deck of my own dealing. I spoke elsewhere of seeing my past leap by on its own two legs as I stayed in place in the present. I spoke of doing massage in every room I’ve done massage in – most notably New Mexico & most recently, Delaware. I feel momentarily in that space as I see the room through these eyes.

What’s it gonna be, girl, dragons or mirrors? With what keen beasts will you keep company now that company is shaved away to the barest of minimums as we are trained to keep distances?

Finding the within is worthwhile. My activities of late are what once was called ‘contemplating the navel.’ It is finding the middle lands in me. I have lived from bottom & top chakras so busily. Now comes the time to go back & revisit the middles: relationships, creativity, my re-greening, all flourishing. How long ago did I abandon these to leap with my past over my present into the ever-emergent now?

I might have seen myself go past in one of those other rooms & only now be remembering it.







Midnight Maunderings

I never thought myself a leader

Yet I have always been skipping out ahead

Finding the way of the Wayshower.

I venture outside at 3 a.m.

To breathe night-ions

Garnering the darkness

In eager search of distant stars

I fly no flags of bedsheet measure

Only tiny banners of love

Protected on my windowsill

But these I fly proudly

Wings open to the heaviness of air

I am the mouse fascinated by the whiskers of the lion

Unobserved yet always overseen by gentle Divinity

Tweaking my tail, tickling my nose/

I paddled in ponds wearing shoes of adventure

I walked away from lifetimes

While laying no claims

Save those of memory & desire.

As to where this shall take me

I hardly imagine.

My face & my name ahead of me

I still search, scanning horizons

Calling myself forward.


Unready to upstage the world,

I can only upstage myself

One accomplishment at a time.

I test the boundaries of constancy

Questing the North Star of God

I live behind no screens

Of televised content

Content I create my own world.

Where I am a hero on the Hero’s Journey of real life.

I boil carrots in the dark

To better see the day

I wipe my pens on my sleeves

Dotted with ink & drenched

With words about worlds yet undiscovered.

I would bestow my wisdoms

To children I shall never have

Applauding their creativity

Inspired by a tiny phrase.

Until I began these midnight maunderings

These densely-packed thoughts only to

Be experienced in single splendors…

It IS possible to love every tree in the forest

Every wave breaking in similar salty froth

‘pon strangely lit beaches

I watch the world lie down in death

Anticipating only resurrection.


The incense burns

Fierce & hot

Devouring itself

In the grace of alluring scent

I burn to be so!

Never regretting the

Ashen remnant; each

Thought clinging to my nostrils

Breathing in & out.

Blessing all, even the unholy

Especially the unholy

My singular quest to bring

New thought to a mind

Steeped in the familiar.

I cry “Poverty!” while bathed

In the richness of a burgeoning world.

I follow growth in a hunger of appetite

Sentient in the awareness all of it has passed.

My life is a bowl of chocolate strawberries

Sweet upon sweet

Succulent & bursting with juices filling hunger

All is moisture tho more appreciated

In the deserts I choose to live in…

I burst with the treasure of living words

All spoken before me by minds so much greater

Yet what I know is sweet upon sweet

As one by one, I choose my earnest, surprising adventures

I am an oft-told story

With hope of teaching another.


Inimitable, this world at the measure of ten tiny toes

I fight no dragons with my bamboo walking stick

Tho I smell them nearby

Feeling jeweled eyes fixed ‘pon my morsel self.

I pray on, an unlimited artesian well of self

Prevailing over their fiery breath

I pay no attention to mirrors

A rooster’s comb of misrule for a crown

I smile at reflecting shadows

There is nothing left behind but the journey forward.

My past is buried, a scratched-over self I claim not to know

How can I remember a name

Called before I became who I am?

Would it entice me even a moment to become that she?

There are bite-marks all over my past

I’ve chewed it to the bone & beyond

To nourish this future!