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“Poetry is a life-cherishing force. For poems are not words, after all, but fires for the cold, ropes let down to the lost, something as necessary as bread in the pockets of the hungry.” 
― Mary Oliver, A Poetry Handbook

“There is nothing at all that can be talked about adequately, and the whole art of poetry is to say what can't be said.”
― Alan Watts

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March 16/2022

 

Dancing with duality in an empty house.

Be moved & be still - together.

Discovering & uncovering, time dissolves into presence.

A minute is a moment and an eternity.

No goal, simply arriving into the mystery of morning time.

 

Outside the window,

a new day begins.

Clouds float, dance and breathe with me,

winter tree skeletons stand quietly & flowers begin to bloom.

- As It Is - 

 

Simplicity is real.

So, hold onto all that is elemental:

sky, earth, moon.

 

Hold yesterday's sun, 

today's storm, 

tomorrow's calm mystic morning light.

 

Hold flowers blooming and spiders spinning webs.

Hold the clarity of simple observation, 

& the pure fire of attention.

Embrace each as an act of honesty.

 

Of living.

And dying.

As It Is.

 

 

- Full Moon Sunshine -

 

My body, your body, her body, his body is made of all things earth.

Ocean magic, animal medicine, plant wisdom & the pure heat of fire.

And so, each one of us is tonight's full moon, embodied.

Each organ holds the secrets of an old growth cedar; intimate & wise beyond the brain's comprehension.

Each bellybutton is a snowflake, wildly ordinary & perfectly unique.

Each foot is a raindrop, simply landing & becoming earth.

Each full body laugh is a wildflower, who's true colour is just about to explode.

And, each embodied shape is a miracle, a still point & a possibility.

My body, your body, her body, his body, Awakened & felt.is a celebration.

a gift. a remembering.a bright sun. a full moon.

infinity.

 

 - By The Sea -

 

A rare quiet morning walk with my dog, 

We meander through a lifting fog.

 

Inhale full moon air and swallow a sky of impossible beauty.

 

Lost amidst a chorus of red-winged blackbirds, who are our ancestors.

 

Found in the company of an ephemeral chief.

 

Free inside a sea of unanswerable questions - 

perhaps you know?

 

how many hearts do you have?

 

- That Owl -

 

Sometimes, one foot in front of the next - I disappear.

become a tree

a snowflake, a cloud

a memory.

Owl on a rock, gone so soon, a reminder to keep eyes open.

Stay awake.

Tell me, please, what is the language of listening?

and, can you hear the mountains whisper magic prayers?

Cast beneath their spell, 

my soul flies briefly with that owl

crystals grow out of sunlight

the moon smiles.

Nothing (everything) matters

anything seems possible.

Sept 16/2021

 

goodbye summer.

 

today i swam in a lake,

and I ran beside the river,

and I was moved 

by the warm sun on my skin

to fold inward towards 

the dimensions of myself 

that are cleansed 

by coastal raindrops, 

squash soup,

hours of studio time to read poetry and 

move these 42 year old bones,

and quiet moments to sit and be still.

 

you see, 

summer yoga in my world 

has become so boundless and free.

it’s solitude in the mountains

it’s beside a campfire with no bedtime and lots of kids roasting marshmallows,

it’s the smell of dirt on my hands after a full day of gardening,

it’s wandering uphill for hours and 

paddling into a foggy abyss of islands 

towards a beach I may call home 

for the night with my family.

 

the formality of practice 

is such a gift in this life,

so much so,

that as years pass 

I can see how my love affair with my mat

has, at times, actually limited

my own capacity for spontaneity and freedom

 

breathing in,

and,

breathing out,

 

all of it is so beautiful

all of you are so beautiful

Poetry

 

Haiku

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mountains for breakfast

Remembering infinity.

Another year with you gone.

 

Begins here.

 

I love you

-

The last bloom unfolds

Savouring this moment, now

Soon, gone forever.

- life

Simple lakeside days

welcome deciduous shade

And acorns, thank you.

-

September sunsets

While breathing a green palate

After the first real rain in months

 

Momentarily hopeful

-

 

Good morning estuary

A calm window between storms

then, the rain returns.

-

Riverside rock things

Building joy beside the river

Staying for a while.

-

Letting the light in, 

Briefly, debris from last weeks

Storm shades today’s trail

True story, no filter

Proof that magic is real

What do you see?

-

Slahany sunrise

With the moon above the clouds

In good company

-

Happy place is here,

Amidst green, sheltered from the rain,

Finding our way home.

-

Feels like springtime

Bulbs and bare ski emerging

Less grey and more green

-

What is the sutra of this space?

Opening to the treasure of breathing here.

Celebrating community - now.

Prose

 
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March 9, 2022

 

Here, a cool breeze touches warm skin.

A raven’s wings soar and land close by.

I am between so many beginnings and endings.

Aren’t we all? I suppose that’s the liminal space of real life.

I am sad for the heartbreak, unnecessary pain and confusion in our world.

And, I’m pondering peace, as a concept, a parenting philosophy, a relationship practice, and a possibility?

 

So many questions.

The wisdom of embodied play & the commitment to explore new trails are presently my pathways to freedom.

 

Moving downhill, back to my family and my home, one footprint at a time, the Thich Nhat Hanh’s walking meditation cue dances in my mind as a mantra.

 

‘kiss the earth with your feet and breathe peace in every step.’

Sept 3, 2021

Today.

 

Today I am lingering somewhere

between here and there,

there and here.

 

This morning is cool and cloudy 

and I am roasting garden tomatoes 

in a cozy sweater 

and making notes on my calendar

that resemble the routines of autumn.

 

I am also daydreaming about 

the satisfaction of really full days

(and when I say full I don’t mean busy).

The full days I am referring to

are one’s that ensure an undeniable

type of uncluttered 

attention & presence

that is 

so clear and 

simple and free.

 

I am talking about adventures

that ask my eyes to listen to the mountains,

that open my ears to the touch of the clouds,

that remind my skin to smell the air,

my nose to taste a glacier melting & 

my mouth to water with the sight of it all.

 

Somehow, here, 

there is no destination and yet we arrive.

There are boundaries, limits and real risk

and also the deepest trust

in our collective capacity

to do what needs to be done

to love ourselves

and this heartbroken world.

 

Thank you mountains.

Thank you friend.

Thank you love.

March 1/2022

 

Life is helical.

 

Once you begin to tune into nature’s endless spirals, you will see them everywhere.

 

Some are more easily seen, like the shape of a conch shell, the birds eye view of a storm or the sequencing of a sunflower. Others are more subtle and unseen, like the helix of our DNA, the helical way blood flows through our veins and the miraculous spiral embryology of your beating heart.

 

Spirals emerge naturally when the shapes of nature meet each other. And, when we begin to observe from this lens, it becomes logical to move like a spiral. When we move like a spiral we get a visceral understanding of their wisdom, their dimensions of possibility & presence and the helical strength within us. 

 

 

Jan 12, 2022

 

Be the Moment Itself

 

These days,

there is no recipe beyond showing up,

there is no map beyond the next breath,

 

inhale 

pause 

exhale 

pause

 

Amidst this wave, I am yet again reminded that there is simply no yoga that unfolds beyond this moment.

 

Truly, what is happening right now? 

 

Inside these cells, 

today’s truth whispers,

move in ways that don’t follow a plan,

break free of boundaries & absolutes.

 

And, instead of following the forms, 

be the formless form,

landing again and again,

inside of the pulsing stillness of now.

 

be the moment itself

be the moment itself.