Shimmer and Grief

Sometimes I clear my snout from the mud to reflect on life from truth and mood blood.

Life is worth living.

For any instance, yes.  I am blessed, I don't fret dress

Yet

I know somehow in the depth of unknown there is a shimmer no one else knows.

The shimmer of Humor so profound and kind and thick and wicked all time flows.

Humor.  Grief.

Humor, Grief sometimes and there around.

My Dearest Love, My Grandma Susie with my sons.  She equals supreme Humor and Acceptance, always.  I miss her mind.  I carry her.  I hear her daily.  I am guided by her Shimmer.

Cloud cloudy, Beaver Make It Hearty

I See, Feel , What Ah Yes Am Changes

The Earth is ever changing.

I am Pacific Northwest Gal looking at a weather in February that is Northern Cali temp pal.  Of course Global Warming is the sister path and we of the learned observing act to make a Pact.

What then?  Hey?!  Make a plan for all our sake or make a voice that is annoyingly priviledged no site last.  Recycle, Yes.

Water: What water make who you what who?

We all be better off if no give-off for who.  Make a Beaver Pond solid and sure, is that not what our mammal ancestors lore?

but

no

we give off

a lot

what do we do?

Farms.  Beaver Ponds.

you Bearded, Yoga Matted dorks who say "I am a lot" "I give a lot" You are Dorks.  Accept it.  You are POSERS

Accept that.

What Else do you want to do with that?

What MORE do you want to do with that?  I say this in my own honesty of what else can I do, for the sake of nothing given massive make us look like a few.

We have a stand in our GENERATION hand to do something PROFOUND in the massive need of hand.  What do you want to do?

What do you want to do?

My Hips Are Rounder At The Tops

My hips were little.  They had a sway yet I never listened, never paid the day.

And all the whistle and all the call was for something I was not sure of at all.

I was me.  Hips.  What, yes some yummy hips that my Mama and Grammies all said were there and for us flair and yet I said ah no to my hips.

My babies were born and the hips grew, how?  I’ll never know the clue.  Yet here I stand, hand each handstand upon the massive new that is my middle hue. 

I am hips, roll above and a little more and yes, ah oh ah, yes that nice nestle deep down that never saw light anyway. 

I am New.

Me New.

Not sure what that means New but like my Hips, I’m dipping for Hip-Tips to be a little New in my inner-freshness allure to find guide-humble long in the thin fabric of life tip-dip song finding rhythm in a hip-walk never gone.

Be free Woman to be You.

Curve, straight ALWAYS angulated or maybe you make a ruckus to preach the pause.  You are you and I am I and we are humans by and by.

Make the Hips shake, make your heartbreak sink and you will be song. 

Just keep those Glorious Hips Shak’n.

Play House

Somehow playing house never felt far away.
Sometimes when I am that new person, 35-36 in a day.

Somewhere I am seen acting a scene: anger, fear, frustration, grief, humble, calm, joy, and more seen joy.

I am this scene.

Silence what I seek when 35-36 aged-crow-feet
Mama voice vocal chords ache.

Reaction, I observe leaping to feet and we wait

for
purpose and
pull for some FALL and GREW to NEW.

 She is there refreshed somehow and covered in dew.

But don't get this opposite: she is ridden, gooey, make-it-break-it, taught beyond Yonder Woman Glow, She is yell, smile, yum-it-up-style and TRUE.

AUTHENTIC.

MOTHER BEYOND ELEMENT BORDERS: AUTHENTIC!!

She does make it known.

My Skin Is Sagging, Will I Remember?

Had many moments the past two weeks to clear or find some sense in the head.

No.

Nothing.  Plus.

My skin is sagging.

Sagging and slightly weak and nothing more than an age laughing creep.

And what do I do?  Yes, I drink a bottle of wine and sign relief that the earth is not shitted down to the ground just yet.  No, not yet.  All else fails and the power games at play.

The fairies need to keen and the plants and soil needs to shake: for the earth is taking a mess up for the humans make.   The upcoming months, like all communities find is reading the paths that the elders marked and did not line.

