Tag Archives: gratitude

pain and joy got married

14 Aug


Can pain and discomfort glove the hand of plenty bearing gifts?
Joy exists not in spite of but because of obstacles – I assert this morning.
What do we have in the end, after bouts of illness and love, but just ourselves?
And the gift of this self is won in a simple marathon.
Outlasting our every thought, we still exist –
and in the ending miles,
we learn to be there in whatever way we are,
accumulated skeletons,
in need of nothing,
ready for any errand,
sitting in dull evening light,
a raging sunset escaping in rays between our ribs.

place title here

28 Apr

“Well,” said Pooh, “what I like best,” and then he had to stop and think. Because although Eating Honey was a very good thing to do, there was a moment just before you began to eat it which was better than when you were, but he didn’t know what it was called.”
― A.A. MilneWinnie-the-Pooh

The hover before the in breath,

milk ducts in an empty breast,

the stomach: a hallowed out bruise,

an arm contorted every way to ease a throbbing itch,

slack tide’s final pause,

the coyote hamming to the camera in the air just off the cliff,

my attention’s constant hole never empty yet—

Is it the ohm?

Is it those last shivering atoms releasing the reverberation of the gong,

the hum of what was catching up to the trumpet of what will be,

the sway of the air’s almost embrace of the planet’s constant spin?

Let’s linger here, eyes closed, tongues out to catch the first drops.

Not holding our breath,  not rushing it either.


10 Nov

my gut tightens from a sound

angry voices rise outside

peering out the peep hole

giving space to work things out

i’ll check for my mail later


sensing something’s wrong

is the start to make it right

all are welcome here


muscles in the jaw

set our teeth for war in cars

throw away the clock


corners of my eyes

wabi sabi wrinkles

I’m folding into me


all i see is good

always has it been –

just just –

twinkle berry

flower cactus

solo cat

its time for tea


i miss these days already

25 Aug

seeing through to the next pages of the calendar

(as we most certainly do)

gifts us a nostalgic ache

for the things so full in today

that will surely go


landscape and conversation

the food we eat together –

see me

stretched out in a queen bed with my arms flung every way

dwelling in my solitude,

while also missing so soon the extra blanket,

pillows, oxygen so ample for me right now…

I look to the popcorned ceiling

searching for a clue.

in what manner will these things go?

Your hello makes me teary for the encased goodbye within,

the fresh and grooving song becomes old before the first time through,

and august’s heat and sliding sun push heavily on toward frost –

the prophetic plague: that

within each extreme, the opposite can’t help but call for

we cannot escape the tax for taking on this life

there is ache in fulfillment,

a bitter pulse in sweet,

the smell of death in birth.

doors and windows

10 May

I come here

as the officiating observer of this life form,

me, the eyes in the cave behind the waterfall of activity,

who watches impassively –

it is a fact that there are eyes behind

even these so deep into the cave,

only perceive them in my dreams

nevertheless, this is not the point of typing words today

the point is closer along the lines of trust

of openings and closing

of movie reels of life happening

of living through a body so entirely

that the wheel of time allows forgetting

and just being

of reaching out to feel if I have hair


am I still here, as she?

waking in rooms, piecing it all back together

an identity necessary to walk around

to get to work

yet expendable enough to be left on the closet

floor every night, and even more often of late

and still this is not the point either

gather yourself darling

your point,

it seems the point that motivated you

to type at all

was this idea of doors and windows

the clichés of our day that get us through

the idea of rejection –

when we’ve already agreed, nothing real can ever be threatened,

in lesson one

this idea of rejection is not real…

still the slamming door in the face can cause an imaginary sting

enough to make

the body ask, Why me?  or maybe more like, Why not me? 

And tears can be a natural release.

But man have the windows been flying open around here

windows we didn’t even know we had – whole floors

above this single story house are being built –

hear the carpenter hammering away as we talk?

The sky is the window these days.

