New Moon Baby

NewMoonBaby

It is no surprise to find
I am a new moon birth

When others cocoon
to plan and rest
I hide
lest I step out of line
my wild self emerging
That woman who bites and
bares a darkened soul
without fear of consequence
Opposed to apology
Madness near at hand

New Moon
Reminds me
not be to quiet
But silent
Lest I step over
too many lines

A dark time indeed
A time to withdraw and breathe
A time to watch
No reverberation
A time to know my other side
cradled without abrasion

. . .

My teacher, Shiloh Sophia, suggested in my PRISM exploration that we find what moon we were born under. I’ve never had my chart done, but it is easy to find the moon.

This was no surprise.

About two years ago, I began simply paying attention to how I was feeling during the full, quarters, and half moon cycle. It didn’t take me very long to realize something very important. I am a mad woman when there is a new moon and when stress is thrown into the pot. My life at school was pretty much constant stress, so I didn’t have to look hard.

I began simply marking one day before, the day of, and one day after the new moon on my work calendar. It was just a reminder to me to chill. I realized I shouldn’t make any big decisions if it could be avoided. If not, I needed time to think in quiet and not jump to conclusions. Also, people really bug me for some reason during this time, so sheltering in place alone whenever possible was also not a bad  idea.

Once I had this on my calendar, I could first watch what was happening and I did. I really was off the charts at times. Once I was aware, it was then I could either plan an alternate route or simply breathe and breathe and breathe.

My new moon times are much better now.

We are tied with that red thread to nature, too, maybe even more so. And all at that cellular level.

I am excited to open more deeply to those cells and see how I fold into something new.

. . .

I created the image in PicMonkey from a blank canvas. I used their overlays, frames, textures, etc, to create the image. There was no beginning photo on this one.

Morning Glow

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Spiraling
morning glow
each element unique
and yet it is
the whole to make
what is
into being

Spiraling around
I see more deeply
each time
parts and pieces
layered
colors finely portioned
shades and hues
to be noticed
if one allows

Spiraling into
blossom
a blessing to be held
given freely
unwavering

 

Author’s Note:

Looking for spirals but seeing more deeply into that which surrounds me.

I found milkweed for bees and butterflies.

I’ve been wanting to plant some in my yard. This is at the open space near my home on my morning doggie walks. They are mowing differently this year, at least for a while. They are leaving a border along some of the walks with natural vegetation.

In the past, they always mowed this little plant down before it had a chance to bloom. When I walked by I always encouraged it not to give up.

This is the blessing it is giving us this year. I love it so very much.

Marmalade Glisten

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I look deeply
an eye that sees out
leaning inward

Do I honor my colors
possibilities

I humbly ask to see more
that which, at first,
is not quite
discernable

now

peach
newly minted
coat to smooth away
wrinkles of fear
an unburdened interval

orange
remembrance of autumn orbs
not perfectly round
but character drawn
or bits of rind
suspended in time
marmalade glisten
sweet and lucious
treat to savor
part of me to leave
undone

hot pink and magenta
a surprise out of order
opposite
yet perfectly in-sync
no need of motive

at last

brilliant yellow glow of Light
shining through
Source of Life
warm and nourishing
something to trust

I step out and in
fold and unfold
into me

 

 

Author’s Note:

A special thank you to Bobbi Drish, a friend who so graciously allowed me to use her photo of her moss rose, a portulaca.

I remember as a child in my urban/industrial home, seeing this lovely little plant not only blooming in every crack and dry spot, but thriving in almost all the colors of the rainbow. I bet if I looked closer, I would have seen the entire rainbow.

I am taking a class called PRISM, hosted by Shiloh Sophia and Jonathan McCloud and the Intentional Creativity Foundation. We are delving into that which is not necessarily on our radar. Through beginning to understand some basics of physics, Einstein, quantum physics and unfolding into a new form through art, I begin to “see” more deeply.

In Memoriam

PoppyandFlag

On this day for those who gave their ultimate,
May we honor their gift, respect their bravery,
And continue to uphold all that which they
Selflessly secured.

