Melt

I realized 

one day

I could

melt

and bend 

with

time

I could 

change

silently

in

a thousand 

years

or 

instantaneously.

 

A sizzling red 

can become 

a soft white

Rolling waves

and curly winds

can be solid

while wild storms

and 

hot caresses 

can

whisper

what once

they were

or are

now

Offering

my skin

a drink

of 

the night

to come

and the

coolness

of the morning too

I too

hold

a history

a 

future light

a place

in

wild now

Only Love is Real * Perspective 3

Jacob loved that his walk was so silent. As a matter of fact he considered it a super power. He could enter a room undetected like a spy, unlike Sally who’s paws slipped all over the place. Even more ridiculous, her tongue was always hanging out. Yet she was always good for a laugh and you had to admire that nose of hers.

Something odd was going on. They both could smell it in the air. Changes that made their ears twitch.

Jacob jumped on the top shelf above the cook books and watched Adam put his dish away. It was odd to have Adam home at this time of day, he was usually at the shop, normally Jacob only got to spend an hour or so with him in the evening. Today was a luxury. A soft purr vibrated through him at the realization that home felt like home today. As soon as Adam went to rest on the couch, Jacob planned to warm that chest of his, until he felt the soothing and steady rhythm return to Adam’s breath. Yes, he would do that, if Adam ever stopped washing his hands.

*

Sally whined. A soft whistle. Adam dried his hands and turned towards Sally, “Ok girl. Lets go pee” Sally didn’t really need to pee, but she thought Adam could use a walk. He seemed so restless and trapped. She would show him the night sky and stars. Maybe she could teach him to smell spring under the melting snow. She would run in circles to make him laugh. She loved it when he laughed. It reminded her of a sneeze. Then she would give him a stick to throw. He needed to move, something inside of Adam needed to move. Sally spun in circles around Adams legs as he tried to put her collar on. “Come on Sally! Stay still”

Sally paused and sniffed the air. Yes, something inside of Adam needed to move and heal.

On the window ledge Jacob watched Adam and Sally walk away into the night. Each keeping pace with the other. The light surrounding them becoming one.

Jacob hopped down and made his way to the couch, he would wait there until they returned. He knew Adam would go to wash his hands again. It was new, this constant hand washing, and took more time than usual.

Jacob approved.

He practiced his most silent pounce, landing on the couch with grace. He lifted his paw and began his own cleaning, a long leisurely process he thoroughly enjoyed.

Image: Avril Haynes

Only Love Is Real * Perspective 2

Her closet was jam packed with clothes to make an impact. She had worked hard on this closet. Who she was, and how she expressed herself was on each hanger and shelf. Elena picked out a dress and held it up to her form and stared into the mirror. This totally sucked. If she couldn’t go out, there seemed to be no point to all these clothes. Bullshit. She was pissed. 

In the room next door, she heard her daughter Alina’s small feet padding across the wooden floor. Why was she not in the living room with the rest of the family? She wondered if her daughter was sad too. Damn, she felt at a total loss. How could she explain what was happening to the world? She herself had no idea. She walked to the window, her eyes landing on the old apple tree she climbed in as a child.

“Wasn’t the adult supposed to have the answers?”

In her bedroom, young Alina waited for the sparrow who kept a nest in the tree right by her window.She wanted to tell the bird she would brush her Mom’s hair tonight to cheer her up.

Separated by a wall, woman and child stared out of their windows, one noticing the nest for the first time, the other knew it’s first twig. As each momentarily forgot the world, Mother and daughter began breathing in a synchronized melody of accord, an ancient rhythm written together in the womb of the hearts.

*

If there was one thing Steven always prided himself on, it was his ability to remain in control. And now here he was, having to admit he didn’t know everything, all day long. Shit, couldn’t even use his brisk and efficient handshake during introductions to the new nurses. He was left to make eye contact, which he hated.

Marcus removed his surgical mask , his clothes and turned the shower on full. Steam filled the bathroom as he stepped under the stream of water and shut the stall door.

In the fog of the bathroom mirror, spirit Arthur beheld his son with love, through the glass he could clearly see the water running down Stevens drawn face. ‘Water, please do your best and soothe my son. ‘

Steven almost hiccuped an inhale into the misty cocoon of fog. Damn, he felt so weak when he cried.

Arthur wishes he could tell him everything would be ok, that not knowing would be his greatest teacher of heart. But that would take away from the wisdom.

So he dispersed into the steam, to be inhaled by his son. An offering of love and apology.

