the barometer

he is the barometer. this cat of unknown, damaged origin. we are more than 4 years into our mutual adoption and progress has been slow, occasionally moving in a backwards direction.

he decides everything from a highly-skittish and intelligent take on the world, letting me know when and how to be petted. when wet breakfast is to be served. when a kiss on the head is acceptable. most times, it is not. it might lead to things. bad things. like being picked up.

so we dance. mostly just beyond my arm's length, yet his need for contact has become more pronounced. urgent, at times. he has taken to vocal utterances and lengthy morning greetings while i am still prone and under cover in the predawn light.

he is a reflection of the frightened bits of me. the soul-deep cravings held to the known side of the line. the safe and sorry side of the line.

but buddha has suddenly gotten brave. this morning, for the second time in a week, he ventured onto my fleece-covered lap while inclined with book on the couch. in response to the elaborate petting and spinal massage, he drooled copiously. it began as droplets and advanced to sticky strands coating my wrists.  perhaps he was once a st. bernard. then, he farted.

the message was clear; it is such a happy relief to simply relax into this life and accept its many glorious offerings. bravery will be rewarded. 

6 months in

This life. This Odyssey. 6 months in from the turning point I still can barely speak of~ the holiness and little horrors. The days and days of silent contemplation, the willing tumble down the pit of despair. Seeing the world completely and breath-takingly new.

All the dramas; 97% meaningless. The gossip; utterly juvenile. The chest-thumping victimhood; get up and get on with it, for god's sake. My tolerance for disrespect has vanished.

What shines important for me may not shine for you. But turning away from beauty, from love to engage in the spittle of the over-inflated lives of strangers makes no sense to me at all, at 6 months.

I sit in my nest, wrapped in soft browns, and wonder how I will ever fit in again. Then, I realize, I never did and what a relief it is to stop trying. Those that resonate will simply show up. Some are already here.

Mundane holiness is the way. Love, the only real purpose.

This life.This Odyssey. 6 months in.

the need of the now

the word and the need of the now is refresh.

the newly painted walls with the undertone of peach.
the 10 valentine-red gerbera daisies in a cream-crackle vase.
card number 19 plucked from the deck of the tarot~ the sun.

above all in the now, the wonderland that is winter.

the crisp air,
the dazzle and awe of faery-weight snow
clinging to branch and stem
in a collective visual poem
that stirs up buried joy
not felt for years.

and then,
now,
the sun.

not number 19,
but the sustainer of life.
luminous.
lovely.
shimmering on faery-weight snow
and walls and red petals.

calling me up from the deep
with its breath of fresh light.

the waking dream

In the waking dream that is my life, there are conversations with misted souls. There are understandings gleaned from silent morning sunlight reshaping the work of night's frost.

In the waking dream, the crows line up across elder trees to announce the coming and going of the young eagle traveling east. The singular sparrow returns from its extended vanishing point. The cat is at the window in an instant.

In the waking dream, grief is dealt with in parceled amounts. A new knowledge of love takes shape. Impeccable bagpipes, eight, wail a rendition of Amazing Grace and I am cleansed.

In the waking dream, there is new light and new color of my own doing. There are stories to be read and a world to leave behind. In the leaving behind, however temporary, awakenings come forth. Opportunities reveal. Travail promises its end.

magic 2013 #3 {natural heart}

the first thing i saw was the tree stripped of too much of its skin. big sheets of bark lay on the ground, leaving the pale under-layers exposed to the winter. wind? vandals? how did this happen? there was nothing for me to do, but do what i do in all circumstances of nature in distress. i pulled the sheets of bark off the ground and lay them back up against the tree to honor and comfort it.

the gesture won't last. the wind is coming again. but a moment of care was what i could give.

after the tree was surrounded once more with its skin, i noticed the etch of a heart on the only slab still attached to the trunk.

"even when you feel flayed and exposed," said the tree, "love will always remain."

For more hearts, more magic~ 

Kelly and Debi