We are our history yet we make new marked paths of the things we will do and the things we will not pass.  OH To-Do Goodness, Kindness Open and What? How? More.... are the defuses we know yet ignore to do EGO galore?

I'd like my skin to not feel as vulnerable and what I can do is rub special oils on sacrum points, take deep breaths and live the person I am.

Heard: Elder Wisdom

I have a moment.

This Moment to think.  Bloody-F think.  Please stop banging on the door, Mama deserves to think.

A Moment.

The moment: soft, clear, open and surrounded by liquid goo of yum.  Mama visual.  Silent.

Silent.

Silent.  Listen.

I hold any number of normal facets; breath, laugh, be kind.

I soak from Peace Givers thru word, art, medium of human make: Thomas Moore, Dr. Wangari Maathai, Mr. Fred Rogers, Ilene Wolf, Levon Helm, Neil Diamond, Neil Young, MLK, list on and on.......

Gift: soaking the words of Elders.

Nothing will ever compute the way an Elder word is heard through a Tender ear.

Joyful quest for us all to find reason of chaos, we have Elder wisdom of reflection.

It will be found.  Always with Elder voice and Youth ear, It Will Be Found.

Nora's Birth Altar This Year

This was the first year I celebrated Nora's birth, not holding onto her passing

This was the first year I felt her completely.  Seven years.  This was the year I allowed the ache of missing and loving her wash through and out of me.  I felt the pain but was not the pain.  This was the first year.

This year, I was in the warm water of the South Pacific, Kauai.  I allowed the day to prepare for her birth/passing day to be soaked in salt, water and air.  I was the ocean that day.  I cried such yummy ache, felt it all and was held tenderly and strongly by the elements of an ancient island created by water, wings and wind.  Both Nora and I were held that day.

Maholo Kuaui

February 28th darling daughter

Who Is My Woman?

Yam is the sun when the rain just is undone and there is nothing but revival.

Yum is the sum for all women think that her life is a Tri-Full Truffle.

Come on life la live ah...ah....ah...ah....ah...ah
I saw ribbons of light that seemed to correlate sight and then the pig came tumbling after.

I begin to see now.
And it is hard to maneuver when the glass is still visible or obsolete.
I am lost in my physical.
Wear my underpants to feel sexy and am I simply a reminder of that legacy?
No.
No.
No.

I am sexy woman yum.
Yes.
Yum.

Hazel Wide Eyed

Hazel eyes, amazed at the shake.
Massive hurt felt around the massive global perimeter.
Hazel.
We are a blend eye make.  Always.

Why?
Why the shake and make a grave for little body sake?
Why?

The light in eye make is shaken to the core of reasoning why such harsh could be taken onto the vulnerable.  Elders and children.  Elders and children.

Why?
More than why, give some more why please.

Why?  Why?  Why?  Why?
And more to all the vulnerable lost in vise, why?  Why?  Why?  Why?  Why?
Never can the count of why be enough.  Please take the amount of years on this earth to reflect on your Why.

New Negotiation

Files out, mail is in the make pull amount.
We couple are negotiating which way to pull full out.
That this
that want
that makes a massive pool.

Living with those who know the line, give it and call it and be it to for find cool.

Toastie in the morning, nice and serene and then there is the day that can make a Maker seen.

Why do I feel the same pull from massive birth?

Not is now and now is not and that is when we all find an engraved pen.

Not sure when you're born, not sure when made of material to last, we are all be giving to those who hear some last.

Never mind you the route your love takes.

Love is withstanding and make a popper right shake.

Long, lean live for our old never known what is known.

The negotiation is everlasting when grief is in full moon shown.

Finder Chill Finder

Dropped my ashes on a clean key board.  Found my answer in a think tank call.

My thoughts are in many different places tonight.

Ok: permission to not be creative.

Not hold a purpose or clear spelling.

I am just me.

I am just me.

I am just me.

I cry.

I scream.

I definitely scream.