*

Above the spirits sighed too, as a narrow path broke in the fog over the earth. It seeped in, like a small vein of life in space. As if an ancient heartbeat was being found. And memories of something long cherished was returning ever so slowly into the oxygen supply below.

*Image: Christian Schloe, Time to fly

Only Love Is Real *. Perspective 1

Some spirits witnessed the scenes of the day with a star’s eye view, others chose to sit within the earthly bounds. Watching as the people stumbled and faltered to a halt, stunned as if they were suddenly held by some invisible hand that could grasp the whole planet in it’s palm.

The life they had been acting in, day in day out had been put on a pause. A pause to bring back something precious.

A gift not of stagnancy, but of a rejuvenating stillness to awaken the soul…would they remember how to be?

…the spirits gathered, to witness the awakening. Time moved just as it always had. Yet earthly human perception sat in its puzzle.

Adam stood at his kitchen window, mindlessly washing his plate. His gaze found his own reflection in the glass. The outer city lights framed his frown of confusion. He sighed and his belly grumbled in time with a volcano far away. 

“what do I do now? I have been standing at my cash register for years, it’s all i know, what am I supposed to do if I don’t work?”

A seven year old Alina sat on her bed and smiled. She could hear her family in the next room. She had snuck away for a moment, only to stretch her face into this odd and full feeling of elation. It felt nice to be home, yet she almost felt guilty about that. The two feelings combined made her squeeze herself tight. She didn’t like school. She always felt stupid there, and trapped. She suddenly felt free. Never had she known a time where games would be played together, all together. This made her happy. Was that ok? Outside her window, the seed of a flower pushed a root outward, shifting the soil.

Karen reached her hand out to grasp the cool pole and the train shifted in its journey. She was going to keep moving as long as she could. Who the hell wanted to stay in? What was the point of stopping to think? Whatever was going to happen, well, its was going to happen anyway, right? She had no power over it. The train lurched and stopped. As she stepped onto the frozen snow her foot left an impression that altered the cold earth. Each step leaving a mark behind her.

Sweat beaded on Juan’s forehead. He grabbed a towel and dabbed his face. “This is not so bad” A fever can be a good thing. I needed a little detox. He listened to his family whisper from the porch, and then snort in laughter. He smiled as if he was just given a precious gift. He recalled his own childhood and blessed this illness for bringing an easy afternoon back to him. A breeze floated through the window, touching his face and the outline of his sigh. His sigh held a thousand kisses of life and a thousand more to come. Healing was at hand.

...to be continued.

*image: Christian Schloe

MAGIC IN THE AIR

It began the way a lot of things on earth do, in the belly of the earth or body, waiting to show life again and again.
Or perhaps, the true beginning came long long ago. In a dream offered by a sigh in time. 
It rippled and rained until it appeared in form.
The place was chosen to show its incarnation. A gorge and mountains of wilds heights, birthing the most delicate of beings that hug close to the earth, sprouting from the rocks and streams.
Not many humans live here, most are bowed and fused forward with age, speaking their mind sharply if you try to capture them with any modern tools that keep their image. They prefer to be a moment in time kept quiet.
What is magic? Well. We know. It caused us to whisper, to cry, to sweat, oh and to laugh hysterically. It surprised us with its simple truth. It woke us with its swirling rhythm. It brought us home, to us. Daily it asked us to look in the eye with understanding and kindness. Such a look that it almost turns into a solid as its healing ripples through the cells with rightness.
We took to the river, to let the river show us it’s ever changing route. You imagined the rocks would cause an accident, but the raft twisted and turned a circle, and out we came to continue and gurgle our way back into the crystal blue. Why did we think it was so hard to move forward?
When had we forgotten that we were being held?
The sun sparkled and blew colors for us in the air, across the water and through each leaf. It lit our hair and eyes and wrapped our shoulders in warmth. Is she really so far away?
We drew the arrow back and aimed at our target. Our third eye already imagining the thunk of arrival. Time folding in half. Action to completion. Manifestation. Alchemy. 

We sweat, we twisted and endured. We sweat again. Burning energy like the sun. The river inside of us being pumped by our incredible heart. To rest with the sound of your own breath at the end of a practice, to sense a tear rolling across your temple, creating a delicate path into your hair. Oh my we are so strong, so delicate like this gorge we are held by.

As the week goes on we merge into one. Dinner becomes a loud affair with gusto. We are hungry! Bring the food, bring the wine! By now everyone in town knows us. The yogis who you sometimes hear howling from the building below. Yet they are quite funny, so lets go talk to them.
Bravery was there every day. Love grew, wider and wilder too. What we found or remembered from a sigh in time we cherish and offer back as we all return home. We thank the whispers of the gorge, the leaning of the tree, the evening barks of the dogs, morning songs of birds, the grace of the river and the stories of our ancestors resting in our breath, awakening to care for us each time we ask.
Thank you Thank you. Magic in the Air   

A MORNING POEM FOR YOU

A morning poem for you. 

