Windchime

A windchime
shutters to life.
Little had I thought
of a windchimes need
for chaos and swirl.
“Be the windchime”
I realize
as practice closes
and in perfect timing I
am set to step into Now,
despite the unpredictable
circumstances and
clouds,
those pushing undercurrents,
life’s unavoidable buoys and lifts,
life’s twisting gates,
opening and closing
with the weather,
with storm
“Be the windchime”
I realize
Make sweet sounds
in the turbulence
of your own life
not for others this time,
but for you

You are the windchime

Where Do You Go? (A Note on Solitude)

In the beginning of silence and solitude, it actually gets really loud. This is all the residual chatter and chimes pouring out, hesitantly, from your mind. This can take some time. These are nothing more than the bells and whistles of your life–the catch phrases and fillers, the advertisements and the one-liners you and your loved ones have been feeding you. Where do you go…my lovely?  Where do you go?

You almost have to cover your ears, only to realize it’s all in your head…and it’s actually really very quiet out for once. You’ve picked a nice spot. So you take your hands off your ears. You are kind of surprised and aroused by the solitude.

In the beginning of silence and solitude you are THUNDERED by your thoughts. I’d forgotten about that. It had been so long. The longer it’s been, the louder it gets I suppose.

You are smiling and alone.
That rare experience of being yourself, 
when knowing you are not being observed
and you really genuinely are free.
This is you
Ah, that feeling,
that knowing
that freedom
yourself!
where do you go?
my lovely
where do you go?

I want to know

Reading at the Old School House

 

schoolhouse

Authors Evening at the Schoolhouse | Junction City, Oregon | March 5th | 7 pm
91949 Purkerson Road, Junction City, OR, 97448

Please join us for the first annual Authors Evening at the Old Schoolhouse, featuring poetry by local poet Terah Van Dusen (Love, Blues, Balance and New Moon), prose by local authors Danuta Pfeiffer (Chiseled, A Memoir of Identity, Duplicity, and Divine Wine), Jacquie “Jax” Manning (Caribbean Shadows), Kathleen Cremonesi (Love in the Elephant Tent: How Running Away with the Circus Brought Me Home) and acoustic guitar by local musician Josh Pitney.

$10 entrance covers a lovely selection of desserts made with local  Camas Country grains, coffee and tea. Local Bennett Winery wines available for purchase by the glass. Proceeds go directly into the school fund to continue renovating this beautiful old schoolhouse into a community event center and home for the arts.

Space limited to 50 guests, so please call 541-357-5448 to reserve your tickets!

Home

Home
the most irresistible
place, the only space
where I wither and bloom
and tincture myself with
crystals and sage
and ice cream

Home
where lamp chops
fry and soups wait patiently
on the stove top for no one
but us and company if we’re
lucky, if we’re not

Home
It’s where I
begin again
where I end
where I cannot hide
where I can
where he kisses me
and promises me things
big things, unimaginable things
that he would never utter elsewhere
but home

Home
it’s where I dream

it’s where I live the
dream too

The South Fork

Prima Materia
Providence
Nirvana
brooks and
creeks through
black bedrock,
blonde soil
the huckleberry
and tan oak are
licking caves and
netting boundaries

I’m noticing
when the sun
goes down in
the mountains
and how it happens
quicker here than
anywhere
else

I have
cold feet
hot feet
depending on the equinox
I see rain running down
the trunks of trees,
a man’s neck,
a vein

I chop wood
carry water

There are
raindrops
on the skylight
the smell of
propane and matches
an amplified drizzle
on the tin roof of my
cabin–it makes me feel
wetter than I actually am

Pacific Madrones mature outside
Those curly golden chopsticks
of irregular tang and lime
those pillars rising up and falling
out of dense coniferous forests
I was a child then
not now
–but I used
to climb them

I am on the inside
I am on the inside
with a log so good and
ready for the fire it’s
like bubble wrapping
when you put it on there
popping and cracking
and carrying on in
the cast iron stove
I am alone
yet I am not alone
–the forest,
it leans into me,
it breathes and
spits at the
windows

–the earth
not the world
keeps me company