In Simplicity…

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Under deep night sky
where Moon persists in her rhythm
shadowed by Earth’s indulgent round
I stand barefoot
a simple act of reclamation

In this candor I reclaim myself

To honor Earth and all her beings,
above, below, and upon

To restore my body
And allow what I need
Releasing that which does not serve

To restate my possessions
In care and release and
Bring in only what is cardinal

To retrieve my beauty
And give my hands to Creation

To rescue my joy
And dance and sing, drum and make love
And sit with others to know all stories

To restore stillness
For rest and truth
For bridsong and voice of the Divine
And cries of those who call for harmony

In simplicity
I reclaim my being
All that I was
All that I am
All that I will be
Collapsing into matter that is me

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.

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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Interlude

Day 23: Peace Poetry Postcard Month

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In winter’s forest room
light streams down
from eternity’s birth,
moss unfurls where
no sun alights,
vines yaw, rocks
linger in peace.

Noiselessness drums
a tattoo of suspension,
clemency, tolerance.

In the forest room
we rest to wonder,
breathe to embrace,
slumber our transfiguration.

Advent Geese, A Solstice Consecration

They were there.

In the silent sky early on my daily
drives, wings flapped. Although they
were too far away to see motion’s grace
or hear wind rush over and under
hollow-boned arms, I saw them.
A patterned V placed their purpose.

There were geese this fall with each
journey outside. It must be true
of this time of year, a thing
I never noticed.

Seldom did they make their voices known,
but they were always there. Gliding in front
of a full moon, a photo unable to impress
upon an iPhone screen.

They were there in afternoon walks, in
sun and grey filled skies. At night when
words flowed from my fingers in depths
of darkness. Then I could hear the cry,
in midnight still, their cry to me.

On this morning of Winter’s Solstice, four
times an Advent celebration, a new moon
soon to birth her smile, they were there.

Fireballs falling from a sky kissed by a
rising sun. A fairytale vision. Golden-winged
snitches raced across the blue, soared
over rooftops. The end of a fireworks
display, that last brave spark to shower earth
when all color has spent itself and drops only
burning embers to please the eye.

They were there. Not alien ships as misunderstood
by more fantastic eyes, but geese reflecting an
ascending light, pointing to a new beginning,
a path to take, a voice now heard, a song in
tandem harmony.

I stepped once again into this morning one last
time, three flew as one. In a moment’s breath
one departed on a path laid down only for a sole
navigator. Alone, and yet, eternally Three In One.

.

.

.

Author’s Note:

I had quite an interesting experience this morning and wanted to capture it. However, I think the explanation below will help with understanding my words above.

I was sitting in the family room this morning looking out the top windows when I saw this big ball of light falling from the sky. I said to Leroy, “I just saw a falling star?” He said, “Meteor.” It’s a joke from the past. (Apparently, some amateur astronomers (not my husband) have little fancy about them. I was sternly corrected when I mentioned falling stars in the presence of one of these amateurs while visiting a local star night at Gates Planetarium a few years back.)

I looked up again and saw another. It looked like it was on fire. I know I will sound crazy when I say this, but it looked like a Quidditch snitch. It was a ball of fire with wings.

He stood up and as soon as he looked out the window there was another. Spooked, we went outside and looked up to the skies. One more and then nothing. After about a half a minute of searching the skies, a flock of geese in a V pattern flew past lit by the sun.

Even though these beautiful creatures were also ablaze, they were white light, so bright they didn’t look real. The other single ones were golden fire. We watched and realized that the falling balls of fire we both saw were individual geese lit up by this Solstice sun.

What a blessing to see these balls of fire flying through the air.