Shake The Trees

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Day Twenty-Nine

 

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I had to shake the trees.

It seemed almost cruel.
Broomstick in hand, under great canopies of new born
leaves frozen within a shell of unforgiving spring snow,
I heaved and hoisted and shook.

It was for their own good.

Fledgling limbs flexed, resilient in their youth.
Rigid arms now hung limp, uncompromising
casualties before my arrival.

I was liberator.

For more stately limbs, older, wiser, seasoned,
they held strong lifting in gratitude as I lightened
their load.

My shoulder hurt, but I persisted in my pursuit of
justice against accidental blow.

…then day itself warmed, a memento
of sun seeped through the gray veil
of my Colorado Beltane sky.

Maybe I didn’t need to play at being champion.
Or maybe I was consort.

I move through days weaving and zagging,
wondering which design is true, proper.

And then I walk myself back. I still myself within,
steel my perplexity and receive.

In the whist calm,
my interior depth,
in the cavern I have
carved out for you,
I attend. I see your spring dawn.

And I begin again.

 

 

 

Author’s Note:

Once again, today I take my prompt from an unusaly icy, snowy spring storm on this
before Beltane.

Patience

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Day Twenty-Eight

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In spring flowers are to bloom,
buds to burst with life,
sun to warm ground
awakening that which slumbers.

Here snow aligns itself along
reaching limbs, arcing to ground
in acceptance of something that
cannot be controlled, bending in
accommodation, knowing softness
is cardinal and warmth retraces
its steps.

I pause for season to shift, for
sun or snow to answer. I bow
to you, and rest avowed
in transformation.

 

 

Author’s Note:

A spring snow and Beltane in our lovely and mischievious Colorado is my prompt today.

Samhain

 

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I wanted to steal the day,
roll it up tight and tie it with greed
so no one else would have it.

My desire to place it in the bottom of my bag
where dark resides with trinkets of past,
forgotten and tarnished from scraping
and jostling against one another.

I didn’t want to surrender soft fog falling across
my path haloing tree, a thin veil guise with
glistening eyes following my travel.

This day sun rose bereaved by thick grey clouds,
my face moist, not from exertion but
gentle mist kissing as I passed through her kingdom.

This day I wanted to last forever, her dense quiet,
my steps not hollow or clicking down the walk,
but a fluid drift naive to sleeping souls
behind shuttered doors or under dense bush,
along sullen stream, or within towering aspen.

My selfish heart,
slivered by that which I did not call to,
that which came without invocation,
ached to impound this treasured day,
safely kept from ruin.

Instead,
this day I stopped, not to rob
but embrace that which opened
before my eyes,
a fullness unfurled to the unknown,
a place to slow and rest,
a place to be and take with me
memory to last through eternity.

.
.
.

Author’s Note:

A blessed Samhain. A holy All Saint’s Day. Feliz Dia de los Muertos.

Warrior

Do you know the tenacious bee,ae0a76c6-1da1-4dfd-b73c-4cb7327ca164.jpg
one who moves from bloom
to bloom without fail, without
regret, without losing faith…

Do you know water as it
runs cold from snowed
peaks, down to settle in
low places, without question
to its purpose, without fear…

Do you know the sun as it
pushes above the horizon
without falter, without doubt
since before time that we remember
until time when it is burned out…

Do you feel your heartbeat,
a gift given, one you cannot
contain, one that speaks to
you in every moment, at each turn,
in every breath, unwavering passion…

Warrior,
one who does not abide in fear,
acknowledges its impossible grip,
but leaves it to shrivel unfed.

Warrior,
who is built on faith.

Warrior,
who opens space
for that which will be,
that without ego.

Warrior,
who trusts and moves
in rhythm of heartbeat.

Warrior
who releases all to the One who Is –
a marriage without question,
a union of tenderness,
a hand fasting of strength
to move a mountain,
if such a thing be needed.

You are warrior,
born to trust,
made to honor,
sent to be you.

.
.
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Author’s Note:

I once had a discussion with one dear to me who when I read a poem about being a warrior, a dismayed looked came upon the face of my friend. It must have seemed unlike me to consider myself a warrior. In my friend’s mind, possibly, understanding a warrior to be one of violence.

If I place myself into a historical context I would probably be a hippie – peace and love and all that jazz. I struggle with eating meat, wearing leather, supporting the zoos. Trash. Oh, the waste. I don’t seem to have anything warrior about me, in the traditional sense of war.

Today I was once again presented with the idea of warrior – one of strong conviction, not violence; respect and honor, not ego.

To be a warrior doesn’t mean I am going to pick up a weapon. On the contrary, I see no purpose at all in carrying guns. Yes. That includes hunting. No war. No pesticides. No boxing or football. No winners or losers. No Game of Thrones or even Harry Potter. Violence is much too pervasive in all we do. I know. I eat meat. I love Harry Potter. I am working on this contrary life of mine.

But I am warrior.

Some call it stubborn. I am also a Taurus. Maybe that plays a part.

In these past four years, especially since January, I have come to acknowledge and embrace my Warriorself – in my faith, in my love, in making my life along a new path. I embrace new ways, ideas, and thought that aren’t new but ancient. And people who are of nature and see our Holy One in all and in everything have stepped graciously into my life. No boundaries or creeds to accept or hide within. Just opening, opening to all in wonder and joy. No fear. No fear.

It is astounding. The path is wide enough for everyone. The gifts to share are stunning if I quiet myself like a warrior, learn to listen, really hear and understand. Stay open to whatever may happen. Make room for those new voices and their gifts who are presented to me, and to welcome all.

It is not perfect or easy, but I am not giving up.

I am warrior.

