prayer

Driving up the hill to my home tonight, I passed by a couple of leashed snow dogs. I gasped, taken at their beauty, then thought of Persephone, then burst into tears.

Parked at the hilltop drive, overlooking the sea, I'm thinking about Summer 2010. The thing was so unexpected in it's overt form, but I think it was driven by a more surreptitious longing.

I found myself on this summer night, completely outside the realm of all my known life. I was in a place no one knew with a person no one knew and I remember feeling like I was in a fairy land, removed from every responsibility. Here I had no house or mortgage, no job, no garden, no dogs or cats or chickens, no husband or friends or religious family. I did not know until that moment how heavy it was to carry all of that. I had not known there was any possibility of escape or that I even needed escape.

The evening was monumental for me that way. It was a glimpse for me into what was driving me to Aotearoa. Had I known the full extent of what I was doing, I may have halted it all.

Here I am now, still leaving behind parts of my life I had so deliberately and carefully invited in and surrendered myself to.

When I had to leave Synara, or, when I had to let go of her to allow in the rest of what became my life, I never stopped wanting her, or mourning her. I never stopped regretting that I wasn't able to find a way to include her in my ongoing experience.

Now, I'm not sure if that is how it is with love, if by the same depth of joy and bliss it can open one to, it carves the dark cavern that one must eventually fall down.

I expect that should I not be reunited with that which I have left in Michigan, and now, more that I am leaving on this island, that it could be the same. I do not want it to be so, and would love to discover a way of holding without grasping. If it takes me the remainder of my life to realize this lesson, or know this way, it will not be time wasted, as it seems as though I have spent the past few decades (all 3 of them) working out this dilemma.

I am grateful to have loved so deeply, still, even with all the falling. And may I always feel that gratitude. May the wounds of love allow me to love better, not less. May it allow me to stretch further beyond known boundaries, and not to become brittle and wounded.

And may I wake up one day, before too long, with a dog in my room and a hive in my yard, and a horse in my pasture. And love by my side.

Amen.

grandma's house

I'm not sure if it's the endless cloudiness and cold, or the vivid dream time, or the daunting prospect of moving to another country again, this time with significantly less security......but I have been pushing away a sense of homesickness I have literally never felt before.

I am craving something that cannot be had. The new is rushing in to my life without effort now, it could be that the way to find equilibrium is to find a deep appreciation for my roots.

I can feel the Michiganders beginning to settle in for their winter, Halloween parties are happening, Thanksgiving plans are solidifying, the sound of central heat clicking on in the night is becoming regular. I can sense that feeling of being dressed in bulky coat inside a warm car navigating snowy roads. I can remember how the dogs smell like snow when they rush into the house from playing in it. Dogs. Jesus Christ. I can write no more

caves and apples

Cave time.

I've spent the past 2 days holed up, aside from zombie-like trips to the supermarket and Indian takeaway, and a couple mostly normal short work obligations. Doing nothing on purpose is a magic healer. The infection is receding. I feel a million miles away from anything that isn't me. And it's cozy. Safe.

Taking this time feels like dropping anchor.

Moving on.

I am in loathe with my iphone. I'd like to say offensive things about people with Aspergers and the death of Steve Jobs, but then the Smugness wins. And I won't be having that.

I will just say that I have been less frustrated by trying to talk with my mortgage company on the phone than by using this miniature computer designed for people with no imagination who hate themselves.

Yes, my first experience as a kid learning to use a computer was on an Apple, but you'll not hear me going around talking about it like it's a badge of honor on my Smug jacket in the "I Have Nothing Interesting to Distinguish Myself With So I Use a Brand" club.

Jesus Christ. Did you see that?

Here's 30 seconds of pure apple honestly. Yes. Go fuck yourself.

.....Ahhh, now that feels almost as good as cave time.

I thought she had left me, or was leaving.....I thought she had taught me what I needed to learn, or led me where I had needed to go, but I am a foolish child.

The simple magic of inviting an energy in is a sort of acknowledgment of the mysterious nature of the relationship between personal and universal. And, it being such, is not submissive to this idea of hello and goodbye in time.

A beloved teacher of mine remarked that I have always been Freya. I have wondered if the ones who came before were preparatory, but it isn't exactly like that.

I feel now that they never leave, as the truth is that they all exist, perhaps latent, at once.

No, she hasn't gone anywhere. She is the arrow shot directly into the bull's eye.

I couldn't love it more

Fantastic day for Rugby Union, and therefore, me. First, South Africa vs. Australia.....and although I suspected I'd be cheering for the Springboks, I heard myself cheering when the Wallabies scored their first try. Whadya know?

