dream walkings

Honolulu 2024

The sun’s first light begins to sneak up behind Diamond Head. Not a soul to be seen on land, only a handful of surfers patiently waiting off shore. There is peace and only the sound of the waves breaking gently, turning their aqua blue body into frothy secrets, tickling the sand at their fringe before slipping away again. When the sun finally reaches over the jewel necklace, it turns the water to liquid silver before the full glory of its aqua blue. Baby Honu and her sisters play close to shore. By noon the ocean will change her color once again – a brilliant turquoise to the backdrop of music and the laughter of a hundred. The endless edge of the horizon moves me out of myself and I transcend the chaos. Floating here at sunset is one of my favorite things in the world to do. The crowd transitions from the water to the beach endeavoring to capture that perfect sunset photograph. From my position as flotsam, it is a vision of liquid gold, and the water’s touch is soft and sensual, slipping gently at my edges. Like making love with the sunset, the ocean – cradled in pure bliss.

Idaho September 2024

We are in the in-between. It is no longer summer, nor is it yet fall.

The lake is busy this morning spreading news of the storm. The scents of wet driftwood and leaves fill the air. I took a chance on the water and it was pleasantly warm, but the chill did come when I stepped out and up onto the cold rocks. Rocks smoothed by millennia and graciously construct our beach.

Eagle is thoroughly enjoying the wind! Two of the four playing (or arguing ~ hard to tell sometimes), locked claws in a twirl right in front of me as I sat looking for arrowheads. Just 20 yards offshore, they were too low to carry on for more than a few seconds. Four giant eagles soaring and screeching ~ what a sight!

Slivers of golden flakes found but nothing whole…except something totally unexpected. What looks like an ancient fishing lure finely crafted from bone with a fine indentation around the middle where it was wrapped and secured with a strand of sinew. So many questions I would like to ask the ghost of the man or woman that so carefully crafted this tool. Grandmother holds so many secrets.

Waves crash, sun alights, rocks shimmer and glimmer, clouds glide together. I am drawn out, out of “me” and into the cosmos, where I belong.

1999 Northern California

This beach feels like something from a prehistoric dream or memory.  Perhaps it was created by the ever decreasing sea level, for this was all once under the water, but really I have no idea how beaches like this are made.  Surely the ocean winds and pounding waves have done their share.  Now, millions of years later, it is a haven for these families of humans trying to escape, if only for a day, their city life and all the trappings that go with it.  Little boys with towels for capes and driftwood spears defend their driftwood castles from the invading birds.  The birds, the real inhabitants of this place are ushered off each Saturday as the city dwellers reclaim the driftwood forts erected by their predecessors.  Is it possible that something can feel at once healing and expansive and ominous?  The sandstone walls of the valley surrounding this beach are impressively tall and straight down without any meandering.  This has been an orderly erosion, perhaps aided by the occasional earthquake?  I could sit here all day and breathe in this sweet salty air.

The size of this place reminds me of how small and temporary this human body of mine is.  The natural beauty of this place, whose creation has had nothing to do with man, also reminds me of the intense beauty of all natural things, even us.

The colors and textures seen here please me to no end.  The sand a light tan color looks like sueded silk, and the ocean a beautiful gray-green blanket with its frothy language spilling onto the beach.

How many footsteps of prehistoric peoples have been imprinted here just as ours are now, only to be smoothed away by the Mother we call the Sea?  Perhaps it is Amphitrite reclaiming the footsteps of her children, reminding us from whence we came. I have gone inside myself here.

The world has gone quiet and I am at peace. I breathe in and out at the pull and release of this hypnotic pulse.  I see myself a tiny spot on the Earth covered with this womb of water.  It’s energy flows within me and we move together as I am drawn to Her time and time again.

I can hear nor see anything else when I am in Her presence and my soul is at the same time untethered, but one with Her.

Idaho 2002

Idaho 2024

The wind swirls, bringing up the smoke in fine tendrils. They float over me and the scent of autumn touches my hair.

Flaming gold, scarlet, chocolate ~ all shades of the different leaves, needles, and driftwood placed in my path for this rebirth. She is beautiful ~ I hesitate letting go my little creation with winter berries for hair, but it is time and I let the flame lick and curl her maple skirt.