Senses. 

Touch lovingly, 

hold and cherish

Be rocked

and squeezed by love.

Welcome a warm palm

wrapped around your hand.

Truly listen

only to understand

the voice of the heart

To know the lilt 

of love.

Taste to know

the colors

of nourishment

Kiss to love

the flavor

of vulnerability

See movement.

Shadow by light.

Become aware

of peripheral vision

the view around the corner

or stand close

to the eyes you love. 

Inhale the aromas

of mood

and time.

Or notice the

old weathered hands

of the family grands,

Who have become 

roots in your stories. 

By you. 

Pull in today's air

tree bark or sea,

new leaf

or the glory

of it's last days.

So many spices 

romancing with time.

Sense there is more.

Always more.

THE PURITY OF BEING

I was so struck with this artwork by Christian Schloe. It felt so familiar that I wanted to write to you. 

One of my favorite meditations I sometimes call ‘third eye meditation’, which for me means to still my mind so that my soul can bring forward sensations, images and insights that are many times beyond my knowledge or present thought state. 

Think of your energy when you sit down in a cinema and the room goes dark. You move into a state that is quiet and ready to receive. It’s time for you to do nothing but observe. It’s something like that. In meditation what is experienced is not on a screen but everywhere, including inside of you.

My joy in engaging with life outside of physical perception came with practice. 

I remember the first time I tried, I sat very still, consciously aware of straightening my spine and sitting with legs folded, yet I shifted now and then to ease my back or knees. As uncomfortable as I sometimes felt, I had no doubt this was what I wanted to do and I sat day after day. What did I feel? See? Very little, mainly lots of blackness. Yet what I also felt was love. I didn’t know if it came only from me, or if it was in the air. Wherever and whomever it was it calmed me and wrapped me in a way that followed me through my day. 

It occurred to me one day that my own soul, or any spiritual energy for that matter would not be concerned if I had the perfect sitting posture.  This was not a school about human conditioning or rules, this was about things beyond form. 

From that time on I made myself comfortable. Sometimes I sat in the center of my yoga mat, other times I curled on the couch with pillows surrounding me in a cocoon, on a beautiful day I chose early evenings on my balcony. If I felt like it, I walked to the top of a hill to close my eyes and breathe. It trusted what felt right. Many early mornings I rested comfortably in bed, and as I woke out of sleep I went right into energetic listening. Energy is very open to offering wisdoms. How I knew this I didn’t know. Yet I was certain. It was me who was learning how to hear, and I was learning that sometimes information just appeared in my mind. 

The first image I saw came while I sat on a wooden chair with my eyes closed, suddenly a pink rose appeared, floating in the midst of nothing. It was folded tight and began to open in front of me. Yet what absorbed me was that although I was  still me, I was also those petals, so soft and delicate I was almost a liquid. The flower filled me somehow, and as if some lightbulb turned on I realized how I loved I am. I cried.  

That small vision probably lasted thirty seconds of my meditation, yet had an infinite effect. That is how love is. 

Through the years I have become better at listening to the universe and soul energy. Sometimes I feel my own soul embracing me, or watching me through time, other moments I feel the souls of everyone I have ever loved, those in human form and those who have passed on, I may even feel a hand on my shoulder or a hand in my hand.  I feel their absolute goodness behind every error, I know their soul.  Often I feel the life of the stars themselves or a bird in the air. 

We can all feel energy. And it’s so simple. It is not about sending out anything, or doing anything. It’s similar to energy of a baby, from that pure place where life is only about taking it in, where judgement and conditioning do not exist and you are openly sensing everything. To embody presence and faith. 

Choose some music if you like, about 5-20 minutes long. Something soothing. If you are inside a room light a candle to soften and center you. 

Now choose a comfortable place for yourself and close your eyes. Feel your own aura surrounding you, maybe it will feel like a bright cloud that changes shape now and then. Maybe you cannot feel it at first, thats totally fine too. ( Its not what life has been teaching you so far so it may be perfect to not know) Tell your aura only pick up and hold onto positive energy and let the rest bounce off and become light. Your energy hears you. 

( let your imagination help you at first) 

Simply intend the words in your minds eye, I am here to listen to my soul and guides. Feel the space between your eye brows and imagine the energy in front of it softening. This is like your little movie screen opening for the film to begin. 

