Absorbing Absorption and Reflection

As I stood and gazed upon the street light beaming down upon the fresh snow fall, I was struck by the difference of the earth. Were not the snow there, only the stream of light would be seen and the earth would be shadowed in contours of black.  But with the snow, the earth reflected back the light and shadows now were hues of blue not black.  Absorption and reflection and yet one light, one earth.

And from such reverie I thought of my breath. The inhale as the earth, drawing in, absorbing, growing inward with the nourishment like the roots of trees.  The exhale, reflecting the light drawn in, extending outward and upward like the trees that are visible to our eyes.  My exhale moves upward through the earth, reaching outward, creating and changing space and time. It is presence. 

Absorption and reflection.  Sweet mercy, may the trees I exhale, the reflection I gift, be wide spanned branches of love.

Old Soul's Embrace

The soul's deepened sigh flutters and lands upon the small heart.  Awakened touch throbs in her whispered embrace.

Gnarled and lifeless how old are their souls? How long have they stood in their splendored green dance and then  the stillness of standing unmasked?

How deep the roots to hold them still. Does life still flow and only the mask is removed? If you cut them would they bleed?

Upon the earth's loom the standing threads call. My spine against the old soul's spine. The soul's deepened sigh and quivered touch caresses spine against spine.  Awakened touch throbs in her whispered embraced.  Gnarled and lifeless how old are our souls? Sitting unmasked we are encircled by splendored green grass. The answer is yes, we will bleed. We will stand.

To Breathe the Dawn

The night held on to the ecstasy of dawn waiting to release. They danced as the hush of the darkness surrender quivered in the yielding.  The wind danced through the trees like ocean waves in the distance. In quiet stillness my eyes closed, my body anticipating the touch. Her footsteps drew closer, my breath slowed awaiting her arrival.  At last, the touch pushed against my body.  I inhaled the wind. Her coolness chilled my lungs. The freshness of her breath filled with the fragrance of all the leaves she had touched filled my heart.  And when I could inhale no more, I released my breath.  Exhaling, Life and my soul gave birth to a new breath, that of my heart joined with the Wind and accepted into the sweet Hands of Life. Opening my eyes I saw the dawn's blush and sighed to think that the wind now carried our breath through the trees, to touch nature and life with the whisper'd  exhale of 'Peace.'

Gilligan's Three Hour Tour

A riddle - how many times does a hiker have to pass a bench - gracefully placed on a mountain path- before they realize they are lost and going in circles?


Answer - at least four and I smile.

A new path and mountain to hike. An hour to enjoy the quiet solitude of new.  Three hours later - and four passes of the bench - I realized I was lost, had lost the path and no one knew where I was. Not even myself-specifically, that is. I stood pondering which way to go, began singing softly the theme song to Gilligan's Island - emphasizing the chorus .... "A three hour tour."  


Turning I saw the tree growing out of the mountain ledge, my sigh of wonder and awe replacing the song. Turning once again I saw the road. No path to the road, but the road was there. I thanked the tree and plowed my way down the mountain to the road. Sometimes I get so caught in the journey I do not notice I am lost and going in circles.  It is when I still myself that I can see the strength. In seeing the strength I can find the road and return.

Maybe Nike is right

Perhaps the losses have taken their toll, or the solitude too long. But do you not, just maybe, perhaps, even for a moment agree that at some point you have to stop reading, stop visualizing and maybe even stop believing.... and just get up and do it? 


I watch the Qi Gong instructor, on the DVD, standing by a river in a forest, the yoga instructor on the ocean beach, I read of the need to reconnect to nature and feel her heart beat synchronized with our own. Simple things. Gratitude. Quietness. Letting the monkey mind take a nap. Breathing and awareness. Don't you think at some point, you have to stop watching and become the picture itself?


Perhaps I am more odd than I thought, but the answer I got was 'yes.' And so to the lake I went, away from all others.  Beneath the sun, getting ready to kiss the moon good night, upon her heated mattress of rocks, I laid down and stretched my body. One has to relax to feel the rock's softness.  When my senses were filled, my body soaked in the sun, I stood and pretended to be the Qi Gong instructor, and pushed my hands to heaven.

Quivered stretch

A simple stretch , standing outside, the sun's fingers barely reaching for the moon-a breath kiss. Lacing my fingers, so my thumbs touch and with palms up, lifting my arms upwards as I gaze through the heart formed by my thumbs.  I could feel and see my arms quivering as they stretched upward. I did not think my body that weak. As the sun stretched higher painting the blush, I also continued to stretch, gazing through the heart formed by my hands. A gentle whisper, carried by the birds posed a question - "why do you think it 'weakness' when you reach and your vision is through the heart, and you feel it quivering and becoming alive?"

Giving back

Nature has her own music.  I have heard her chorus of pine trees and ocean waves singing, the tympani of the wind, the baritone frogs and alto crickets, and of course, her birds. Even her silence resonates.  I do not need an iPod when walking in nature. 

Today, for some reason, I took my iPod.  Climbing the hill and walking between the rocks I spilled and the trees, twice the ear plugs were pulled from my ears.  I am slow sometimes.  With a wonder, I took the earphones off and let the soft music float between the pines and firs, the stumps and cactus, the purple bell flowers and the red blooms so soft nestled in the cactus thorns.  And like a painter with broad brush strokes, I weaved my way as the music floated and danced. 

Seems so little I have to offer,moments when I could give something back to nature.  And when my walk was done, the music silent, the birds returned to singing and nature returned the song upon the breeze.

Life on the fly

The delicate dance of life.

Feathered bark upon a tree

New life waiting to unfold

Life on the fly, a momentary pause.