Over the Ashes

Forward!

Is there any other choice? 

Forward! Every day in every way

with or without our permission.

In a patch of Dark Sky

a small starry kite named the Milky Way

flies through forever at 666,000 m.p.h.

Forward! Is there any other way?

“All storms pass,” they say, 

or maybe I said that

while lashed to the mast like Odysseus,

my willpower spent replaced by tethers,

Restless prayers and hope

wishing for ‘something else’

or ‘Someone Else’ to magically

make it all disappear;

Tied to the mast in raging

storms of loss and distress,

bound by ropes I search my horizon

for willful acceptance and graceful defiance.

Don't allow fear to determine

the path or outcome!

Remember - courage is a small act

that begins with the next step

And nothing more;

one foot in front of the other,

it’s that easy and that hard,

standing strong while waiting

For the seed to germinate,

the garden to grow,

ourselves to flourish

while all around us lightning strikes

As Pompeii crumbles and the oceans frenzy; 

volcanic lives of longing, 

dreams and habits buried beneath

while we await the sun to rise again

Over the ashes ---

as it always does.

The Sombrero You Wore

The sombrero you wore 

said to everyone gathered: 

“Look at me!”

and if that wasn’t enough to catch their eye

when you entered the room as a playful old woman

in your bright Mexican hat,

your newly healed legs sliding backwards, 

moon-walking in slow motion like you were

part Michael Jackson, part Charlie Chaplin, 

told us all that something special was happening. 

The old Lakota medicine man, 

the one who years ago had  

pointed toward Quetzalcoatl 

and said, “seek 

the Plumed Serpent,”

never noticed his old friend,

now a heyoka,

gliding smoothly backwards

across the floor.

Instead, his attention was on me,

his arm firmly around my shoulder

like a long lost son returned.

His arm would not 

relinquish me. 

It remained. 

We sat on the ground,

the old woman and I, 

the two of us facing 

the medicine man, his simple

humble presence solid as 

a mountain of granite before us.

As she leaned back into me

he said, “That wasn’t easy 

last night when she leaned on me 

for over an hour.” 

"My back is strong,” I offered,

and feeling her weight falling into me

said to her, “You can lean on me,

I will hold you up.”

And I remained.

A heyoka is born

by lightning strike, they say. 

I’ve been struck before.

Never saw it coming - 

have been walking backwards since.

Now I tempt the gods - daring them

by holding long metal rods

on mountaintops in lightning storms.

How can they make me walk

anymore backwards?

“You wanna piece of this?! 

You want this?!

You can have it!”

But they scoff at the idea.

After all, of what use 

is a moon-walking, sombrero-wearing

heyoka searching for 

the Plumed Serpent? 

Still,

I remain. 

Return to Agawa Bay Many Years Later (the Resting Place)

Remember the Path.

Sometimes the way home is long.

Old earth; still here; now

Clairvoyance Haibun

“You have a strong mind,” the therapist said from her power wheelchair that she maneuvered deftly with a push of her thumb and index finger, her small hand steering her worn, crumpled body -- a trophy left over from the 1950’s polio war.

What did I know? A recently broken survivor of a different kind of psychic car crash -- the cancer war. 

She told me right then and there: “Your life will never be the same.” 

I hated her for that. 

But I also loved her - this clairvoyant on wheels, how she already knew long before I ever would that it would never come easy. 

Never. 

There was comfort in her knowing.

I loved her for her honesty about the full truth catastrophe and sparing me none. I loved her for grabbing me by the throat with her tiny hand and throwing me up against the wall, telling me I’d have to fight back hard -- fight for every scrap of ground under my feet!

I loved her for how she roughed me up, seeing a worthwhile cause: my battle for dignity and survival.

I loved her for seeing someone who still had value and worth sitting in his brokenness in front of her and taking him to task: 

“No time to waste! Get to work!” Adding, “Use what you’ve got! Use your strengths to build more strength! Use the gift of your mind! Use it well!”