Learn to let go of expectations. Each of us are unique and sensations vary. Just be and let that be everything. 

When the song finishes begin to sense your aura once again, a protective and loving force just for you. Also sense your third eye and imagine a soft hand ( maybe the hand of a grandparent or someone you loved)  covering it for a moment, almost like it is offering healing to let it relax again. 

Become aware of your breath moving in your body, slowly rising and falling. After some moments,  gently open your eyes. 

Be. 

Much love, 

Lucy

WATER

The water fell from the sky

through time

and space

to nourish the earth

and be absorbed 

and changed

Sometimes

it floated as a white dust

to be melted 

into liquid as it touched

a solid 

As a solid

it held a coldness

that brought

soothing relief 

healing

freshness 

or bitter sharpness,

a whitening freeze

Some chose to enter

water, to float and be

surrounded in its game

with gravity

or to swim in its 

mystery

a depth to be explored

or feared

or inspired by

its offerings of 

liquid space

Water flowed through 

time, slowly changing

the shape of the planet

It turned the world 

into colors

and offered growth

a molding of shapes

in slow motion

In time, It rose again 

into the atmosphere

invisible to be seen

by the eye

yet felt by a cheek

Returning again and again

as a drop of magic

falling to the earth

You too, my dears

Are water.

Lucy

I AM HERE

I am like a child sometimes. A child who is jumping up and down as she watches you on your birthday as you open a present. She is jumping because she knows what's inside and knows you will love it. 

I am like a child sometimes. A child who is reading Harry Potter for the second time and is glowing because I know he is going to be ok. 

I am like a child sometimes. Because I won’t understand all your words, they will blur together in my head but your voice will ring true to me and I will know just how you feel. The color changes of your skin as you feel will entrance me and your silence speaks so loud. 

I am like a child sometimes, I cry at sadness and anger. I understand your tender heart. Yet I am so resilient and know you are too, so I will keep whispering to you...offering you eyes to see wider into truth. 

If you like, on a hard day, I will be your grandma and extend my maternal fingers out to fix your hair and soothe your sore heart. 

Sometimes just a soft hand on your belly will do, just to rest and recognize your inhale and exhale. So light it reminds you of love.

I love. 

CLEANSING HADES

Every July and August the ancient island filled with a myriad of tourist in search of glamour and abandonment. (It wondered if they knew how she toned down her beauty at this time of year). Her land turned brown and dry and the sky dimmed its blueness in response. Yet the bright light was ever present, always exposing each crevice and wild curve. Everything somehow looked like a fantasy in Mykonos. A trick from the joker above, though many humans thought it was their doing. 

The rock groaned with the added weight, yet held it all with God like strength. The rumble of planes riding across its back. The pounding of music reverberating its cement covered land. Tourists moving along its streets like army ants sensing sweets nearby. Cars screeching, horns beeping in order pass each other in an effort to be first, there always seemed to be a mad rush. 

This is what saddened the island, that odd density that filled the air. A thick energy that felt like Hades was nearby.

Yet the island was clever. Every July and August, the island asked the wind to free her of this heaviness, to clean the air and its people.
And the wind came, as friends do.
To wildly tickle the small trees and fields and make the aegean roar with laughter.
On some days the energy on the island was so thick the wind rushed in with force. A wild whipping that shook the shutters and caused the birds to swerve and curse. Yet all knew it was for the best. 

The island grinned, and dreamt of September.

RESEMBLING LIGHT

Katerina woke, yet kept her eyes closed. She needed to pee. Her sigh held resignation.  She never made it through the night now without needing to pee.  Her eyes opened and she looked towards her front door. She must have fallen asleep in her chair while knitting again. Well, at least it would be easy to get up. Her knees were not what they used to be, years of walking  over cobblestones and mountains had once made her muscles firm, now the bumpy corners of her bones were stiff, swollen and gravely. She thought how she resembled this dry island more with each passing day and smiled at the idea.

The small, dark room still smelled of the herb tea she sipped earlier. An infusion of warm comfort taught to her by her Yaya in this very same house. She inhaled the magic deeply as she leaned forward and with chubby brown fingers braced on the chair’s arms,  pushed herself to standing and moved slowly to the door.

She leaned against the front door and felt the vibration of music, a rhythm that seemed to intensify with each beat, drunken laughter and squeals accompanied the sounds. She lifted the metal latch and opened her door a crack. 

In just that small line of open space her house became a part of the disco just down her little lane, colored spinning lights floated into her living room and upon her chair, her knitting needles twinkled. She remembered opening this door as a child, when the moon was bright and the island was silent. In her girlhood she could hear the moon whisper. 