She and all that I am not burn away leaving behind all that I am. All that is possible will rise up from the ashes. Limitless, I start with fresh eyes and open heart. What I am not, what does not serve me is gone now, released into the wind.

Sun warms my face, eagle soars over me, the creek sings the song of the mountain.

There is no separation between what is in my heart and what will be.

The Mother gives.

1999

John Muir’s words have made these Woods a familiar friend.  As I wandered up the path that had been prepared for me through the Redwoods, I was speechless and spellbound by their cool solid presence – I had come home.

Though I have never been here before, some ancient memory stirred within me.  It touched that place deep inside that I am always searching for and rarely seem to find.

I wanted never to leave the harbor of their safe communion, and felt I could live there with nothing but the comfort and companionship of these ancient trees.

I had been opened up and turned inside out – connected to the Earth in a rare moment of peace.  It was a transforming liberation of self.

And now, far away from there, I feel an invisible sinuous rope of energy connecting that sacred place within me to them, and I can breathe again.

Northwest Coast – 2021

For a fleeting moment I thought I saw an opening onto this hidden edge of the continent. Oh the luxury of being able to stop and explore wherever and whenever one wants! The tide was starting to creep in but I rushed, maneuvering boulders and driftwood the size of Redwoods. Trees strewn like discarded match sticks caused a rush of adrenaline at the terror of what it could possibly be like here when giants become flotsam. This photo doesn’t begin to capture the beauty of this stack and its clinging companions. The stretch of Sea between this spot and the coast of Canada was calm – the work of Thetis no doubt and I was thankful for the presence of the Goddess. It was a beautiful day but it was obvious that being caught here in a storm could be deadly. The colors of the millennia revealed make one speechless. Ever respectful of life at the mercy of the the tide, I crept carefully and quietly feeling like I had stepped back in time – or out of time.  Just me, the rocks, the giants, little creatures hiding in their rugged shells and the tiny camouflaged fish only an inch long waiting patiently to be reclaimed by the nurturing Sea. This place is not named on my map, but I know where to find it, and I will return on an early autumn morning for more time with the ancients, the giants, and hopefully Thetis as well.

Manhattan Beach, California – 1997

Gleaming like quicksilver they glide through the water effortlessly.

Barely a glimpse was caught of them as they made their way out to Sea.

Heartbroken I was, at just missing their appearance shortly after sunrise.

Silently I begged them to return and I fancy they heard my plea.

Dolphin doesn’t seem an adequate name for them.

Surely in another language there is a more beautiful word for this mesmerizing creature?

Gracefully they return to share a few more moments of their adventurous morning with me.

Idaho 1997

It is a blustery cold fall day.  The lake is turbulent and gray-green.  Monster winds blast the beach and trees, creating leaf storms and covering everything with a yellow and orange blanket.  Clouds push across the sky almost as if chased by Great Thunderbird.  The mountains protecting us from behind have been covered overnight by Father winter leaving them white and majestic.  

The water is low, allowing the sand to collect the foot prints of a large moose and an assortment of other small animals that came in the dark protection of night.

Determined black clouds moving swiftly overhead, and I am hoping to catch the sunrise on the mountain across the lake. Normally dark green, it is now speckled with yellow and orange trees looking like a slumbering cinnamon bear. Plumes of cottonwood trees line our shore. They stand as sentinels, acting as both protector and beckoner. I love this place and would not have it changed, but that is unfortunately inevitable.

1998 – Spring, Texas

At a certain hour, one of the last stops on my drive home from work has a way of making me forget about the previous hour of bumper to bumper torture.