May we continue to keep safe the place to kneel in protest
For that which needs to be understood,
for that which needs mending.

May we continue to honor the water of our land and
Keep safe its flow of life and those who stand strong against
The tide of greed and destruction and hatred.

May we beat our weapons into plowshares so our
Children are safe wherever they may wander,
Hold dear to all life without profile of
Spirit, race, age, or endowment.

May we open our arms to those who reach to us
For compassion, aid, and make room for lives and families
Who are weary and seek rest, safety,
But also bear their own gifts to share
Being perfectly created as are we.

On this day may we champion and honor
Those we remember for their duty and sacrifice,
Through our benevolence and humility,
Through our gratitude and joy, through our tolerance,
And in our love, care, and compassion toward all beings,
Creatures, plants, and all matter and elements.

Amen. Amen. Amen.

 “Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tossed to me,
I lift my lamp beside the golden door!”

The Apple

apple

The apple sat on the table. The table stood on glistening floorboards. The floorboards reached down into the dark hallway to blackness.

I could hear him breathing.

I was hungry but I refused to touch it. It was the deepest red I had ever known an apple to be. The shine was way beyond the waxy sheen of the grocery apples. This one looked like it was enameled.

I stepped closer. I sniffed. The perfume rose into my nostrils and swirled into my brain. My stomach growled. I hated him for doing this.

I stepped closer, my nose wanting another whiff. My stomach begging. As I moved my face towards the orb, a ghastly face appeared causing me to jump away tripping over my shoelaces and landing on my bum.

“Damn.” The shoelaces formed a devious smile curling at me.

I hurried out the door when I got his message. I hadn’t heard from him since we parted three weeks ago. He promised he would text me when he was safe. That was three weeks ago.

I almost gave up hope ever seeing him again. Although that wouldn’t have been such a bad thing. Whatever I did with him turned into trouble. I was still nursing injuries. But thinking he might not have survived at all, that made me hurry to meet him. So I didn’t stop to tie my boots and here I was sitting on the hardwood floor inside a house I shouldn’t be in wondering about an apple.

Oh, the tempting apple. I approached it, this time from the side with my hand waving in front of it. Okay. I was just a bit skittish before. The first time I faced the red mirror ball, the face was mine. But in the sheen of the strange apple, it distorted my face. Somehow all the things I didn’t like about my face appeared enlarged. I looked like a troll.

I hated when he did this. Everything was always a “trial.” He said it was good for me. It would make me sharper and stronger. I bought it at first. I think the only thing it made stronger was his ego. But I played along as he was was the one who was to help us and I was the chosen one to be his acolyte.

So now, hungry and with a sore bum, I had to decide what to do with the apple. Do I touch it? Do I eat it? Do I talk to it? Do I roll it down the long hallway hoping to make a strike?

I looked at myself again in the glaze. This time, although it was still me, I was older. Grey hair, wilding around my face with strong wrinkles and a kindly smile? Could that really be me? Kindly and smiling were two words that rarely, if ever, described me. As I stared, my hazel eyes with the gold specks in just the left gleamed back at me, winked, then faded away.

A fog started to roll from the top of the apple and began to veil it from my sight.

“Hurry,”

It was his voice. It caught me off guard. I didn’t realize how much I needed to actually hear it to believe he was still alive.

“Hurry.” This time it came more insistent.

“What do you mean?”  Should I grab it? Eat it? Smash it?

I hated him for this. I hated that I always had to figure it out on my own. I could feel his crystal blue eyes watching. I knew there was a twinkle. That ego of his was insufferable.

“Hurry, Little One.”

That was all it took. He knew exactly how to piss me off. I grabbed the apple and clamped down so hard I thought I might bite right through my fingers. But I didn’t.

Just as soon as the ruby skin broke and juice ran down my chin, my nose filled with the honeyed scent. I chewed with so much zeal that it took me just three bites to eat the whole thing.

I swallowed and felt warm and full. How could one apple fill a gut that was so empty?

I closed my eyes and sighed. And when I opened them, there he was standing in front of me. He rose at least three feet taller than the top of my head. It wasn’t that I was so short, he was just tall.

