Fairies and glitter do not compare to the tug-pull on ropes massive Northwest summer vain. We all are ungrounded and scattered in tedious pulse to make this summer the best of late and great. Yet pregnant yearnings continue to keep us clearer for the needed Autumn hibernation.
She feels it.
Summer mak'n bak'n fun times had because it is what we do best; be the home of growth and massive meditative life taken.
She wombs what I knew before and still know today, that life is for living and jumping off clear paths way.
The climb is the climb and the stumble is for our hearts to learn from but we are of stone worker quest of learning what our grandmas did not know.
Pensive plight, summer fertility, loving of open arms for self and partner when we find ourselves over come with the champagne flavor of August love making.
Babies be coming.
Babies be born.
Babies be percolating what our earth is sorely needing.
Thought, love, intention.
Thursday, August 4, 2011
Sunday, July 31, 2011
April 20, 2007 "What Normal?"
I feel melancholy. I miss the old way of feeling--normal.
The normal where I can write a date on the calendar months ahead and follow through with going somewhere. Maybe sitting with a smoke and drink with friends while talking about nothing but doing something. This new normal has an after taste I cannot seem to ignore nor lessen.
I understand my life has shifted to a point that is unrecognizable right now. I just wish for familiarity.
Nothing is familiar in this grief. I write because it keeps somewhat grounded. I share these thoughts because it hurts to much to bottle them. I write to share because I believe somewhere I am connecting with someone.
There are times, like this moment, when my heart feel empty. So empty my heart, soul ache. I have to push it out in a primal groan. That is how I feel again. Feel released and centered again. I am just so damned tired of cycle.
The normal where I can write a date on the calendar months ahead and follow through with going somewhere. Maybe sitting with a smoke and drink with friends while talking about nothing but doing something. This new normal has an after taste I cannot seem to ignore nor lessen.
I understand my life has shifted to a point that is unrecognizable right now. I just wish for familiarity.
Nothing is familiar in this grief. I write because it keeps somewhat grounded. I share these thoughts because it hurts to much to bottle them. I write to share because I believe somewhere I am connecting with someone.
There are times, like this moment, when my heart feel empty. So empty my heart, soul ache. I have to push it out in a primal groan. That is how I feel again. Feel released and centered again. I am just so damned tired of cycle.
Wild----
I want to scream a little louder, bend a wee bow.
Be that woman that has been secret in reveal. She is not clear headed, she is just plain wild.
I hold her so close, she has been biting to be let free and set obligation dependents and fearful mom/pop on their demand plane.
Destination, go slow down to our Jill Scott groove.
Woman wild, Inner mule.
The hee ha loud knee jerk that pummels to the soul of no win. But win.
I punch and pray that someday there will be less stubborn and a lot more love for....
For you say I. Telling us to make time to steer clear of quakes that produce a fuse short and for-nada-truth.
Mule-work-mule work for a poke and not a prick.
Mule Mama you be that un-pretty pretty back-bone of farmer hope and dream.
You carry more than 1000 men seen.
Woman be wild.
Me be wild so I can find restful mule-day-off mild.
Be that woman that has been secret in reveal. She is not clear headed, she is just plain wild.
I hold her so close, she has been biting to be let free and set obligation dependents and fearful mom/pop on their demand plane.
Destination, go slow down to our Jill Scott groove.
Woman wild, Inner mule.
The hee ha loud knee jerk that pummels to the soul of no win. But win.
I punch and pray that someday there will be less stubborn and a lot more love for....
For you say I. Telling us to make time to steer clear of quakes that produce a fuse short and for-nada-truth.
Mule-work-mule work for a poke and not a prick.
Mule Mama you be that un-pretty pretty back-bone of farmer hope and dream.
You carry more than 1000 men seen.
Woman be wild.
Me be wild so I can find restful mule-day-off mild.
Wednesday, June 29, 2011
Globe Goat
We are not the voice that many want to sing out. We are loud in our delivery and sound in our straight and arrow find or not, chew it and never spit it out.
Mothers be. Mothers be of foster grow-loose-seek-and-be. But more important is the feeling that life is the "yes"where we see and deal. Deal with the "poop shoe incident," and the "i'm not hungry," and the "i'm of citizen and cool."
We are guiders of what we see as right.
Right is the first bloom of waiting for life's eternal boom.
We are not of anything more than what is of corners and bound.
Bound be swift bound be solid for the earth's candle we lick. Lick for purpose, lick for community small. Lick for one and definitely all. We are the voice that is nibble and true, we are of our children so soft and warm blooded few.
What we cud chewing mamas have been yearning for is pure kindness and might, even when it provokes a sense of yellow-eyed fright.
Glory be done. Glory be of sight and seen and plenty. This is the guide that is centered and self-true: be of what make and be of what make you.
Mothers be. Mothers be of foster grow-loose-seek-and-be. But more important is the feeling that life is the "yes"where we see and deal. Deal with the "poop shoe incident," and the "i'm not hungry," and the "i'm of citizen and cool."
