Where Did My Little One Go?

Where Did My Little One Go?

Where did my little one go?

Intense struggling one moment, gone the next.

An empty body lies there,

My sweet one gratefully freed her Self.

 

Covered now with a clean brown towel,

Lying on her soft oversized cushion,

I drag the bed to my room,

Our pack together, our last night.

 

God never made this world of impermanence.

I am assured repeatedly Source loves us.

Would a caring God create a world of immeasurable pain and loss,

Where we lose everything we love?

 

No, my Creator is never cruel,

Eternal Gentleness, Eternal Life

Death unknown,

Our Source is pure Joy and Love.

 

Chichi is the brindled Chihuahua mix. She arrived in my life March 5th, 2010 from a shelter. When I bent down to connect with her for the first time I was surprised with a french-kiss and she was obviously destined to be mine! I realized quickly this little lover greeted most people in her intimate fashion. Foxee arrived six months later to provide Chichi a companion when I was working in the prenatal clinic or was serving overnight at the medical center. I hadn’t suspected July 4th, 2017 would be her independence day from an ailing body. She departed 11:28pm.

Photograph by Joy Porter of windingroadsimagery.com was taken on the sandy banks of the South Fork of the Yuba earlier in summer.

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Wake Up!

Wake Up!

“Wake up,” inside nudges

A column of Dark Empty Light within.

Some fear such subtle things

They are Power True, they are my Home.

 

Spirit’s precious pre-dawn gift

I surrender to it,

Or maybe just focus

Remember it?

 

I sit on my dusky lavender pillow

A sick dog drugged sleeps at my side.

Soft light gently begins seeping in,

“Open your eyes,” the nudging whispers.

 

The trees are in love with me!

Quietly ecstatic she has awoken.

Sweetness dances,

I remember who they are!

 

The world would say a breeze

Moved their sensuous union,

Science not my God,

We know what is true.

 

July 4th, 2017. May all remember we are free.

Pale Moon of Honey

Pale Moon of Honey

A grief wave unbidden washes through,

Having been shared by a dear one’s wise heart.

Sorrow too much to bear on our own,

I reach for others to help carry this moist load.

 

Wending into the near night,

Amongst my ever present  friends- the tall trees,

Listening deeply to the gentle rustling forest through the wind,

Separation melts, we are one.

 

A full moon of pale honey bathes us all,

Sweet and quiet light soothes my open soul,

My sweetheart walks with me,

As promised not that long ago.

 

Today, June 7th is my partner’s birthday. When he was healthy and strong we often walked with our dogs in the forest where we live. As he lay in his hospital bed dying two days before his transition we shared a private moment undisturbed. With my grief-laden voice I asked, “Will you walk with the dogs and I?” He looked into my teary eyes and replied with one definite word, “Always”.

 

White Sand

f6zfrd5vmiflllhv0hkaWhite sand was all that remained.

Settled into the folds of that rock eddy,

Small flowers whirled away into the river,

I washed bits of ash into the spring snowmelt.

 

White sand.

If someone came by,

They would never know,

This was your last resting place on Earth.

 

Now you were rushing ecstatically,

Towards the Great Bay,

Towards the Golden Gate,

Headed for Home.

America, “Wake Up NOW!”

America, “Wake Up NOW!”

I know, I know
If you could go back you
would walk with Jesus
You would march with King
Maybe assassinate Hitler
At least hide Jews in your basement
It would all be clear to you
But people then, just like you
were baffled, had bills
to pay and children they didn’t
understand and they too
were so desperate for normalcy
they made anything normal
Even turning everything inside out
Even killing, and killing, and it’s easy
for turning the other cheek
to be looking the other way, for walking
to be talking, and they hid
in their houses
and watched it on television, when they had television,
and wrung their hands
or didn’t, and your hands
are just like theirs. Lined, permeable,
small, and you
would follow Caesar, and quote McCarthy, and Hoover, and you would want
to make Germany great again
Because you are afraid, and your
parents are sick, and your
job pays shit and where’s your
dignity? Just a little dignity and those kids sitting down in the highway,
and chaining themselves to
buildings, what’s their fucking problem? And that kid
That’s King. And this is Selma. And Berlin. And Jerusalem. And now
is when they need you to be brave.
Now
is when we need you to go back
and forget everything you know
and give up the things you’re chained to
and make it look so easy in your
grandkids’ history books (they should still have them, kinehora)
Now
is when it will all be clear to them.

—Danny Bryck

Posted with permission.  Thank you Danny.

Thank you to Joel Jody Curry who forwarded this to me.

I grieve for my nation

I grieve for my nation

I grieve.

This is my holy work.

Grieving.

 

I grieve for the devastation of our forests, the poisoning of our waters, the desecration of this air and the heartless extinction of so many precious creatures.

I grieve for people lauded as “intelligent and educated” who propagate insane suffering each and every day.

I grieve for the greed that turns employees into depressed automatons while many corporations destroy small businesses and the fabric of our families and communities.

I grieve for the shortsighted foreign policies that insure a steady stream of terrorists motivated to attack us.

I grieve for the horrific bombs we drop that traumatize an entire nation homeless so we will have oil to fuel our unsustainable lifestyles.

I grieve for my country that has been on a moral downslide since I was young.