I hope my friend understands.

May you stand in stillness,
warrior, listening deeply
to our Holy One’s voice.

May you walk in lightness,
warrior, in honor and
respect of all life,
all that is holy.

May you see with eyes
wide and free,
warrior, open stance
accepting of the gift Divine.

Amen. Amen. Amen.

Aho,
Lexanne

 

Above is Luna, my new rattle.
I love the gift of her into my life.
Made of leather, sitting on leather.
Oh, my contrary life.
One side is this lovely deep blue signifying the dark Moon.
And, then, the other side is ever so lightly tinted blue
for when she is full.

 

 

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Warrior dancer Gillian Murphy
Photo by Ken Browar and Deborah Ory, NYC Dance
Found on Musetouch Visual Arts Magazine, Facebook.
Project.https://www.facebook.com/nycdanceproject/timeline

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“The two basic qualities of warriors
are sustained effort and unbending intent.”
by Carlos Castaneda | Artist unknown
From Dreamwork with Toko-pa
on Facebook

Water and Seeds

Water and Seeds
An Easter Blessing

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Deep within
I enter my garden,
winter passed,
snow melt prepares
for new life.

Barefoot I linger,
loam filters through
my fingers,
heady rich earth
to be seeded.

That which sprouted,
flowered, faded and
browned, now feeds
ground to offer new life.

I am grateful for
all that came forth
to bear my soul,
weed as well as
blossom.

My winter job to
winnow the finished,
resolved.

I hold seeds of reverence
for our Holy One.

I hold seeds of gratitude
for our Gift.

I hold seeds of joy
that I am beloved.

I hold seeds unknown
that will surprise.

I hold seeds of heirloom knowledge
to remember what once nourished.

And I hold seeds of all,
each a universe that
we may grow as One.

I inearth with all seeds
this day of beginnings.

I sing and dance with them
my delight and joy.

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Author’s Note:

Easter. Spring Equinox. Full Moon.

Our Holy One gifts us many paths to transformation.

Some of us have walked this Holy Week to Easter Sunday in the shoes of those who watched and were unable to stop the horrors. We can only feel the despair and pain through our eyes of experience. We wonder what can we do? How can we transform the world into a place where compassion and acceptance and love prevail? But we know the answer, the root command – love one another. It is the way to resurrecting that which has been lost or forgotten.

Some of us have watched the Moon. Light that is full, then fades. And cycles once more as it did for the ancients and now does for us, and will do for those who come after us.

Some of us welcomed a new year of growth as snow buried us deep into itself making us wonder how life can survive. Even still, we understand the need for the water it will become. And we also know that deep within where our loving God resides, we will thrive because we are beloved and abundance is always present.

All of us walk the path of resurrection, from seed to bloom to something dying in us or away from us, only to be given another chance. The Holy Wheel never ceases turning, will never abandon us.

We will plant again, hopefully transformed by what has passed. We will grow to endless possibilities of being Love and Life and Laughter.

Enjoy. Easter day is ours to revel in and to share. It is our transformation to celebrate.

Happy Easter. Joyous Spring. Stand in the glory of the Moon that lights our darkness. We are blessed.

Amen. Amen. Amen.
Lexanne

Click to join my weekly meditation: JOURNEY/lex

Music

 

 

 

“music despite everything”

 

when she died they showed
us her photo, just in case
we didn’t remember

crooked pigtails atop her head
not quite even, and never bows

a scratchy voice through a crooked smile
shouted down the hall

feet tromped crashing
her entrance into quiet study rooms

her laugh, oh, her boisterous belly laugh
that only sings in memory

 

“music despite everything”

 

the batter’s up
the crack and soar
the roar
no longer plays through our house

an empty chair
two ball caps side by side
one for yard work, one for dress
no longer a head to wear them

Girlie, don’t forget to…
I always was, will always be his girlie

 

“music despite everything”

 

silent snownight
coyote chortle
morning bird song
seasons pass as I rise,
my God and my all

“music despite everything”

.

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Author’s Note:

Today was a deep breath in a week that needed a cleansing.

Stephanie Dunlap led a group of us at A Church of the Holy Family,  in a safe and powerful writing retreat. Thank you so very much, Stephanie.

Through quick writes and sharing we grew through the morning, freeing our voices, and sharing our stories.

The prompt that spoke to me – music despite everything –  was from a line in A Brief for the Defense, a poem by Jack Gilbert.

I am continually grateful to have opportunities that gently lead me to explore my life through writing. And today I found a place to include my mantram from St. Francis of Assisi’s prayer – My God and my all.

With much heartfelt peace for this day of wonder,

Lexanne

 

P.S.

We ended with another prompt that caught my heart. Write a letter to God.

Holy One,

I give to you all I am
that which has always
been Yours

I surrender
to the dark unknown
and open my
heart

I place my hand
in Your open palm,
I need no other

With reverence for all,
beings who talk and sing,
crawlers and fliers,
swimmers and those
who simply are

I trust,
no longer forging my way,
in gratitude
I rest, I rest, I rest in You

 

 

Bee

There is a beekeeper in me.DSCN0991
I wallow in time with
ebony and aureate sprites.

Begins a distant murmur,
then a brazen flirtation
as I ransack first fruits from
stems bent in honor of
summer’s engagement.

I have no reason to fear,
in holy union I still myself,
wings brush by, alight,
then return to job at hand.

I fall victim of honeyed wax
rich with sweetness,
almost unbearable
under harvest sun,
citrine nectar drips
through my wanton fingers.

I am a beekeeper’s
granddaughter, bold in my
passion for garden, bee,
and Keeper, all oned
in awe of bounty exuberant.