Remember

When the grackles camegrackles
moon was complete
she shone full and luscious
with promise
and grackles filled themselves
full emptying the feeder
even the lost bits tucked
between pebbles and mulch

And season changed
coyote strode across my path
in morning sun
dipping into bushes and rushes
lining the creek
covering his route
hiding his purpose

I swept away spider web
entangled with yellow leaves
and twigs loosened in
fall’s first wind,
the portal closed, lost
to the chill of change

In balance of night and day
I reach to you beyond
the milky way where we
sit on edge, a simple swash
of light compared to
your dazzling beam

With your healing
I rise with those who
walk in One light, who
speak with One voice, who
dance in One joy with you.

.

.

.

Author’s Note:

Seasons change. As do we.

The Autumnal Equinox revealed an opening to me. It seems that in this equal stance, balancing between dark and light, it is possible to see with more clarity while trying not to fall completely into either dark or light.

As I move into longer nights and colder air, of sleeping insects and sluggish crawly creatures who understand this rhythm, a rhythm I have forgotten, I find myself beginning to remember.

It is about remembering. It is nothing new to find or discover. It has always been a part of me.

I welcome this insight, this peace of mind.

As the mystic Julian of Norwich shared in her thirteenth showing – but all shall be well, and all shall be well, and all manner of thing shall be well.

And I believe if all manner of thing shall be well, then all IS well right now – in all manner of things.

Peace and Light,

Lex

Gentle Lunatics

 

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On the strand
there is something
so small, so diaphanous,
it’s hardly noticeable,
rawboned.
You would think it’s
not there, maybe extinct.
Yet, it is.

A beetle that scuttles
on the edge of garden bed,
a dangerous place to be
where beak reaches
in arrest.

What is left of her skin
snagged on twigs,
dry leaves, leaving
her vulnerable
but new, ready
to grow.

Fox embolden, not so
afraid of people
anymore,
those who pause…
then go their way.

On the fringe are
gentle lunatics who
don’t do it right,
who can’t be perfect,
but cleave to the
beat of their heart.

.

.

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Author’s Note:

New. Moon.

A time for rebirth. A time for seeing with new eyes. A time for finding you.

Frames. Borders. A time to let go. Break apart. Step into new being.

Aho,
Lexanne

 

 

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“ROOM WITH A VIEW”
by MN Dance Company
on 1Day1Dance on Facebook
(click on feet for video)

The Tower

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It is a bit of a walk up to the tower
above green-green grass,
past the high school, past
the firehouse, next to the pool.
It’s worth the trip.

Along the way stop signs post
for those who might not see,
those who need to slow down,
those who can’t do it on their own.
Those who probably won’t stop anyway.

Open space along the artery shelters
strays who in daylight hours rest,
under muted twilight hunt,
in sealed darkness feast.
All on the way to the invincible tower.

I course my tack, not straight and flat,
not always on steady pavement –
the approach my father instructed.
I feel curves and hidden wounded.
I leave before sun or wait until dusk.
I cede bright light to those whose
wrinkles tell of their own journey.

It is not the tower itself that tenures
the answer, high above, vista of the whole.
It is disruption of orange cones pushing
me aside, upheaval of sidewalk
buckling under pressure of rooted
tree, sudden movement within
stogie-spiked cattails.

It is revelation along the measure,
epiphany bursting open
as I somehow make my way
to the tower.

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Author’s Note:

My sacred space.

Here I walk with Benny before sun rises. I never thought I could experience sacred space in such a simple way. It seems now the only way.

Here I walk at sunset, again with a dog who is my soul companion taking me into our open space where fox greeted me unseen by Benny. It is where dragon flies flew so thick in spring I stood in awe. They still great me only less in numbers as the season wanes. Snake sprawls across the sidewalk warming itself in sun. I am told there is a bob cat. There are cicadas and crickets and katydids as my choir. And then there are the skies. A glorious backdrop with stars sprinkled across midnight blue and Moon in all her moods.

It is the simplicity of this sacred space, a tower that draws me.

A year ago I discovered another Tower – Magdalene and the root command that drives her – love one another. With that my life changed.

I learned through the simplicity of this command, I must start with myself because I am loved and am Love. It was in stepping back and discovering the infinity of this love that I now understand that I am worthy and I can, no, must give the same.

I learned that Divine revelation is not given only to a few men who hand it to the rest of us if we prove ourselves worthy. Divine revelation comes to each and every one of us directly. We don’t need interpreters.

I learned I am not only fully capable to bless, but must bless. As our Holy One flows from me and from you and from all – this our blessing. We are ordained simply by our creation.

May the simple joy of sky and earth bless you.
May the simple song of night insects bless your journey.
May you bless all those around you each moment,
for you are Love and Light and Joy given for all.

Munay,
Lexanne

Hierophant

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I slipped my harbored feet from shoes contained
for sixty years. Rough earth is ruthless where
calloused barrier was never ordained.
I walked on soles that burned and bled, a dare
to turn retreat. Instead, I asked for help
to bandage cuts. I praised a course fresh of
deliverance. Sores closed. Skin grew. A whelp
now strong and fast. I met cool shade, green grove.