I wanted to hug him, tell him how worried I was about him. I wanted him to know how dark it was in the quarters waiting for word from him and how no one came. When they thought he was gone, they all left. I didn’t leave. I knew he would be back. I knew he would find a way. I wanted to tell him how much I cared for him.

“Hey, Pip Squeak, didn’t you even consider I might like part of that apple, too?”

I sat down on the floor in the house where we shouldn’t have been. Squeezing the apple core of the most delicious apple I had ever tasted I started to cry. For the first time, I let him see me cry.

“There. That’s what I needed to see. You are a softie after all. That’s important.”

He sat down next to me, reached out his big bear arms to encircle me, and I fell fast asleep.

I hated him for not making me hate him.

Author’s Note:

In the last post I explained why I haven’t posted here. Most of my writing has been for my class.

Today our writing group got together and we wrote. Harrison, the high school son of one of our writers, challenged his mom with this prompt: I hated him for not making me hate him. I also brought some book covers in a bag from which we pulled one to use the title or picture or words.

I was so pulled into the prompt that I didn’t even touch the book cover.

One thing I find interesting about this piece. My character voice which has been a bit more fragile, seems to have grown stronger. I like her. I want to see where this goes.

Elemental Breath

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Suburban Urban Minstrel

I breathe between mountain and plain,
mesa and wide-angle field,
on city streets and urban walks,
where night’s video-blue glow veils sky.

Spirit alights here, too.

In depth of dark I hear ancestral call
Make space, make space, make space.
Under Moon I rest, release and sleep,
my breath will carry strong.

Dawn comes, burns away all
that which no longer serves.
Ash into compost, rich soft soil,
make space for new to grow.

From earth’s wise path,
coil wraps to sing her song,
we all belong, one in Genius,
quiet and stillness your way.

In simple stream to rushing river,
in ocean that cleanses our soul,
make space, says she, I’ll help
and refresh, drink deeply of me,
your fears cooled.

I rest between mountain
and sweetgrass plain,
under stars and ancestral Moon.
I feel your tug, a red thread woven
from before, until now, and eternal.

I am Lady of Mountain, Lady of Plain,
Suburban Urban Minstrel,
Elemental Voice who gives from within,
a conduit for Ha-Ruach.

I call to those with urban hopes,
suburban dreams, from peaks to mesa,
plain and water, in all Creator dwells.

Make space,
make space,
you are a blessing from Grace,
make space
for your untold shine.

 

Author’s Note:

This piece was created over the last three months using a process called Intentional Creativity. I am being certified as a Red Thread Guide and part of my training was to paint. I never painted before and never drew either. So this was a very good process for me to move through.

Using intention as I put down each layer, I learned about myself and transmuted my old stories into new ones. I learned to release ego and listen to Spirit within. This painting moved me through many transitions as itself moved. I loved many of the images and colors and patterns that appeared each week. But I learned to let them go and allow the new to arise and speak to me about what it wanted to be and its new story.

Shiloh Sophia and Mary McCrystal were our guides and mentors. Through the Intentional Creativity Foundation, I found my new self. Or, should I say, the self I never really allowed myself to know.

Below are a few of the levels from the first to the end that sit underneath the final image above.

 

I’m back!

Oh, dear friends. This spring has been a whirlwind. Since January I’ve been in training to become certified as a Red Thread Guide with the Intentional Creativity Foundation. A trip to Hawaii and one to Sonoma has kept me busy writing and creating, but not for the blog. And on top of it all, I am retiring from a full time first grade teaching position in just two weeks.

So for the next few days I am going to post some of the work I have been doing so you know what I’ve been up to.

Thank you for remaining faithful….

I will begin with a little project I am currently working on. It’s called Creative Sprint, May 30-Day challenge. Yesterday we were challenged to select a photograph, painting or a picture from a magazine and extend the image beyond its current frame or edges.

I used one of my own photographs of the crows on one of my doggie walks with my Bean. And I used PicMonkey to “extend the image.”

 

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