One momentous slamming door for dear Eden in April

felt, traveled through,

a tumble down stairs

into a bell jar basement cavern,

followed by an attic visit and skylight opening

onto the showers of blessings of possibilities —-

will i ever doubt again?

the blessings in waiting,

dolled out of god’s pocket

candy in the sky

bitter greens in every field

breezes on every back

dorothy’s red shoes

showing that every place

is a home –

and we can fly out from every nest

we’ve ever made,

every moment an open window.

out here

11 Apr

The crispy shells of the rice stalks

stir up

in the breeze,

murmuring as I pass by.

These tall brown ancestors of last year’s crop

stand by to guide the green shoots rising up –

I listen to the rustling

of a whole tribe  –

I am back and they remember me.

I am spending so much time alone

I am learning to hear

way down

for the way

that I am one

yet integral –

all alone, so far away,

yet never by myself,

except when I turn on

the radio of my thoughts

and forget even where I am.

The only togetherness

I long for is this oneness

and I wish to only be

near another

who is listening in this way

to the wind, the pattern in the crickets

as they turn on one by one at dusk.

It is enough to know the gift of aloneness;

it is enough to measure my days

in ways

that suit the sun

the wind

the needs

of no one –

so quietly



in the whole wide world

of me.

we get a little wet

1 Apr

Moved the boat today –

close by,

yet again

life is viewed from a new angle,

more open water, more wind.

Remoteness brings beauty –

inner to outer lane.

My daily doing is now

walk walk walking the body

along long dock fingers

along mud flats

along some Sunfishes at the ready for sailing school

all along I’m freebasing salt air, shameless.

. Along this way I will mark the moon in all phases

and planes making hazes –

dogs barking

cats watching, curled up by rosemary plants –

rolling carts, abandoned for now

past stranger neighbors

who sometimes wave and say hello

some even grin,

washing decks,

sunning, drinking,

standing by children decked out with floating systems.

A British couple residing in the Caymens check in today,

the first ones at the new slip,

arriving later than expected after leaving the hospital,

a sudden urinary infection,

still game for walking walking walking, full of good cheer.

The wind picks up and getting on and off

now a long leg scissor spread over water.

I worry,

but she says,

what is the worse that could happen?

We get wet?

I love this one who sees such circumstances

and lightly goes along – indeed.

Nothing is so bad unless you make it so.

In fact, in contrast, so very much is so very good.

High Holy Day

4 Oct




A body temple

in the woods.

A name  inscribed

in the book

of breezes,

a student of mystery,

only that I wonder

about the sound

of buzzard’s wing feathers

as I surprise him in repose –

that, and I wonder too

about the color of his head

so red,

mirror of

his last meal:




Question for the ages:

how does an alligator hold on

in a current,

his eyes and snout only

above the tide

to take in air,

to surprise his prey?

Need I study anything else?

Sun, moon, hermetic mysteries,

numbers, spirits, places to travel.

I’ve cut my connections with

my sewing sheers,

and set myself adrift

in unknowing,

everywhere there is no seat on the pew.

Who is leading this service?

The minion of trees

are gathered

and versed in the most ancient of prayers

whispered today,

the holies of holy

where their leaves mark

the start of sky.


alligator in the tidal creek

Alligator holding still, can you see him?

I’ve got this

18 Aug

Being born into this world, we step  into an enormous round and spinning clock.

We are timeless, yet we agree to play by the minutes and the hours, the days and years, the rising and falling of tides, the spinning sun and the orbiting moon.  We agree to begin and end, to bumble recklessly into birthing and dying.  We are pulled on by the seasons, the gravity, the breaking down of our matter – you can date our bones, after we are gone and tell when we were animated.  We feel the planets constantly pulling tricks on us with cycles of discomfort and harmony.  We agree to marry change.