But there I didn’t rest. More called to me,
unfurled a passage to my Beginning.
In confidence I accorded the plea,
Within myself I captured my bidding.

Not one holy man’s word over another
will heal our wounds, the pain we embrace.
Here in Creation we’re bound to each other
as we dance through the veil in grace.

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Author’s Note:

I truly believe it is the journey that is vital, not necessarily the end product. I like to share how I arrive. For those of you who are interested, below is the path of the end sonnet, Hierophant.

On August 13, I participated in the 2016 Poetry Marathon. I signed up for the 24-hour contest knowing that this was the end of the first week of school and I would probably not make it. I didn’t. But I did complete the half-marathon.

Each hour, on the hour for 12 hours straight, we received a new prompt. We had an hour to write to that prompt and post it before the next one showed up in our in-box. It is a wonderful challenge. Learning to let go of that inner editor, that ego who wants everything perfect. It’s a wonderful thing. That is what I also love about my writing group. We write knowing we are not going to be perfect, the importance of letting go, and the ability to chuckle at oneself.

To the prompt from the Poetry Marathon, I added one more piece. I keep a lovely tarot deck on my desk next to my computer. It is the Pentimento Tarot by Joanna Powell Colbert. She is an artist, Celtic spiritualist, and goddess who created this deck using the medium of beeswax encaustic – a layering of wax – a pentimento:

“An underlying image in a a painting, especially one that has become visible when the top layer of paint has turned transparent with age, providing evidence of revision of the artist. (American Heritage Dictionary via http://www.gaiansoul.com/.)

She only created the Major Arcana for this deck but it is stunning. It is of our ancestors looking back on us, giving us hope and support and wisdom. Take a look:http://www.gaiansoul.com/shop/pentimento-tarot/

Also, this month I wanted to do a study of sonnets. I did. I completed two. I shared the early one after my visit to Orlando’s Wizarding World of Harry Potter and the sea.

Here is the process of Hierophant:

The prompt from the Poetry Marathon in Hour 11:
Write a persona poem from the point of view of a person without a home. You can have a specific person in mind, or they can be entirely imagined. This person can be a homeless beggar, or someone who drifts from town to town, or someone who just can’t imagine settling in one place, so they don’t.

The Pentimento Hierophant card:
Of this archetype, Joanna asks questions such as “What do you have to teach?” “What do you have to learn.” “What is the place of religious tradition or lineage in your life? “Who do you trust as a spiritual teacher?”

Below is the poem as it appeared as I wrote it for the marathon. Above is the transformation of it into a somewhat sonnet form.

The Hierophant

I took off my shoes.
The ground was rough and poked.
I wore those shoes for almost sixty years.

I walked on feet that burned and bled.
I asked for help to bandage raw cuts,
was offered new ways of treatment.

Sores closed, thick skin grew and
my feet held me strong and steady.

I walked on legs that swelled and
I asked for help to ease the pain.
Good remedies followed and I
moved on.

In time

I took off my shoes to feel the earth
I knew the ground was rough
they burned and bled but I walked
to find soft grass and cool of shade

No roof above, I left it behind
No friends to share my sorrows
I looked for answers from voices
just shadows merging in darkness

But when I sat down, stopped
searching for the right way,
I stilled myself  and found
your voice inside.

We come to this place, a stop over
to ponder, to rejoice in each other,
and dance with abandon.

Not one holy man’s words over
another can heal the wounds
we bear, the pain we embrace.

We’ll move on, through the veil,
but for now we must play in
Creation and unmask one another.

And When I’m Old

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And when I’m old, waves folded over me,
I’ll rock on lime green rudder, banded pier.
Memories brushed with foam and washed to sea
as shadows stretch beneath sun’s hot veneer.
A giant’s head once cast on fine-grained sand
with shards of shell, each broken dream broadcast,
my hands, my feet, my soul, my heart now stand
bared all to you, imprinted fragments fast.
Through wisps of sea grass bent by breath from far
beyond my eyes and mind’s percipience,
I leave behind that which I cannot bear,
relief’s great sigh, my fate without defense.
As sunset fades from blue to blackest hue,
I close, sweet day, and reach my cherished truth.

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Author’s Note:

My trip to Orlando, Florida and the Wizarding World of Harry Potter brought such joy I felt like I was a First Year at Hogwarts.

It was a time to revel in the magic of places where good and evil clash. It is a place to remember where cherished ones are lost in noblest, as well as cruelest, of ways. It is life. That is the brilliance of Harry Potter. Love wins.

A trip to the beach while the “kids” were playing brought about time and images for me to try out a sonnet, my first.

There are blessings in struggle, releasing against the sea to become One again. To hear the sound. To watch the little crab. To be tickled by seaweed and warm water washing your toes.

I discovered once more that even though I am not of this warm ocean, I am of big water.

May you live each day in wonder.
May you smile at the smallest of things.
May you honor the Power of passion
in your life in all you do.

Amen. Amen. Amen.

Munay,
Lexanne

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