I hit.

I ache.

I ache so hard the sounds don't make sound.

I am me.

I am me.

When I finish a sentience I wonder if my words made sense.

i am me.

I look for experiences that provoke some reflection--sometimes.
And other times, I am looking to provoke some anything.  I don't care--as I seem.

I am me.

Me, well I am stoic and family proud.  I married right.  Truly on all levels.  I seek creativity-can't avoid it.  I seek it.

I love beauty--in all forms.

I love my daily routine, dailies are my savior.

I love to sneeze.

I love feeling uninhibited and observing loved ones in the same moment-to-moment space.  Authenticity to the hilt!  To the loving, bloody hilt!

AUTHENTICITY AUTHENTICITY AUTHENTICITY AUTHENTICITY AUTHENTICITY

love your first, second, many and last and be authentic in the adventures you allot.

Come now--be.

Connection to bereavement:  You change daily.  Embrace that.  Like Grief--Life is ever-masterly shifting, pick your point of interest and make havoc for it!

Why bloody not?!

Water Shared

Water shared of the night.  The night was whole, spirit filled and massive in vibrato.  Yet the laughter and love and the light shined in knowing we all were nothing but welcoming.

Spirit be.
Spirit be of Islay.
Spirit we know you follow Isle to Isle.

Our origins, roots, blood thicker thank water all resonate from the pond of make some fuck'n fire.

The bridges are mended, all snug in their sling and we look to the island for some spiritual maze.

Won't come.

You know why?

Because living and loving and living Coastal/Island life is more than a wee heart can take.

Takes care, conscious, love and beware plus a massive amount of gusto that many cannot share.  Coastal/Atlantic life lived is raw and we want it so.

So let us Graham/Kellow/McIntyre yelp "Ay Ya" make our presence known.

We be com'n, strong and loving fast.  We be swift with devotion and memory of the past.  We are of the clan to represent good and true, for stories to be told to our new borns who require the rule.

Love is love.

Pain is pain.

Live your life for a bottle or for a massive wonderful Plane.

Islay, we are here for you Always, never the same.

Grief Became My Identity

Grief became that co-dependent part, the extension of some middle school girl hallway.  I wanted to be Grief.

Grief meant I had a link to Nora that no one else had.  My story was important.  My back was never bent.  I was Grief.

Then I started to loose my vision.

I spotted to put importance to a crown of thorns instead of a reed of grass.  Death and life were never asking for my attention or calling to be named.  I sought it.

I do not think this journey with sister Grief is over.  I am simply making choice to enjoy the steps of life green along the way and not pressure anything that is never really asking to be shared.

I am who I am and that is enough.

My children are sacred beyond words and that fills me up.

Humble Learner from The She that makes Might

Grandma Irma's Hellebore: picture by sister Kate Kellow

Family near beach

Oregon, Home

Dancing

Elder Wise

Life be gentle.

Make a mama find kind, calm center while the waves of grief can malice cluster.

She won't be taken down, no matter how the undercurrent pulls.

Thirst Burn

Call to that day when my burn went mute and the thirst ached, for the bottle did tip toward an open lesson throat flute.

It did beside Ocean mouth.

She poured out-loud-thunder that made no sense at all.  Then black came and washed memory to learn some pain, see some pain.

Mama did say.

Papa did say.

Husband did say, enough please.

My brain became muddy and my feet were numb up veins to heart.  Her voice did keen.

A cover was made when the sour juice made way down, so sweet and lack of vain.  

But the hurt remained.

Lost.

New grey and I watched the downed fawn lay.

Weak in the lead, unable to try and beat the off-balance down for her eyes were braided shut to the sadness brewing stale from over-heat.

Always was the Lost when the grief voice was pushed muted for fear of the limbo path. 

That sickening temptation made wild to hide behind cloaked wine madame.

Coat and numb the secret pain of uncertain steps.

The family ground did shake and questions arose asking, how do you wick up this mess you created?

With gentle, sore tongue I lick the wounds repeatedly, ritually so the burn does not ache thirst again.