                                                           precipitous edge

                                                  the one that slices cleanest:

                                                      Buddha’s shiny blade

Passage

the flower's glory -

one petal, then another, 

and then - gone too soon

Remembering

There is worse than pain.
There is forgetting
Those are my eyes in the mirror. 
There is forgetting my own true name.
                      - Pat Mora

April 8, 2020 - 25th day of quarantine in the Covid Era

                                  https://youtu.be/Vkfpi2H8tOE

Gerome Kamrowski

https://pulp.aadl.org/node/401203?fbclid=IwAR2KHHw7CKDNLjj1Z53L_UEzs-9FvJxdYvKFCOzVAiVPBGuAAqV_j0sI-P8

Memory of Water - April 26, 2007

Prayer for Departure

It was yesterday in the early afternoon light

I held your hand closely in mine, the rosary beads 

draped between our hands - together, passing 

from one bead to the next, 

Hail Mary, full of grace, 

flavoring the room - a balm;

breathing in deeply all that is. 

The Lord is with thee 

ninety-five year old vesseled spirit 

with staccato breath. 

Blessed art thou among women 

emptying with each exhale in the 

lengthening pauses 

of 

nothingness. 

The tide leaves the shore; 

each wave withdraws deeper 

into the sea. 

Blessed is the fruit of thy womb 

a vessel made of red earth and chile; 

once strong legs, a blackening blue

as you take your leave 

no longer needing them. 

Ticket in hand, you turn away, 

look at the clock, see that it’s time, 

and move toward the gate that reads 

‘Departures’. 

Holy Mary, mother of god, 

water pouring into its source, 

the vessel empties, 

the breath rests, 

and this time -

does not 

return. 

Pray for us sinners.

The red-brown clay dries, crumbles... 

returns to the earth, 

now and at the hour of our death, 

as you leave, 

a breeze 

rejoining 

the 

wind. 

Amen

A Fool's Lucky Seven

Seven Foolish Years ago was the first of two relapses of the non-Hodgkins lymphoma I share the premises with and is now a teenager of 13 years old. Seven years ago I’d just begun chemo coinciding with April Fool’s day and Patti Smith igniting a flame in me with a song of the same name. My oncologist had instructed me to avoid crowds in my compromised immune state — but it was the Festifools Parade - and in my waaay altered state I wanted to be there - not on the sidelines, but in the parade! Being in the parade in the mysterious mask of an old man, I was driven to seize the moment, one old guy’s face protecting another's marching forward.

Seven years later of much foolishness and the seemingly impossible, I’m still here, still foolish, still not taking the impossible for granted. Seven added years of delightfulness, hard times, good times, and everything in between — the whole buffet of living and loving in its fullness every day.

Ain’t no place like here. Good to still share it with you all - even on the bad days, maybe especially on the bad days.

Home movie: https://youtu.be/sRVUHINrZiM

Here's to Now

by Quint Bucholz

Almost Winter Solstice 2018 - 13 yrs now of keeping my feet to the ground. 13 extra years to watch myself, my family, friends, and planet grow, stumble, flourish, struggle, and rise. All pure, rich gravy, lumps and all. Such is life - and being able to show up for all of it - the good and the difficult, is beyond words for me. Life hands you some swerves on the road - sometimes they're a shock, sometimes they're shockingly good like words from my oncologist: "decreasing in size." Didn't see that coming in reference to the wolf who shares my hut, follicular non-Hodgkins lymphoma - a most peculiar cancer. Or as my oncologist said referencing my case: "You're tricky."

Still an outlier, 
xo >>>

93 Years of Pushing the Comfort Zone

Now, 96 years old.
for more info: https://mymodernmet.com/death-metal-grandma/

Trust Your Cape

"He's one of those who knows that life
Is just a leap of faith
Spread your arms and hold your breath
Always trust your cape."

                      ~ from 'The Cape' by Guy Clark

Patchwork Quilt

Colin Hay "Beautiful World" live in Manchester UK

Javier Mas, Leonard Cohen - Who By Fire?

NOTE TO SELF FROM 7 YEARS AGO ~

https://tizitl.blogspot.com/2010/11/paying-attention.html

Autumn Equinox 2017

Remember the Path.
Sometimes the way home is long ~
Old earth; still here; now.

Roses n' Shit Haiku

I believe in this: 

the power in our stories ~ 

how shit grows roses

Springtime - 11 yrs later

Life is good.