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.