Then, All Blacks vs. Argentina. As an extra bonus, we muted the tele and listened instead to the alternate commentary beaming in from The Green Man pub in Welly. We all laughed hard about how Richie didn't have anything wrong with his foot, and he didn't have anything wrong with his foot either.....and I stayed in stitches listening to players' alternate names like "the budget hair stylist from upper hutt" "the Polynesian god" and "snake hips"

The southern hemisphere folksies really know how to rugby it up. Really glad I'm here for this.

I've been told that spring comes slow and wet to this city, and summer takes even more time and then barely unpacks her bags before she's off again. I didn't want to believe it, but I am fairly thoroughly convinced now. Yes, I love spring, and yes, Wellington seems to have a nearly perpetual spring. This one has been going on since may. In fact, I could say Wellington has 4 seasons.

Spring

More spring

Colder and Wetter Spring

Very Warm Spring

It certainly is good for grazing animals.

Such a lucky girl shouldn't complain.

tough as pussy

I want to wear you around my neck like a scarf to keep the place my voice comes from protected, to make me feel beautiful and safe, to match whatever covers my soles.

You are magic and beauty and connection. You are the One I want to sway with, in the open air summer. You are not only a lovely creature to admire. If I were to become blind, I would still feel the splendor piercing the air in your presence.

I will forever be singing praises of my sister because love doesn't quit, it becomes gravity that pulls us toward the center no matter where our feet travel.

conduit

Yes, I do. I have everything I need to enjoy this, my, present moment.

The growing and stretching to branches and limbs further and further out can distract attention from the fact that the roots must also be so deep and wide to even allow such growth. Ahhhhhh.....roots. How grateful am I to have been planted in a place so fertile.

I was reflecting on some of the things that have evolved for me in the treatment room. So, I'm working with my body all the time and somehow that all gets transferred to the people who come to me for massage. I'm sitting here tonight observing the organic way some of these treatments come out of me for the individual who arrives on my table. I adore how naturally I am able to focus loving attention on random people in that room with me. It can get to be too much at times, and if I'm honest, the thing I find most frustrating is that I am unable to fully engage at a certain point when I've become tired. Maybe because I find it so easy to give selflessly there, I cannot tell the point at which I become compromised.

At any rate, I appreciate being able to play with people in this way, allowing the intelligence stored in my body to flow into theirs. WOW. I love this. My body as a gift. Jesus Fucking Christ.

Delicia Melissa indeed.

The layers of my nectar gathering practice deepen and deepen and deepen.

I am so totally overwhelmed with golden glimpses right now I can no longer write.

Back to the kisses now.

Many of them to you, love, no matter how many legs you were born with.

Soft kisses

True kisses

I adore you with the adoration of translucence.

And thus ends tonight's meditation

rainy in welly.

again.

it's spring, it's supposed to be rainy

but it still makes the news

everything makes the news in new zealand

lambing season

supermarket prices

dan carter's dad's opinion

it is a crooked path up to this hillside flat

it has been a crooked path to everywhere, really

like the lesbians of michigan

we go always forward

never straight

as i watch the mildew spread

and the mold gain ground

and the windows weep

and my hair curl

the wonders of welly warn me of the humidity of auckland

I am safely content to never understand these kiwis.

anyway, if I understood them, I may stop loving them

so tenderly

watch how they drive

and park

and build houses.

observe how they approach a project

mend a fence

plant a garden

run a shop.

silly me,

I imagined they would treat a human relationship

differently.

what a funny mistake

baby in the bookstore

left bank off cuba where earlier as I ran by to

make sunday morning yoga church,

I could smell that the night had been loved too much,

and it had made someone sick.

left bank off cuba, little hideaway that, I can see with

experienced rust-belt eyes,

will someday be an unkempt, falling down, menacing alley

safe only on sunday mornings.

left bank off cuba is the location of my favorite book store

named after my favorite magical creature

Pegasus.

I once believed in unicorns and fairies,

and I will still,

on the right kind of day.

but not even I could believe in anything so fantastic as a winged horse.

inside, the music is always perfect,

although it takes several minutes to fully enter

as the merchandise always spills outside

(and it must be some magic spell that makes everything fit back inside at night).

there are stools and chairs and ladders

everywhere

I love the ladders.

there is some freedom of being closer to the ceiling than the floor while looking

through books.

there are piles and rooms and secretive aisles,

just the right balance of chaos and order

is struck

so my muse can come out of hiding and

sing to me about what to hold and what to fold.

while perusing novels between

poetry sections,

suddenly

there is a young father and his

baby daughter cooing

gurgling

peeping.

they are so in love

as am I........................................

and her sweetness stirs some

softness inside that I just allow to linger.

there are hours until closing, therefore

the distraction is welcome

to come in and have tea with my perfect

afternoon