Spring Yoga Retreat was powerful and healing. Women came with open hearts...songs...love and more. Never have I experienced such immediate acceptance among strangers. We knew each other already, in the wind, in our sisterhood and we knew it. no one had to tell us. We just knew it.
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| Enter...The Cave, rebirth, connection, songs and growth (cold, sore hineys for us oldsters!) |
Spirit of the wind carry me.
Spirit of the wind carry me home.
Spirit of the wind carry me home to myself.
Spirit of the Earth, help me with my birth.
Spirit of the sea, set my soul free.
Spirit of the wind, carry me home to myself...
This post may be interesting only to those who are drawn. My babblings pour forth. Warnings to wear mind protective gear, just assumed. No wavers to sign. Go forth at your own risk, take nothing literally and be careful, as you may encounter yourself along the way if you choose to sally forth (Utah Phillips talk).
~THE MANAGEMENT~
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| Healers...Powerful ritual, a blessing to be near |
Raven
Shape shifting
trickster, Healing fore bearer of death. Raven, feathers shiny, iridescent with
tinges of indigo, shades of mauve and hints of twilight when the sunlight moves
it’s rays just so along your back.
King of the corvus
family, wise one, oh Raven, pecking at the door. What have you to say you stoic
one fervently cawing on the porch with your mate in waiting on an oak branch
not far from your destruction?
What message have you to
pass on this day, to an open heart that needs to hear? The heart was closed to
your gift, but unfolds now like a crumpled poem on paper mistaken for rubbish
and pulled out before being tossed into the fire. Speak clearly now and spare
the screen.
Raven so black, put
aside your foolish tricks, your ways of evil, and your magic. Bring forth your
wisdom, oh healing one and share today to a heart in need. With great care you
are sought, only because you came, so bring forth oh Raven with your message
today. Bring forth…oh Raven…with your message today~ then oh Raven, please fly
away…
~J~moonmango Linda Long inspired…The
"Long" Journey …..
3/9/12
LISTEN TO THE WORDS, then, with all abandon, wear it out like a three year old would do, then JUMP!
Lost In My Journey
Trying to walk,
forced to fly, Trees below, surrounded by sky
Souring downward amongst blobs and unidentifiable shapes
surrounded by golden
warriors,
Bows shoot golden flaming
arrows into the sky
Sparkling
golden sky surrounds the landscape
A girl reaching for my hand, slips
from my clasp
Her blue eyes tell me I’m
loosing myself
Lost, like Alice down the rabbit hole
Lost in my journey,
falling from my own grasp
The drums beat, a voice directs, “look for
your guide, you’ll know it”
Misshapen blobs of color and light~ No Owl
in sight
A single
white moccasin leads to brown unidentifiable something
Not a bear, not a human, an
impalpable mass
An
opening chest beating a volcanic heart, spewing fire and ash
Darkness overtakes, now I’m
gone. Gone to the middle world without myself
Lost in my
journey, with Bookmiss for my guide.
Wonder what I did there, while my body stayed behind?
Drums beating, calling me home. I
try to go down as I’m already up
Soaring
upwards again, can’t go down, higher and higher above solid ground
Sky so blue with sparkles of gold, homeward I fly, landing somewhere up
high.
Quivering, not
like the angry volcano of October, but an essence of such from a whisper of
another place.
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| Bookmiss Nootka Island Friendly Cove |
~J~moonmango
Oh Mother, hear us calling
we your children seek healing
Oh Mother hear us calling...
4/18/2012
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| Gotcha! |
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| Kitchen Goddess |
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| Jumping? |
When I get through this leg of the journey, My Backyard will
once again don visions of nature...still babblings I'm afraid!
Every so often, you have to stop. Stop it all to get a foot hold.
Carrying on without getting a foothold could be dangerous.
Clamp on to something, look carefully, and either get a grip, or
just jump!