It’s the little birds sitting on the wires at that last intersection. I’m not sure what kind of birds they are but they are small and black. There seem to be hundreds of them all lined up on the high wire. All jostling for position.
There are so many of them crammed in together up there. Every time one flies in for a landing, taking advantage of the slightest opening, the whole line hops over creating a little hopping domino effect. It is quite comical, or so it seems to me. It makes me wonder what they would think, these little black birds, if they could see inside our corporate towers. I think they would be equally amused by our very similar antics.
I imagine that this is the end of their little black bird day. They are lining up for our show of stupidity as we each make our way home, caring nothing for each other, protected by our rolling metal boxes. The objective being to make it as quickly as possible out of the rat race through a series of near misses, shouted obscenities, road rage, prayers and tears to what we consider our real lives, our safe havens. Odd isn’t it, the little birds would say, that these humans do this day after day, spending their lives in their towers of glass and steel – a self-made bird cage.

You came to this place, unprepared.

No plans, no goals, but to find a spark to start a fire with.

Burn away what is no longer needed.

Set free the breath you have been holding.

See yourself, hear your voice – speaking to you gently.

You are worthy, you are capable, and your story needs telling.

Be the storyteller you never had.

Thoughts swirl around like tendrils of mist…let them in, open your heart, come out of your shell.

Give life to the embers of your new life with your breath.

2000 by train

The French countryside, so much different from the Swiss. Still lush and green but unkempt and wild. The structures small and humble but inviting with their scratchy, burnt-red shingled roofs. A thousand pictures seen in just a few moments. A sunset masqueraded by white and gray clouds, rays breaking through, casting long fingers down to the earth as if not wanting to say goodbye. The fading sunlight lingering like a lover offering one last caress. Bright white cows on the hill against the greenest pasture. Latte colored horses with cream manes. A broken down barn melting into the earth. A crooked fence in the distance fading into the early evening mist.

How can it be so overgrown and softly elegant at the same time? An old stone bridge arched over a lazy creek. As far as can be seen the lush, verdant green covers the rolling hills. All such a stark contrast to the city of Paris – our destination on this train from Luzern. Crumbling stone buildings and a field full of daisies pass by too fast. The sky now dark pastel blue a clean contrast to the green pastures and still darker green tree line in the distance. Solitary fruit trees randomly make the transition from earth to sky. Truly a memorable occasion, my love and I arriving at the approach of midnight for a weekend in Paris. The sky now a darker but bright blue against the fuzzy black horizon. How I wish I had my pastels that I might capture the romantic French colors at the end of this day.

1993 Lake Pend Oreille Area

This area is especially pretty in winter. As we drive to the airport in Spokane this morning I was in awe of the beauty of the snow covered mountains. It is magical the way we are surrounded by the beautiful snow covered trees, each leaf and branch covered in its own little blanket. It is a delicious distraction to the too often monotony of air travel. These winter hills feel as if they harbor some cold hard secret of our humanity. I get that feeling in my chest as if they could suck away my soul taking me to their wild unknown hiding place. Their secrets toy with me. As if I could be absorbed by their cool hardness becoming at one with them. We don’t bother to know or respect this Earth well enough to suit me. For all the adventures and expeditions we undertake it seems too often in the wrong place. It seems more in an effort to master than to understand. Sound familiar?

Nonetheless, these snow covered mountains are a feast for my eyes.

1996 Spring, Texas

It has been a long time since I have had to get anywhere early enough to see the sun come up. As much as I detest getting up early, I was rewarded this day by the quiet grace of the pre-dawn morning. The sun not yet seen already washing the sky with color. The horizon was as vivid as cranberry juice, fading up into brilliant blue. No clouds were to be seen, only a few brilliant stars shining like diamonds high in the dark blue morning sky. As I made my way down the main thoroughfare, alternately passing cow pastures, waterways, and service stations, the fog hung like a transparent curtain low to the ground. Looking decidedly like what I imagine the English countryside does early in the morning. Stirring up images of a lone Highwayman on his giant black steed charging through the mist.

Not another soul in sight, how easily the dawn made me forget the hustle and bustle of the city not too far away. The fog looked comforting to the barren limbs of the black winter trees who have long since lost their summer leaves.

