dream at five o'clock in the morning

somewhere in the sculpted hole that is the moon
i fall
pressing hands against soil
feathered wet
from last night's thunderstorm
hail the size of apples pounds
lightening bright as lightening
downpour tempest water rising

i fall
grasping downpours melancholy
gasping fast to thunder booms
earth and feathers blue
hackberry's bark drips drips damp
from patchwork sky
grayest clouds and fireflies

drizzle
the rain abates
birds wake
except the great-horned owl
in the curly willow sighing
to light a comet tail burning
this night adjourning
somewhere in the sculpted hole that is the moon

strawberry moon

what is it that arises when you look around
to find yourself
discover yourself
.... in a meadow of emptiness
too busy watching your footsteps to notice the lack
too busy watching
listening
waiting
attending
too tied in knots to discover the void
suddenly
there you are
nothing pressing pressing in on
nothing pressing out
suspended jubilant molecules
pressing
down down to earth's fire
where is the water?
where is the moon?
where is love's surrender?
what is it that arises when you look around?
emptiness
vast blue-sky emptiness

advance
embrace
call it your name
grasp it
unfurl it
dissolve to it
become it
become emptiness
become vast
             and blue

allow it to unveil
unravel
stripped and tender
you are fire
you are water
you are surrender

you are the strawberry moon 

birthdays

I have never been comfortable with birthdays.  Very sharp memories roll across my personal
super-screen of sherbet-tight ruche'd dresses, bobbie socks and birthday hats.  It is when the singing begins, that ballad to birthdays, that I would bolt from the room inexplicably overcome with--something.
Birthdays make me squirm … make me long for quiet, solitary moments near water or mountains or sky.  Recognition became intangible, uneasy, emotional.  Somewhere along the timeline, my psyche determined that to celebrate birthdays--to celebrate myself--with abandon and delight, somehow appeared wanting. I was afraid of the emotion of joy.
But, something is happening. Over the last few years, I am learning how to bend into the receiving, allow room for the gathering of things given: parties, cakes, trinkets, artistry and Love.
I am learning how to make room for not only joy, but for myself.
In receiving, I am softening & leaning into the grace of openness.
It is an expansive and grand thing to be recognized, to be celebrated--to be seen.
To those with the patience and skill to 'teach' me … to love me enough to really know me - thank you.
We should never be afraid of being seen
 ,,,, just don't sing that damn birthday song.