You are ordained by your creation
from our Holy Singularity,
cosmos infused with
each microscopic particle,
each microscopic particle
of You that is part of me
and you and you and you
and every…thing

Under sun’s brilliant rays,
heat warms, gives life,
we burn with passion

By moon’s radiant glow
we rest, we must rest without
fully knowing, releasing to all

With song of owl, wisdom
fills our empty space as
each sorrow is liberated

Along wolf’s path
patience learned,
faith in oneself
and strength in pack

On our bellies slide with
snake closest to Earth,
bendable, lithe to protuberance

Abreast of fox who plays in grasses
yet hears, knows one must be
aware of that which no longer serves

Crow glistens black
against crystalline blue,
we honor, hold one another deeply,
mourn our losses, never forget

Flowing with water
we make our way
silver threads encircle
Earth with life

Stand with preeminent tree,
together roots dig
into Earth entwined

And gaze above,
see our infinite selves,
stars, galaxies boundless,
yet bound to one another

We are ordained, simply by our Creation.




Author’s Note:

Full Moon blessings.















One last summer kiss from

transparent dragon fly wings,

 our season end farewell.




Author’s Note:

This morning’s walk found rusts and greens, ochres and dusty blues dressing the open space. Then with one sweet and swift past, one last little dragonfly passed close to my cheek – a last flight I feel as the chill in the air and the browns of the grasses tell us we will see one another in the spring.




It was an accident,
shunned from mulberry leaf,
diverted to shallow bowl of jasmine bud
and boiled water.
Her long slender finger, ringed in jewels,
scooped puffed cocoon catching a thin thread,
it was an accident.

She pulled and pulled and thread endured
long and strong until only a naked
form remained afloat among leaves
released of their essence, a body
no longer moth bound,
enchantment broken.
It was all by accident.

Did you know silk worms don’t fly
once transformed from cocoon to fragile moth.
Oh, they flutter their wings,
provoked to fly, yet flutter is all they endure.

What life – one disposed for cloth of silk,
a lustrous thread woven round a
fine line of leisure.

Or life devoted to suppressed wings
that scutter endlessly on mulberry leaves
only to dream of butterfly’s flight.

Little silver worm, how do you choose?




Author’s Note:

This evening our wonderful writing group met. We just don’t do this enough!

We all had the same words to use in our writing, but each of us had a different opening line. As is our custom, our prompts are only a suggestion. I didn’t use the opening line I drew: The first time I ever saw that man I wanted nothing more than to punch him square in the face.

Our words to incorporate were – provoke, shun, fragile, endure, suppress, shallow, enchant, divert (and I chose not to use cappuccino or ridicule).

Also influencing my writing are the little silk worms that we are growing in our classroom. They begin as eggs no larger than the head of a pin. Then hatch into teeny, tiny black worms that are hardly visible. They grow into slivery worms that eventually turn into larvae and cocoon. They emerge as beautiful with moths that don’t fly and begin the cycle again.

I feel guilty growing our little livings things that are not native to Colorado. Silk worms are not native. They feed on mulberry leaves, ravenously. We don’t have mulberry trees in Colorado. It’s much too cold. But the science company sends a green powder that I add water to and microwave it to boiling. It smells like alfalfa. The kids think it stinks. But those little worms eat and over several months we watch an amazing transformation.

In the end, we cannot, of course, release the moths as we do the butterflies, mealworm beetles, and milkweed bugs. They are not native. So there is someone in our school district who receives these fluttery little beings and does what they do with them, whatever that is, in their basement.

Hence the darkness of this poem…

Terminal Origin




They sat atop a peak
above swings and slide
and outlook fort,
black wings with white,
sleek to lift as sun dipped
below unseen

At once, one alight, a gambol
with winged insect whose
escape uncertain, then
wings flutter,
a pass

Now partner’s turn
to swoop and pluck
the morsel for repast,
framed by trees
and clouds to hang
there for what seemed

Maybe it’s not a thin veil
for us to discover where
ancestors wait beyond.

Maybe it’s simply that
startling moment
where stop-action
frame, where
breath is caught,
where sound is
our canvass
holds truth.

Maybe, when we realize
that in each moment our
heartbeat meets terminus ,
in each and every
action, step, and
gasp, we touch our origin
and know you are there.




Author’s Note:

I walk my doggie, Benny, every morning and evening. We wander through our suburban open space that is quite civilized considering the wildlife it contains. This summer I was surrounded by swarms of dragonflies, a snake sunning itself on the walkway, a coyote crossing the street on a not so early morn, and a fox playing on the edge with passersby unimpressed.

The other day it was two magpies sitting on top of the gazebo at the playground. They were unconcerned with us, Benny and myself, but intent upon catching a flying something. Directly over my head I watched the dance not four feet above. It was as if the world stood still.

I am blessed when I still myself and open my eyes. More and more it is so easy to know that the kingdom of heaven is here and now…if I give it a chance.


May your eyes open to the glorious sky
that your heart opens as wide ready to be filled.

May your feet be held by the strength of the earth
that your journey be wise and wondrous.

May you hear the voice of the Beloved in meadow
and field, that you recognized it in one another.

May your lungs be filled with the breath of the Cosmos
that you may be one with all beings, seen and unseen,
here and beyond.



Árstíðir – Heyr himna smiður (Icelandic hymn) in train station


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,


Gentle Lunatics





On the strand
there is something
so small, so diaphanous,
it’s hardly noticeable,
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
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.




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.





by MN Dance Company
on 1Day1Dance on Facebook
(click on feet for video)

The Tower


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.

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.