 

My nation has been cruel and inhumane from its origin.

We slaughtered millions upon millions of gracious and brave people who thrived in harmony with Earth,

Sustainable tribes who extended themselves with love to keep the starving Europeans alive.

 

We ripped the strongest Africans from their families and continent,

Packing them as animals into dark, airless hulls.

Humiliating them, exhausting them, raping them and we murdered so many.

Why are they so angry? Why do they hate and attack us?

 

This unbalanced, violent white male culture,

Destroys beauty and life wherever it goes,

Incredulously labels it “progress”, “success” and “growth”.

Unrestricted growth is cancer, don’t we know that?

 

I grieve for a nation that felt so desperate and hopeless,

That a mean, small-minded megalomaniac could impress them with a 58 story steel phallus,

While spewing hatred, bigotry and the most outrageous of lies.

Can you believe there are citizens who think his predatory behavior towards women cool?

 

I don’t believe in the Devil

But if I did, this crude monster would be his ready pawn.

 

I grieve for the more than million women ripe with child sliced open year after year in my country alone,

Women deceived into believing their bodies must be inherently defective,

So many frightened of pregnancy and birth,

Forgetting they were made to conceive and bear children in wildness and love.

 

I grieve for the growing insanity and derangement that surrounds us.

Why are the rates of addiction, disease, mental illness and even suicide escalating?

This is inevitable for those who have no respect for the Feminine,

Those who can only imagine their Creator as male.

 

The Tower (XVI) is the 16th trump card in most Italian-suited Tarot decks. This card follows immediately after “the devil” card in all decks that contain it. The Tower is associated with sudden, disruptive and potentially destructive change. The image depicted above is from the 1909 Rider-Waite tarot deck. (1)

Mr. Trump’s original German family name was Drumpf which they changed upon immigrating to the US. The new name has grander and more triumphant connotations, while the name “Drumpf” sounds uninspiring to the American ear (2) and reminds me of the seven dwarfs. The English translation of the German word Drumpf is trump card. This makes sense given the man’s heavy involvement with gambling enterprises. (3)

 

References

1. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Tower_(Tarot_card)

2. https://www.quora.com/Where-did-the-term-Drumpf-come-from-and-what

3. io/news/the-meaning-of-donald-trumps-name-and-surname

 

Honoring the Mother on Christmas

Honoring the Mother on Christmas

I was raised a strict Catholic and therefore familiar with the Divine Mother’s appearance outside of Mexico City in 1531. She spoke to the humble native man she had chosen to be her messenger in his language of Nahuatl. Although intellectually I knew that Mary, the mother of Jesus, was Jewish still deep in me she was Catholic. I have come to believe she was a highly evolved being and clearly was a mystic. The celebration of her appearance, miracles and healings are celebrated in Mexico as a national holy day with masses and elaborate festivities each year. A unique tradition is the torch bearing runners seen on the thoroughfares throughout the country on December 12th.

 

I had planned to publish this poem on the twelfth but circumstances intervened. Now posting on Christmas makes sense since Christianity, as well as most other major religions, highlight the Divine as male. It is obvious to me that this world needs a resurgence of female qualities such as receptivity, empathy, nurturing,  devotion, patience and radiance. These attributes will lessen the massive suffering caused by the eons of domination by the masculine’s negative qualities such as arrogance, aggression, insensitivity and violence. The survival of the human race is actually dependent on us making this shift.

“She is not Catholic”, the wild-haired shaman announced.

Of course!

The Great Virgin is not Catholic I realized,

What does that archaic term even mean?

 

You are not Catholic!

You came to end the Aztec’s sacrifice of humans

Including many a infant,

Which can never be holy.

 

You came to stop the Catholic

massacre of a deeply religious people.

Missionaries forcing their beliefs and traditions on them

So Spaniards could worship at the altar of greed.

 

The indigenous survivors called out to their Divine Mother Tonantzin.

The soldiers to their Blessed Woman.

 

Distressed by the sobbing of her children,

Rivers of blood having soaked the precious Earth,

You came to a poor Indian at Tepeyac

An ancient native site dedicated to their Goddess of Compassion.

 

Juan Diego was pure enough to perceive you.

 

Again and again you dispatched this simple middle-aged peasant

To the bishop

Until he got it through his sophisticated and educated head,

Who you were and what you needed from him.

 

Your love is vaster than all of the oceans, Great Mother of Tenderness.

Su amor es gentle and unimaginably deep.

The Indians needed their Goddess’ protection and

The church was forced to acknowledge you.

 

Esta la Madre de Cristo,

You love us all-perpetrator and victim alike.

 

As I walked your shrine in Mexico,

Where fragrant Castilian rose gardens appeared magically during the winter frost,

Where water sprung from the parched desert to grab their attention,

The Catholic co-opting of you made me cringe.

 

You are greater than all these man-made institutions.

Spaniards and Aztecs now both bowed to you.

You brought unity to all your people,

This is the power of the feminine.

 

The beautiful accounting of Mary’s appearance was documented in the Nican Mopohva. You can read an English translation online at: http://ndclmurray.weebly.com/uploads/3/1/6/2/3162790/nican_mopohua_english.pdf

http://ndclmurray.weebly.com/uploads/3/1/6/2/3162790/nican_mopohua_english.pdf