The Oregon coast has a shore that is continually pounded by roaring slamming waves.  Huge house-sized rocks stand a bit offshore, puzzled at their isolation from the cliffs, themselves sliding into the sea.  I stand in the finest purest sand and as the waves try to pull me to the deep churning, my feet sink into the soft mud.

It is a game with dear little kiddles in my life that my feet disappear in the earth.  And then to squeal and topple into the salty-waves when the next push comes.

Today, back here in the cluttered office with bumpy aching conversations and feeble attempts at procrastination, I have to sink into surrender once again.  Whether I am determined to manifest a boulder of defensiveness, false assertiveness and righteousness or bow my head to release into a frustrating practice of humility, the sun still travels from one window to another.

I sit on the shore of Her love.  No matter where I stand, fight, splash, scream, cry, or sit motionless–catatonic with fantasies of fear and regret–I am safe on the soft sand of the Divine Day, another gift to enjoy and Presence to open.

Treetops
turn to flames

wave
bright greetings to the morning sun.

The
fire spreads though the forest

awaking
chirping birds

hiding
in the dew moist shadows safe.

Gold
leaves scattered on the dry ground–

their
time in the spotlight

I
yearn to burrow beneath the briars

snuggle
into a sanctuary with the raccoons

safely
sleeping from the sun.

Even
in the fear of human feelings

A
fern in the

forest
keeps cool.

Wash
gently.

A
fresh cloth on the forehead brings

a
healing sleep.

Wake
to a new choice of peace

that
passes all understanding.

8/06 and 8/09

Ripening
berries now command the air.

Sleepy
birds winking at the balsamic moon.

“Be
soft,” She says,

“Be
more than me.”

How
to follow without fear

or
questions

or
answers

or
comments

or
ideas

or
next action.

Boats
scattered

around
the dawn-shiny soft lake,

fishing
for compliments.

Let
the season transform me

Let
go of green & welcome gold.

I
release my fluttering leaves of fear

Along
the late summer autumn wind

to the
soothing earth.

Listening
with my insufficiency

Incompetence and

constipation of words.

Hidden
flowers will insist on spring.

Do
not let your body season tempt you to inertia.

Lean
into me and I will raise you up.

8/06
and 8/09

Gray
skies on breeze

Whispers
of a new season.

Human
needs force me open to

Vibrate
wider

Inevitable
sustenance.

How
do the trees do it?

They
have no fear

and
they never fail.

Bushes
sweet with berries

teasingly
tart.

Birds
quiet, sleepy eyed

with
deep clouds comforting.

Geese
going south

honk
as they pass.

Fear
is holy.

Be
lace and cover fear

with
holes to breathe.

See
through the fear.

See
through the holes to the holy.

The
lace flowers

are
not easily picked

griping
onto the earth

with
a tight strong grasp.

Me
too.

I
am to be under cover

I
am to be mowed.

8/06 and 8/09

Faith says “Everything is going to be alright.”  Belief chews on that and spits out: “Yeah, sure, get real, look at the reality, believe in the bad story, see the half empty glass everywhere around you.  You don’t really believe that everything is “alright,” do you?!?!”

My beliefs–the stories that built my early bones and the harpy tales from the culture and media–need changing.  Affirmations get lost like mosquitos in the mountain range.  In fact, they sting me with irritation when I get lost in the woods and these declarations of goodness should “work”!

So I live in faith, not beliefs.  Faith is the earth.  My feet will never fall off.  Faith is the air.  Until I go to whatever is beyond breath, I will open my heart to the sweet inspiration and release all that does not serve me.

(And right in the middle of this meditative intention, I got an invitation to fun!  It does really work, faith.)

Spent a couple days listening to the trees and the river rocks deep in the Cascades.  They are all such Taoists.  Talk little and say much.

There are rough rocks yet to be polished.  At peace with their edges.  White with dry sand in the sun, washed up to a shoal in the middle of the constantly changing stream.  The inevitable season will move them.  No preparation necessary.

White bone dry mother tree, roots twisted and shattered frozen in the sky, resting for years where she was left by the water now host infant pine trees playing piggyback.  Seeds to root to sprout to green to move to change to rest and fertilize the earth again.

I return with a resounding chant pounding through my heart: I am the Way, the Truth, the Light.  I claim the warmth of Her Light and renew my vow to channel this Light to shine along the Way.