We are guiders of what we see as right.
Right is the first bloom of waiting for life's eternal boom.
We are not of anything more than what is of corners and bound.
Bound be swift bound be solid for the earth's candle we lick. Lick for purpose, lick for community small. Lick for one and definitely all. We are the voice that is nibble and true, we are of our children so soft and warm blooded few.
What we cud chewing mamas have been yearning for is pure kindness and might, even when it provokes a sense of yellow-eyed fright.
Glory be done. Glory be of sight and seen and plenty. This is the guide that is centered and self-true: be of what make and be of what make you.
Monday, June 27, 2011
Permission
Permission to be that parent we yearn to create...
Quiet, calm, accept all.
Yet there are Human Times stronger than "yes" that call to our children:
Please give space so I may make self grounded and not make an earth mess!
Seek the comforts of feeling your you. You are never alone, even when those sleepless nights creep stronger virus like.
No matter the age of your children live or not, community is key. For we forge to new oceans broad yet limited on what we individuals can see.
We are parents of live most, some not. And that is a gift for whatever you choose to knot.
The gift is giving. What we can in silly anecdotes, eye welled contact or just a gentle lend of how our grandma did her dare. It is all there. Solid and fair.
We are parents.
Permission to be humbled by the new.
Offering gratitude to our amazingly serious. sassy, spirited few.
Quiet, calm, accept all.
Yet there are Human Times stronger than "yes" that call to our children:
Please give space so I may make self grounded and not make an earth mess!
Seek the comforts of feeling your you. You are never alone, even when those sleepless nights creep stronger virus like.
No matter the age of your children live or not, community is key. For we forge to new oceans broad yet limited on what we individuals can see.
We are parents of live most, some not. And that is a gift for whatever you choose to knot.
The gift is giving. What we can in silly anecdotes, eye welled contact or just a gentle lend of how our grandma did her dare. It is all there. Solid and fair.
We are parents.
Permission to be humbled by the new.
Offering gratitude to our amazingly serious. sassy, spirited few.
Tuesday, June 21, 2011
Dear Ms SistaMama Badu
You guide
You have felt that ice cube freeze form. When hurt hurts too but bad. Too but bad.
I have felt your voice since first heard Billy Holiday channel battle boo.
I am Mama too of Three.
Two Red-Headed craze/run/crawl/fall/be what of Tall Man cool.
One Red Spirit Surround Us All.
She our Nora Born
too soon for our tender hearts
born of what a story should be told.
Ours is what?
What?
Something that feels different than what our friends live.
Different. But. Not Different. NOT Different because grief is grief, no matter what we loose. Loose is Loose. Loose is Loose. Loss is Loss. Loss is Loss.
But Nora Teach us of blood life, spirit choose life.
I native/prairie roots in a voice not yet understood.
I feel you sista.
I feel you good.
My vibration of life force seems equal in the mirrored hood.
Write me.
I am here.
Constant and legit, I am no fuss or make
Just sista soul touch.
I am just, just. That Mama we Make.
You have felt that ice cube freeze form. When hurt hurts too but bad. Too but bad.
I have felt your voice since first heard Billy Holiday channel battle boo.
I am Mama too of Three.
Two Red-Headed craze/run/crawl/fall/be what of Tall Man cool.
One Red Spirit Surround Us All.
She our Nora Born
too soon for our tender hearts
born of what a story should be told.
Ours is what?
What?
Something that feels different than what our friends live.
Different. But. Not Different. NOT Different because grief is grief, no matter what we loose. Loose is Loose. Loose is Loose. Loss is Loss. Loss is Loss.
But Nora Teach us of blood life, spirit choose life.
I native/prairie roots in a voice not yet understood.
I feel you sista.
I feel you good.
My vibration of life force seems equal in the mirrored hood.
Write me.
I am here.
Constant and legit, I am no fuss or make
Just sista soul touch.
I am just, just. That Mama we Make.
Ms Lily Lioness
Hear our Sista/Mama Guide
E. Badu.
She is that voice you hear at night mixed with those spirit babes.
Real Sista.
Come visit me. Come visit me This spring when our tears blend with the night Ellisport air.
Shed, write, sing,
will Guide. Will guide. Will Guide.
Sista do.
Sista do.
Sista do in grief grow, we hold responsibility of those tears not yet understood.
We do.
She Do.
We Do.
WE DO, YOU KNOW--YOU KNOW soul aching know.
E. Badu.
She is that voice you hear at night mixed with those spirit babes.
Real Sista.
Come visit me. Come visit me This spring when our tears blend with the night Ellisport air.
Shed, write, sing,
will Guide. Will guide. Will Guide.
Sista do.
Sista do.
Sista do in grief grow, we hold responsibility of those tears not yet understood.
We do.
She Do.
We Do.
WE DO, YOU KNOW--YOU KNOW soul aching know.
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