Into The Void…Journey Home ~ To Myself
There’s no blacker black than Raven’s back
My Sisters
prodder, not here for me, stopping anyway
“you too, listen here, pay attention here I say”
Lost in a
black place, no memory to boot, not even Owl to give a hoot
Bookmiss isn’t a comfort,
repulsive indeed, Leaving me to wonder, doubt… need
Mauvey
light, darkness calling. “No way” I say, I’m fearful of falling
Shapes & figures,
generations to come, call, beckon, “we are one”
No choice now, I must
choose, for them & myself, to go forth, to move
Black hole opens, closes again, wider
each time, again, again
A poem written in, High
School, remembering…”As Darkness overtakes me”
Memory gone, it’s been too long…
The heart beat quickens, then wanes, slowing and stopping, quickening
again
Gotta hurry, time’s running out, rushing, can’t, too much
doubt
Thump, thump, thump, thu, thump… journey’s over, Have to go
back, thum, thu, thump
Journey’s
over, have to go back…
Breathing deeply, gone again. Never even knew it. halfway
into a sentence, back
Back from black,
Raven’s back, blacker than black
The void took me, no memory
at all. Took me, a fall.
“and daylight falls behind” memory coming…
Into the void I must go, I know this now.
………Leave daylight behind, I know
this now.
Somehow in High school, I knew it then
~Went forth out ward, coming back in again.
Absence of light, blacker than Raven… the void
Leave daylight behind, meet myself in the void
Journey home into the void, the void # leave the light, go to the void
home to myself, home to the void, Darkness overtakes me and
daylight falls behind
I knew it then, went forth outward, coming back in again
Journeying home, into the void… Home to Meet myself…
~J~moonmango
4/18/2012
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| If I survive the journey, I'll dance naked in the woods! |
Lost half my post somehow, so patching it up from here. Bummer. Pictures, muses from the offset side, all...poof! Into the void! Maybe I'll find them there.
Seeking Spring
Seeking Spring
It matters why I'm not embracing Spring this year. Matters
because I'm at the crossroads, the void calling, like Jesus has to me before.
Becoming audible like that, but just a pounding whisper so far. Pounding like
the beat of a heart.
Wildflowers~ wait…why can’t I go?
The Wild flower is ~me~ in the garden
The void sets me free
Fire and ash
Train Wreck:
A collision between two or more trains heading towards each other on the same track
SLOW MEN AT WORK
WOMEN FROLICKING
WILDE IN NATURE
Men live in the void,
Women must embrace…or depend,
depend on that which is tangible
Fails to bring peace, strength & passion
Wait for this wood nymph
If the fires too hot, left unattended
The milk scalds, boils over
“you’ll lose your dinner, gotta keep it to a simmer”
Wait for this wood nymph< this time Spring
Wait…the void will bring me ~
Light to dark, emerge again to light
Absence of Fall & Winter& Spring
Can’t exist, Winters death= beginning or middle?
Exhausting into Summer ~~~begin again
Leave this child to jump
Black the Raven knows, says “go back to be born into life”
The wildflowers wait,,,paused,,,~this one~ goes
Things that are missing..didn’t write the colors
today~Shapes, light, reflections, the marmot in the hole.
~J~moonmango 4/18/2012
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| Spank your dragon... |
The Dream Weaver and The Poet 2 1/7/2012
(to go with the Dream Weaves, the short version, still too long...)
On a blue moon night, a Weaver wove a Dream and a Poet wrote
a Poem.
The dream was woven by hook with silk of gold, trailing with
threads of silver, draped upon shoulders broad… soft as a finely finished shelf
of Madrone, a storm threaded in with glints of colored glass to catch the
light, letting it in, letting it out and reflecting the dream into a soul.
The poem was written with longing and passion, touches of
blue sky, mosses, lichen and earth were used as ink and the pages were the
clouds from which she fell. Tears of fairies and essence of mango were written
into the poem and each page flowed with a longing for the poems dream.
