Come with me into the expansive gift of poetry to experience a disruption of habitual ways of thinking and perceiving. The magic of poetry happens when it is spoken, heard and felt as vibrations in your body.
Would you consider joining me for some wild beauty smooching in Mexico?
I held a funeral for a future
I had always thought was coming,
and buried the world's face as yet.
The silence then
turned me so tiny
the only way forward was to dream
to an early day on earth
before a single heart beat.
The atmosphere filled
with an abiding, cataclysmic knowing-
that if everything
could be born,
Love promises no less.
But a future is gone now.
All we are is this.
Our way could be
to fall toward the medicine
seeded right inside
the untamable, fertile grief
- Brooke McNamara
I want to put down what the mountain has awakened.
My mouthful of grass.
My curious tale. I want to stand still but find myself moved patch by patch.
There's a bleat in my throat. Words fail me here. Can you understand? I sink to
my knees tired or not. I now know the ragweed from the goldenrod, and the blinding
beauty of green. Don't you see? I am shedding my skins. I am a paper hive, a wolf-spider,
the creeping ivy, the ache of a birch, a heifer, a doe. I have fallen from my dream
of progress: the clear-cut glass, the potted and balconied tree, the lemon-waxed
wood over a marbled pillar, into my own nocturne. The lullabies I had forgotten.
How could I know what slept inside? What would rend my fantasies to cud and up
from this belly's wet straw-strewn field-
- Vievee Francis
You didn't come here to get mangled
by the gleaming machinery of the Mind.
You didn't come here to get welded and forged into a
Republican, Democrat, Sunni or Shi'a,
to get angry at your jagged shadow in broken glass,
or see your own reflection as approaching disaster.
You came to be astonished by a dust mote.
You came to find the Maker of all things
embodied in a dandelion.
You are here to be torn by laughter and pain,
then healed by the tang of a berry
on your wild tongue.
There are no right angles, no straight lines
in the serpent body of the earth.
Valleys, rivers, and hills are the only borders.
Dark-eyed Mother Raven looks down
and sees them as restless waves in the ocean
of Holy Matter.
What makes this planet sacred
is the unfinished circle, not the wall.
What guides us is the wayless curve
in a labyrinth of fallen alder leaves after the storm,
a cloud that stains the soft rice paper sky,
brushstroke of geese in flight.
Why waste another moment arguing
for or against
when you could slip back down a beam
of breath, soft as moonlight,
into the silent radiance you Are?
- Alfred K. LaMotte
Will you consider joining me
around each full moon in 2021
in the sacred cave at Bodega Bay,
to dream and sing and listen and celebrate
with the seals and the fish and the ravens
and the waves and the rocks and the sand fleas?
Visit the Ecos de la Marea page for details.
What if......our immune systems are not systems of war designed to protect, fight and defend but instead beautiful systems for integrating, one-ing, making love with all of nature?
What if......Mother Nature is silently, patiently waiting to hold you, to nurture you?