Moonset
The hush
of predawn
in which
the moon
silently
surreptitiously
descends
into the black hole
of the tail end
of night
*
A similar moment
years ago
in my arms
as she struggled to breathe
already half the battle
over
one prick of the needle
instantly limp
a hushed end
to a soulmate
our baby
*
Why can’t we
too
go this way
as softly as
a moon setting
in the whisper
of predawn
of a new day?
“Awareness of Awareness”
My friend, Tiramit, over at DhammaFootsteps.com sent me a reference to the wonderful video on awareness…
To see it, CLICK ON Inner Medium.com.
Don’t be fooled by the cartoon nature at the introductory beginning of the video. All kinds of experts on consciousness are interviewed, from academics to a homeless man, from a Self-Realization monk to a race car driver, from a scientist to a business man and from a guru to artists and a psychic. All speak on thinking, Awareness and consciousness. It ends with Sri Mooji, whose retreat in London I am attending online for the next 5 days. This video is a perfect segue into the Self-Inquiry process Mooji teaches.
Meantime, till next post, enjoy the beautiful Fall!
Bees Buzzing, Fuzzing and Fading
Beautiful fuzziness going strong
But not for long
Fading fast
They will not last
Please act fast
and sign the petition below:
http://act.credoaction.com/sign/syngenta_bees?nosig=1&t=1&akid=11795.2247563.eaCuKn
Transcending Maya
Some of you may know Mooji. I have only just found him through Hariod who blogs at Contentedness.net. I am so grateful to her for introducing him to me because it feels like a relationship started long ago in this life, possibly before. I am following him as my Guru now and am always amazed at how simply he goes to the right to the truth. Please just give a listen for less than three minutes. You may fall in love with him, too.
Aching in the Moonlight
Alright
But a full moon
The super moon
Wakes me at 3
Like an alarm
I married a Wolfe
Perhaps I am to howl
But I love the silence
In which I can hear
The ear sounds
Of my nervous system
Like a sea shell
My Cathedral
is my cathedral
A very diverse congregation…
From cows
to snails and turtles
to gazillions
of insects
Deer sometimes come round
Butterflies abound
Moths, too
Birds of every hue
All that’s missing is you
but you worship your own way
doing charity every day
more than I can say
“My Eyes are Leaking”
The world a watery blur
one less source of joy and laughter
on this ailing earth
a delight to so many
in so many ways
“My eyes are leaking”
(Robin Williams as the alien on “Mork and Mindy”)
Light Works
Windows into Worlds: The Lighthouse
A night of mania with no sleep
the wee hours on the computer
running on empty and
bordering on irascibility
my stirrings awaken my husband
a pre-dawn breakfast and a visit to
The Saugerties Lighthouse at 7 A.M.
What drama plays out behind lace curtains?
A beacon of light from the Inside,
Someone stirs…
Rural Reflections
Something poignant about a lone gas station out in the middle of nowhere.
Edward Hopper caught the feeling in a painting of a gas station surrounded by trees on countryside road.
The reflections of the trees in the windows is a view of another world when set against the background of colorful signage, notices, and advertisements.
Nature’s Prayers
Still yourself
and fold your hands
humbly
stand in awe
radiate His light
with eyes upwards
towards
the telephone
to the sky
and comtemplate
the glory that is He
Chi flows, Wind Blows
Wind blows
through tree tops
bird song
wafts in breeze
flying
dead branches
fine perches
dragonfly on leg
don’t move
admire
just be
like tree
see chi
in air
spark-like
specks
tiny lights
Chi flows
wind blows
Secret Spaces
The cool of green shade
steps to a secret place
locked doors of a shed
the innocence of childhood lost
in a matter of minutes
and no one knew
for years and years and years
dare break the silence even now
Grandpa did a naughty
and it remained
forgotten for years
until you shared your story
of what happened to you
there were other times
of lesser evil
but sketched in memory
enough to sting
even now
so many decades later
I have forgiven
but no longer forgotten
from so early in life
I adored him
the trust
etched deep wounds
though the misdemeanors minor
by most standards
just enough to give pause
if I see a secret place
all too inviting
for the sins
of
a forbidden intimacy
just enough to
add guilt and shame and fear
where they do not belong
inside me
in stillness
in the shade
Bee in Dahlia
Click on link below for short article on the ongoing bee disaster…
http://www.theguardian.com/environment/2012/jan/13/honeybee-problem-critical-point
Beyond the Stars
Sitting in the sun, acclimating to the gentle June heat, swatting away an annoysome fly who keeps returning over and over, I know this swatting is definitely wrong—a stirring of the killer instinct. I remember naturalist artist and writer and turtle man, David M. Carroll, keeping his hand steady, while being bitten by hordes of mosquitoes, so as not to scare away the turtles as he paints them . Clearly he is a superior soul in his patient endurance of being bitten and as his, almost spiritual, beautifully poetic, writings and drawings reveal. I remember, too, the words of Pema Chodron, Buddhist teacher and nun, who teaches and preaches practicing compassion on little things, learning not to “bite the hook” of anger.
So I let the fly alight on my ankle and he seemingly happily stays on my leg and does not bite. I begin to try to image feeling kinship with this fly who likes my leg, fighting the idea that he is laying eggs in my skin. Pema Chodron has clearly inspired a city girl, afeared of bugs, to make friends with a fly as I watch the universe of insects beneath my feet. A Daddy Long legs crawls on my camera bag, hitches a ride to our bed when I go inside the house. I bring him back to his home outside.
This compassion things feels right, start small and grow big. As if to reinforce this point a butterfly lands on my chest when I return to my contemplation spot in our back yard. But all is not sweetness and light. Later the same fly (I swear it is) who landed on my leg now activates karma for my earlier murderous impulses towards him. He lands on my toe and bites me. A cautionary tale against getting too carried away with being virtuous. Still worse, later as I walk in the coolness of early evening, a bug lands on my arm and attempts a vigorous bite. In an instant, a reflexive smack smooches him dead.
So it would seem I have to start even smaller with my acts of compassion. How much smaller can one start? I wonder with daunting discouragement about the many, many more lives I will have to live to learn lessons of compassion and no anger. I contemplate the prospect of how many, many more films I will have to view in this movie house of Maya we call life. When, oh when, will I learn all my lessons? When, oh, when, will the sun set for good for me on this circle of life so I can exit the orbit and rest beyond the stars??
Symphonic Days, Tympanic Nights
Trees have fully blossomed
the clouds are fluffy white
a glory day
Trees were starkly bare
the beginning of the same week
the night pregnant with frog
Where Earth Meets Sky
Oh Light,
so dazzled am I
by your majesty
so inebriated
by your heady spirits
I cannot tell
where earth meets
the realm of Your Infinity.
The Vibrations of Life
Pulsating life
flows through
tree branches
vibrating
to the song
of a red-winged blackbird
singing to the moon
as a cloud
stands by
in the approach
of twilight
MOONSIDE 
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