Living near the coast is still so cool to me; the breathing of the earth is palpable in the rising and falling of her waters.  The tides were so evident when I lived on a boat.  All day long, my living area was rising or falling, except for those few tender moments at the top or the bottom where all was still for about 30 minutes. Some part of me probably still registers this cycle, deep in a seawater womb within.

When arriving at the beach, I must see where the water is meeting the sand; its position is a lucy goose clock, a conversation starter; is it coming in or going out I set to many walking by?  Most shrug; who cares?  I am blatantly ignoring the phone app for tide schedules, here.  I love the unknowing of such things, yet setting out for a stroll requires this information; at high tide, some parts the beach become inaccessible.  This island is always shifting; where once the beach was eroding, now it may be growing.

Lately, I’ve been feeling the pull of a longer cycle, less daily than the tide, but more seasonal…decennial even.

seasons of life

Tick, tock; where am I now?  Is the tide coming in or going out?

In one small moment,  I see the tides have shifted recently here in the cycling of my life.  I am somewhere new – a new section of the clock countdown of my life as marga.  It has been coming; it was marked on the calendar, but the actual playing out of it, this transition, came in a moment no one saw but me.

As a parent, as the tide is shifting toward adulthood, that movement can be difficult to detect.  Chloe not only has the strings to my heart memorized, she also, at times, can play the notes of a song that shifts the responsibility to me for everything from the chores to her happiness to the meaning of life, overall.  When does it, this life,  become fully hers?

Independence is occurring from the minute breath says GO!  Gradually, gradually, until, whoosh.  Where am I?

We were finishing up our meal of take-out Thai a week or so ago when Chloe became determined that I should watch a tv show that she likes.  We watched the first episode of “House of Cards,” until about 1/2 way through,  when I realized that we had not cleaned up our meal.  

I began to go to the kitchen when Chloe put her hand on my back and said, “I’ve got this.  I want you to just watch the show.”  She cleaned up the kitchen herself.

Why did this small gesture feel so big?

I know at 18 many would say, of course she can clean a kitchen by herself, and yes, she can and does, but it was the way she chose to do it, with love and care that marked some sort of shifting, with her focus, her kindness.

I am full of clichés, today. Might as well finish with a few more – Summer hints of fall. A rising tide lifts all boats. To everything there is a season. Maybe a purpose to everything under heaven, but more likely, every every every thing is an excuse to bring out the ukelele, devil cape, and red pumps, I am inclined to say 🙂

27 minutes

18 Jun


I had a knee-jerk response to what I perceived as strangeness with the robe and waterfall, and wasn’t sure I wanted to post, but this teaching did overlap with some dynamics that were unfolding in my little corner.

After I posted and received a few comments,I became uncomfortable.  I debated about removing the video, but the comments section became full of interesting takes on teachers and words and individual paths…The energy there made me leave this teaching up.  In a 27 minute video, there are many words spoken; some of these words resonate, some now seem discordant to me in a new day and new light.

The part that resonates with me is the concept of sitting deeply within for that is what had been on my small fractal menu lately, a pointing to a  field beyond wanting.  It seems there does come a point when all attainment begins to be seen as nice but still ephemeral in its relation to the core flow.  Attainment and loss are naturally arising in life.  Beyond this cycle, there seems to be an awareness that the self sits with the self in rain and snow, and in tears and ache, and in sun and breeze, and in welling up and lazy stillness, and in booming pain and gentle ease.  The perception of anything is allowed to play through while the self remains, no matter what, come what may.

In light of this sitting with anything that arises, sorrow or joy – I sit with the moment of posting this video and the moment of moving on.  I sit with ones who will listen and respond to me with open hearts without judgement.  I sit with myself when I am full of ideas and when I can empty myself out of these ideas.  It is saturday morning, the 21st, solstice, and a particularly clear and simple bird song is coming through my window with the morning light – that sun light that will illuminate my corner of the world for a longest day of the year.  Love to you who venture here.

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