Marin 2020

Hawk landed, I sat hidden among the ancient Eucalyptus. She dove with fierce intention and disappeared among the Chaparral, only to re-appear empty handed. Either she devoured her prey whole or missed her target. Hidden here as the throngs pass to and fro the beach, there is some peace if one listens for the tentative movements of the smallest of birds and the potential for, the silent prayer for, a breeze to bring up the song of the trees to drown out, even if so slightly the noise of humans. I do hope they walk past ignorant of my presence and leave me at peace with the wildness I seek. Perhaps I should have worn camouflage? Ah and there comes the slight breeze carrying with it the healing scent of the wood, the seed, the fallen bits of all that dries and crumbles in late autumn. Nourishing the Earth from whence it came. What a gift, the thought rises, but no, a gift is something you are given, the joy and one-ness I feel is part of me, as all of nature is what I am also made of. There is no absence of it when I am elsewhere, only I have the power to form an imaginary barrier or grieve a separation that does not exist. Sadly I admit that I do this when I have not physically touched, tended, or ascended into the magic.

2015

Big Sur is the kind of place whose intensity liberates you from the grip of your mind and all the incessant noise and chatter of your thoughts. Its beauty is so shocking that I am really able to let go and forget everything else. There wasn’t a beach that I didn’t want to climb down to and sprawl out on. The idea of a solitary nap in the sun on an inaccessible beach was intoxicating and drew my thoughts back to a particular adventure in Hawaii when I was just 18 – but that is another story. Big Sur was not an easy place to settle and the pioneers faced many hardships unthinkable to me.

One of the things I love best about the Northern coast of California is the concoction of mind altering trees and the surprising life of the microrefugia that the rugged landscape nurtures. The Firs, Sitka Spruce, Hemlock, Cedar, Bay, Sargent Cypress, Redwood, Eucalyptus – just to name a few, all conspire to draw me out and away. I would like the last scent I smell as I leave this earth to be fresh cleansing scents of Eucalyptus, Lavender, Bay Laurel, and my favorite type of Sage. The trees here never fail to inspire my imagination. Their wispy and dramatic arms reaching ever out breed curiosity, and make me want to take an abrupt detour into the protection of their wilderness to see what adventures lie hidden inside. I think at the very minimum there would be a cool silent calm that would spread through my body, expanding my sense of self and connection to everything around me.

2007 Puget sound

On the face of it nature seems wholly unaffected, or perturbed by our minuscule existence. As it should be. But the arrogance of man, or at least it seems so, has bent even the knee of the great Mother herself. Like termites that eat away at the last tree in the forest, we do not seem to understand this is the final supper.

I am finding this country more specifically unbearable in its actions. In my naiveté I once saw the ocean, the big sky, the unknowable wilderness to be all powerful against our insignificant existence. Now it seems to be just the opposite – or is it?! I wish I knew.

I see the stormy grey waves of the Sound, the fingers of the island reach out to it. The clouds gather ever closer and it all has the feel of the helpless child. I feel this way myself sometimes when I think about my country. The deception is so complete I would hardly know where to start.

The sky is becoming more dramatic now with the gathering dusk. Who knew there were so many shades of grey? In nature at least – they are however beautiful.

Arizona 2005

I’ve been struggling to find a worthy way to begin describing this place in Arizona. The term “desert” does not do it justice. Then I came upon the words “desert forest” – perfect. It is different than any forest I have known. Of course it is very dry here now, the locals say something like 125 days without rain. Yet this place is a visible feast! Shrubs, trees, cactus, they all enchant me with their uniqueness. Some tall and sprawling with a wisp of bright red fullness at the top that speaks to slow and graceful growth. And always the smell of orange blossoms it seems.

It pains me not to have my camera but perhaps this is a blessing, to see more of everything instead of the narrow focus of my lens. Yesterday I rode a horse through a place called Cave Creek and I can now say that I know exactly what the dusty trail tastes like. There wasn’t a drop of water to be seen or smelled. I couldn’t help feeling sorry for my horse as he picked his way through the small trail of inconstant sand and rocks.

The Saguaro is an amazing plant and new to me. Growing only an inch a year I saw many over a hundred years old. The drama of their life can be seen in the soft undulations of their girth. Much like our faces I think. You can’t imagine my surprise when I walked up to one that was well over 12 feet tall expecting it to feel as solid as a tree, and with the push of a finger sent it rocking back and forth like a big piece of rubber!