Wood Grain

Veins of wood are deep and history sound.  Some yell, some are silent, some are distant and make an owl fowl sing.  It all is deep.  It all is resonant of a time that was not our own.

Something is percolating.  Something is vibrating, a shift that is low and so very slow.

Silence.

Still.

Grain of truth that can carry us on.

Make a night for us, ah ya for real, yet here we are feeling some shift that is nearer than a blush star.

I ache over my voice.  Messages are so uncomfortable, tight and exposed.  I ache over my message.

Yet, Grain of truth that can carry us on.

Honey, lovely, make me some funny the quest for humble pie still lives on.

I yearn to do it...seek to do it....move to do it....love my babes for it....

Grain of truth that can carry us on.

I feel in my goose bumps a shift be shifting.  Not sure if the shift is my own silent sifting but it is taking place and the world is in mid-pace for the world might feel slower, softer, fuller, pregnant in digest pause of where to pulsate.

I am my own wood grain.  I have veins spread to the reaches of unknown.
I
You
We hold wood grain: Grain of truth that can carry us on.

Blanket Movement

Up tonight, like many of worry sight of what will bring and what would sing if time would be allowed.

Nothing anymore is slow.
                                nap-filled
                                quiet
                                sheet calm.

When did we loose naps?  That nap-sacred space to contemplate earth shift and space, when?

What is happening to the thirst of our conscious seek for silent reflection?
                                                                                                  Eye contact
                                                                                                  Hand to hand
                                                                                                  Arm to arm
                                                                                                  Cheek to cheek
                                                                                                  Lip to healing lip?
What?

Blanket movement so she is draped lovingly on the teeth grind.
Earth move, but she move slow.
Can we not remember her so?

Turn off the appendages and be in silver slick how
                                                                       do I think now and know.

Instinct.
Instinct, Motha Lov'n Fuck'n Instinct.

Lets Blanket Movement and just sing INSTINCT.

Elders Make It Last

Elders make it last.
Make it last, oh ya make it last. 

We know in our fledgling wings how to make this fantasy sing.  We know what we think should be our generation Long John Bring for that fling of
make it
might it
sing and maybe, could you please fight It, for the know of how

Elders make it last.
Make it last.
Elders, make it last.

Some are young and some are make thought. 
But oh lord, they make it last.  Make it last...oh lord, how do they make it last.

I sat beneath the eyes of my granny's knees; so soft, so rough so very tender in touch and all I wanted to know was how she would last another winter without a proud smile and yet....

She make it last.
She make it last, oh lord she make it last.

Some Elders see young,
Some Elders see for night. 

I am honored to see my grandmother seeing all sides of remembrance bright, dulled oh ya today sight and well ya......
not sure how she feels about that next stage of life....

And maybe....make me fly for sight.

Elders make it last
oh lord, elders make it last.

Why can't this be talked about more: how we generations are needing to take quality share for the large groups needing emotional, physical, cognitive care?

How?

How can we be Lazy?
Lazy in lack of want: to see and maybe do what is NOT comfortable in thought ....be real....be strong...be resilient...be for the long haul? 
Where did we go?  All races, economic fold, life growth preferences...more and more but How How HOW can you sit and not call your granny?  How, how can you not call your ma?  How how can you not sit for patience, boundaries to be proud and tall?

Where is your patience?
Where is your world know?
Where is that place you are trying to make for your girl, boy, in between and more?

Where?

Elders make it last, oh man women child and growth on this honored earth, they make it last
Oh lordie, they make it last.

Make it last.
Make it last.
Make it last.

Learn please generations of digital upheaval....

Make It Last
Make It Last, please do your part to make it last...communication is more than a digital unfold...it is soul touch, more touch and absolutely do much touch for the interconnected understanding of love and right and how to say "I am Sorry."

Make it last, Make it last.
Do our Elders proud.
Make It LAST, YES PLEASE PLEASE MAKE OUR ELDERS PROUD
MAKE IT LAST.