(From “Addictation” ktk)

What
is wrong with you?

I
don’t know, shit, I’m just so pissed!

What
is it, you’re really cranky.

I
can’t stand this stuff–it’s so stupid, what a crappy place to work.

Well!  Aren’t we negative today.

Up
yours.

Get
real, all of a sudden you’re so touchy, freaking rude.

Yeah
yeah yeah.  Whatever.

When
did this start?

I
don’t know, I don’t know.  I just DON’T
know!

Ok,
let’s take a look at this–you were fine this morning–good walk.

Yeah.

And
the drive to work was ok, birds singing, spring and all.

Yeah,
that’s true.

So
when did you get all twisted.

Hmmm.  Well, the meeting didn’t go real well.

The
meeting–what happened?

Well
she just condescended me so totally BAD–geez, I could’ve screamed, what a
bitch!

Ok,
what did she say.

Nothing
really, she just blew me off with that shitty look of hers.

Ok,
so she didn’t really say anything.

No,
but that look sucks.

Ok,
so you felt disrespected, not heard.

Yeah,
that’s it.

And
then what happened.

Well,
I told her I wasn’t going to get the project done when she wanted it.  Forget about it if she’s going to treat me
like that.

How
did that go over?

It
didn’t, she closed off after that.

Not
a good way to talk to the boss.

Blah
blah blah, yeah.

So
what is familiar about this?

Feeling
disrespected, getting pissed and revengeful, arrogant and defensive.

And
how does that work for you.

Oh
shuttup!

So
now what?  How can we balance back this
instinct?

Ok,
so if it’s a feeling not a fact, I am wanting to be heard and can communicate
to her.  I can clarify the delay–but I’m
so pissed about her attitude.

But
that’s not something you can change.

Ok
ok ok.  So I go back and explain my
emotional reaction and just tell her the facts. 
ARGH.  But I still feel
disrespected and unappreciated!

And
where can you get that feeling of appreciation?

I’m
going to walk around the block and talk to the Trees.

Great.

ktk 2007

“Violent twists . . . misshapen personality.”

Pointed
toenails that rip.

Holes
that leave my feet cold.

Frayed
cloth

Ragged
edges

Patience
worn thin.

Twisting
words and dirty looks like

Buttons
fumbled that finally tumble to the street.

Seams
giving out.

Tender
stitches of promises and vows

Pulled
thin with screams,

Demands
and manipulations

Ripping
us into pieces.

Heels
of the socks melt away

Rubbing
away the tiny threads of friendship

Dissolving
from distraction,

Pouting,
jealousy and silence.

Knife
of drunkenness

Blade
of fierce sarcasm

Scissors
of errant wild waving

Poking
holes into the wool

Catching
silk on the jagged edges of ego.

Raging
against authority by ripping the label off–

Walking
around with a gaping hole in a cashmere sweater–

A
badge of irrational arrogance.

Names
upon

Names
upon

Names
upon

Names:

Tattered
scattered shreds of my unraveled self.

ktk 2007

A needle of a
phone call.

Thread of a
script.

Soft nodding
of a teacher,

She gently
pieces old memories

Weaves through
the frayed edges

Honest desire,
sadness

Tender regret,
calm resolve

She calls and
catches the long lost end of the fabric.

Softly she
pulls the thread of her part.

But it seems
there is such a gaping hole.

How can she
make this new?

The edgy
conversation

Tears and
sighs pull the two sides closer.

Picking up
pieces with truth and listening,

The cloth of
love is slowly mended

A renewed
wardrobe of friendship

Fashioned step
by step,

She tailors a
family again.

ktk 2007

Right, like I could do that.  I do think I’m awake–mostly.  I am always becoming more and more aware from this tunnel-vision human coral reef of beliefs.  Accepting the “gift” of what is going on beyond my control–that’s a regular practice and I constantly am aware [sic] of how unskilled I am.  Or rather, what is it about me that cannot accept the way things are?!?! 

I’m quite an actor, however.  The problem is that I’m improvising on a new script and I keep falling into the lines I learned in the old drama.  Changing the plot from: “It’s your fault that my life is like this,” to “what can I change about me, what can I accept about everything, how the HELL can I take time to pause and discern that difference.”  Ongoing comedy of my life!

To be still and feel the freedom of limitless life–a gift of love from the little me to the BIG Me–I am that I am that I am brilliant beautiful and beloved.