There was no choice, she would have to step out in her nightgown. Grabbing her shawl tightly in front of her, Katerina stepped out into her narrow lane, quickly maneuvering herself past the night’s partiers. Imagining herself invisible as she opened the next blue door to relieve herself. 

There was a time when this little room down the lane seemed so modern. 

The stones felt the slow rhythm of Katerina’s feet. It had known these feet for many, many years now. Recorded the print of her since the day she was born. It cherished how she once flew through the ally ways and down to the sea on a summers day, her feet slapping hard against warm rocks with a rush of aliveness and roars of laughter. How many nights as a teen had she spent looking up at the sky? Ah, her secret night kisses and embraces. Her grieving goodbyes to loved ones yet open door and arms to strangers. She owned kindness and the island felt humbled to hold her. Yet tonight she felt almost invisible.  The earth and rock comforted itself. Katerina’s essence was forever recorded in the stones and air. Knowing her, she would always be whispering humorous thoughts into the human minds as they lost themselves in the maze of cobbled streets.

Katerina looked quite lovely tonight with her silver hair falling, thought the moon. She was beginning to resemble light. How wonderful. She must be on her way soon. How she would laugh to see Mykonos from here.

HUGE

Operations and chemo had left him weak and had not had the results intended. He was pissed.

As I entered the room to meet him, he sized me up. He took in my messy blond hair half tied in a knot, my colorful dress and my flip flops. Not very business like, but very me. He was polite enough not to roll his eyes yet his expression held great irritation at the thought of sitting through a “breath work” session. I could hear the inner dialogue. “What the hell is breath work anyway? What was the point of all this?” I didn't blame him one bit. I could not deny it, this sucked. 

Call it breath work or rebirth breath work. I have heard all the jokes. “Oh! Will I be RE born? Haha. Will I?” “You want me to breathe for an hour? Oh I don't think I want to do that.” 

It’s part of how we live these days, that makes simply breathing, or openly talking about ourselves feel incredibly awkward. Why would you want to review the ups and downs of your life?  Yet that is exactly what I was about to ask this man to do. 

To open his heart to a stranger. 

I pulled up a chair and he sat on the bed, feet on the floor facing me. Legs crossed, arms crossed and eyes stern in an energy lock down. Slow, concentrated exhales streamed from his nostrils in an attempt to hold his “fed up” in check. 

I began simply by telling him about me and my life. The ups and downs that led me to what I do and how I think. I talked clearly with facts only. This was not a man who wanted to hear about intuitive thinking. I understood. Then I asked about his illness, followed by his job. He was a retired math professor, the keeper of rules, the one you looked to for vindication of your worth. 

I listened to him talk, I heard the monotone stories and the ones that made him offer bored and tired sighs, others that pulled inhales deeper into his being. 

I attempted to mention his breath, and how it was effected by his stories. He shrugged, considering it a possibility.

We went to his childhood, to times of strictness and the learning of life’s book of ‘correctness’ according to man. Life in a New England town. There was an almost invisible change to his eyelids as he mentioned his father, who was once a musician. Admiration and an echo of a child crept into the base of his throat and the tone of his voice owned curiosity and freedom.  

What an honor it is to listen to life stories, to listen to a heart opening, cracking, wrenching, blooming, inspiring… To offer truth and have it returned, even when it doesn't feel pleasant. It holds a sense of energy clearing and true validity beyond good or bad. It’s soul centering.

He awkwardly lied down, shy in his resting pose. Yet brave and polite enough to give it a chance. We added some pillows to prop him up, to try to comfort the constant growing pain in his belly. 

“What will we do now?”

We breathe, inhale followed by an exhale. Simple. Just loose that pause between the two. Create a circle. 

Resistance slowed us, he said. “ This doesn't feel good. I feel odd” 

It can feel that way at first. Focusing on the self, breathing life fully can make you dizzy and scared. 

I thought of an image to help him relax.  I asked him to picture his father’s hands, his fingers as he played trumpet. His inhale caught and his cheeks brightened with a rush of feeling. The rhythm of breath became a circle, joining the universe in its spinning. A current all its own as it connected all life. 

I felt myself drifting into the distance of his awareness, as he felt his father. As he felt everything.

Tears. 

I sat

Quiet.

Watching love. 

Time moved.

After a time he said

“Oh!” 

What is it? How do you feel? 

“I feel, oh. I feel tingly and well, happy. There is no pain at all. I feel no pain just… I am huge. My um energy? It’s huge! Oh wow” More tears.

“Can I stay here a while?” 

Oh Yes. Lets. I put my hand to rest on his shoulder and we hung out in peace.