The Weaver didn’t know why her eyes wouldn’t leave the Poet
alone, but her lips followed. “Dance with me?” said the Poet. “Lay with me?”
said the Weaver and she took him home to her bed of moss and lay his head on
her pillows of woven shooting stars . The Weaver and The Poet shared some dreams,
their hearts met each other, but still they didn’t know each other. The moon
was full of light and touched them both deeply. The Weaver never forgot Her
Poet still not knowing who he was, and the Poet kept his Weaver in the back of
his soul and a breath of her in his heart.
The next time their hearts spoke, the Dream glistened like
the moon herself and it’s storm passed through the valleys of the weavers heart
in such a way that they began to know each other, but their dreams
disappeared. “Give me back my dreams, I
want my dreams back” said the Poet to the Weaver.
Captivator
Of Dream
Anticipating
sharing the morning light together
dreaming again. stealer of my
dreams
Anticipating
sharing the morning light together
waking up in heaven
after giving all my dreams
back
The Weaver responded,
“You'll
have your dreams back, my Sweetness and Light. You'll have yours and I'll have
mine. I'll sit on the bottom tip of the crescent moon with my hook and silk
yarn made from recycled sari's. I will hook your dreams for you out of the most
brilliant colors, mesmerizing myself with the changes in brightness and
texture, changes in tones as the fiber passes through my fingers weaving dreams
of knots and chains to catch your hopes and grab out your fears. As I complete
each dream, I will toss it to the stars, which will open the weave and drape it
softly over your slumbering heart. You are my dream, and I am yours. When our
dreams become real, then our dreams will return.”
Poet took the Weaver to his house along the river. He fed
her fry bread and mango and they made each others dreams come true.
In someone else’s dream, at the crossroads on bended
knee, the poet asked the weaver “marry me?” In someone else’s dream, at the
crossroads she did. In someone else’s dream, she called him husband, her Poet,
and he called her “Wife”, his Weaver. The Poet took the Weaver to his house
along the river. He fed her fry bread and mango and they made each other’s
dreams come true.
The Weaver wove The Poet 3 children of silver and mauve with
flecks of gold. Their beauty was surreal and was too unimaginable, not tangible
enough for this world. They took the children to the sea on a blue moon night,
and one by one the children swam away, happy to be returning to their home, their
silver backs glinting in the moonlight. The mermaids and the Silkies swam from
their places under the waves to rejoice and greet their cousins.
In someone else’s dream, The Weaver still calls The Poet
“Husband” and The Poet calls the Weaver
“Wife”. In someone else’s dream, not his, and not mine.
~J~moonmango 4/?/2012
Wilderness
in My Own Head
I
can't seem to help being myself. Thoughts occurring with no regard, or respect
for the decisions I have made continue no matter what I do in life, how sure I
feel, thoughts occurring while pulling some weeds, taking a walk, making play
dough and such. No respect whatsoever. I feel taken for granted by the breath
and depth of wilderness in my own head.
Cosmic Train Wreck;
Cosmic:
Cosmic Train Wreck;
Cosmic:
- Of or relating to the universe or cosmos, esp. as distinct from the earth.
- Inconceivably vast.
Train Wreck:
A collision between two or more trains heading towards each other on the same track
~J~moonmango~
3/23/12
Peace To Holly...I envy the wind...
Baby’s rocker
Pounding rain, whipping winds, flying debri overhead.
Huddled in a ball seems safe enough, no way to escape the
love
Stand up, shout at the wind, open wide, let it all in,
Baby’s rocker slammed to the wall, broken to bits for the
love of it all
Throw it to the wind, crash it to the rocks, raise your
fists and scream
The storm takes it all, all for the sake of love.
Standing at the edge arms open wide to the storm, might just
blow right off
No one said there wouldn’t be pain. Flying debri, sand in
your eyes
Open it up, scream and cry, slam baby’s rocker against the
wall
Some glue and paint
can’t hide the scars of baby’s rocker hitting the wall
Brown to white, to cheery green, left too soon in the dew
Run head on into the wind, paint running, rocker arm split,
face the storm
Baby’s rocker, can’t be fixed.
~J~moonmango
4/20/2012
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