The Trust

I am but a small child

I trust you

I love you

I would do anything for your love

Anything?

You call my name

Take my hand

Close the door and

I have a dream…

I am standing in the rain

You are keeping me safe

You hold me close to keep my dry

I listen to the rain and feel you

I close my eyes and you dry me off

You take my hand and lead me away

Again you hold me and tell me it’ll be alright

You must me right… you love me I trust you

You rub my trembling arms

I can feel the warmth in my belly

I don’t feel well

I am scared

I close my eyes tighter and see a flower

I touch its petals

They are soft and smell like old spice

A bee is hovering I can hear the buzzing

It lands gently on the flower

And the flower becomes me

The bee tickles me with its tongue

I reach down to touch the bee and it stings me

I hold back my tears

It was my fault and it didn’t mean to hurt me

As the flower closes I fall asleep

A dew drop runs down my cheek

You pick me up and put me to bed

I close my eyes tight and pretend to be asleep

This is our dream you say

Our secret place

My tummy feels sick again as I roll over and wish I were dead

mindfullness

I pick each stone, a siren in color or shape calling to be placed: for the West first pointing to the oceans, rolling waters, here, one for the earth; for the South that hot ball of fire now shadowed by the trees and mountains; then the North the bone strength of clarity, a stone for the great emptiness of Sky; and for the East illumination and new beginnings.

I step gingerly into the middle of the mandala. In my right hand two small rounded shiny black pebbles. I rattle these precious stones of the mother earth in prayer, not for a vision, not for words or guidance. I rattle to rattle, to remember my place in all things. 

I shake my palm listening to the rhythm of sound to know this moment…and … then gratitude arises like a wave, I give thanks to the blessings of being in love, and the delight of living my life in this unfolding expression. 

I sometimes forget the power of ancestors and community to heal. And to give thanks.  

We live in a field of connection in which we are the inheritors of grace and strength passed on from one person to the next one generation to the next. 

This is Our New Home

The vast sky looming above

The clouds drift by in heavy formations

Billowing to the top of the sky in endless flowing and changing shapes

The birds sing their joy

Tiny babes can be heard calling mother back to the nest

The sound of water as it meanders down the creek bed

Bubbling over the rocks

Sneaking beneath overhangs where fish sit poised for the next meal

The aspens still waking from a cold winter

Have the tiniest almost translucent pale green leaves

The subAlpines and black pines soar like silent sentinels above the sage 

Whole fields of deep green dotted with brilliant yellow flowers for as far as the eye can see blanket hillsides

This is our new home

Travelers of both time and space

No longer slave to the clock

A sanctuary made by Mother Nature 

Observed in silence and reverence

Existing as the flow of the river 

As invisible as the wind

Setting and rising like the moon

This is our new home