Another surprise is the abundance of wildlife. Everywhere I look, soft quiet cottontail bunnies, and furtive quail are mainly what is seen. But there is much more to be heard. Last night as I wrestled with sleep I heard the coyotes speaking into the darkness. It almost sounded like people hooting and howling with happiness. And we’ve had others visit us too.

Our first morning here we were greeted at breakfast on our patio by a heard of wild pigs who apparently wanted to share our pancakes. When I saw the first one start to come through the bushes I thought it to be a coyote, but then the little black hairy thing came fully into view as if to announce the immanent arrival of his posse. One by one the whole herd came to greet us – about a dozen in all.

Of course I had to forfeit the pancakes.

2005 Caribbean Sea

Swimming in the ocean after sunset, what a gift. The water is an amazing aqua color, a beautiful contrast to the horizon turned lavender and blue. The water is so warm and the waves so gentle I could float here on my back for an eternity. Perhaps I could be washed away and ashore to a far away land, like any other flotsam.

Thunderheads hover ominously above, starkly black and white, making the water look like liquid sky ~ opalescent, soft, warm, like the generous womb that it is.

A sliver of a moon hung low in the sky just above pink splashes, the last bit of sunset. It was silent half in half out of the water, my ears in another world from my eyes. Like there was nothing else in the universe except me, the warm water, and that dreamy sky.

Idaho 2020

The lake is full of action this morning. Sky is grey with no sign of blue. It matters not to me, I am here with She who is most beautiful, and hearing her body crash and lap onto the shore is a balm for my wounds both inside and out.

I am blessed to have been here three times this year and look forward to a fourth next month with just my Mother and Sister. The storm of the past two days has brought new treasures to the shore and I plan to explore every inch! Rain looks to be on the horizon to the South and West, and after that perhaps the sun will grace us with her presence. No eagles to disturb this morning. Just me, the rocks, the mountains, sky and lake. Perfect. I came alone this time, to see my Brother, whom I have not seen in five long years. I admit it was fun to surprise them all, and to be away from the madness, the riots, the censorship of existence. I feel like a prisoner in California right now.

I see disrespect and destruction here at the beach from unchecked children. But I digress, this place is so free and open to me that I can truly let go and relax here alone at the shore. The lake is warm and inviting even as whipped up as it is. What wonderful secrets lie beneath the surface?

I wish I could hear the stories from all the mothers before me that have come to these healing and bountiful shores. This lake is a sacred place where many have found sustenance and solace. I have found much proof of these women and their families over the years. I have seen and placed my hands where their hands have left messages many thousands of years ago, of the numbers of bear they accepted food, warmth and tools from. It was their way and I know they accepted each life that nourished them with respect, as a gift, and gave thanks.

Northern California 2020

The Eucalyptus, here I go again. I know they are an invasive species here in California and considered dangerous with their shallow roots, but oh how I love them! This place wasn’t exactly easy to find, but I was in search of a new adventure.

Here there is a grove planted specifically for the abuse of man. Erected as a barrier for dynamite blasts when in the late 1800s a dynamite factory and its workers once toiled here at the edge of San Pablo Bay for over 60 years. Intrigued I searched for the source of the name, what does it mean? Where did it come from? After all, Dynamite Point seems more obvious. It turns out to be very interesting. Pinole is of Aztec origin and used by the Nahua people, their Nahuatl language is still in use today, centuries after conquest of the Aztec empire. Back to the grove…

In the midst of the grove returned to nature, is a small owl refuge where one can enjoy, if one listens, to their discourse and communion. They may be mating calls or perhaps they seek to warn one another of the humans entering their safe space. I tried to photograph the nearest to me by following the road as they made their back and forth signals. A very large brown owl safely in the canopy of the old ones far from danger. Alas, lens not long enough, story of my life.

As you leave the thick of the grove mankind assaults the senses. The shore appears and with it the bikes, sirens, fog horns, and the smell of their machinations. I will look over the cliff and return to the grove where I can bathe in its healing embrace. Ancient stumps share life with a fantastic assortment of beautiful fungi. More proof of the circle of life.

2021 West Marin

The curling in feels like a caress, a hug.  Pulling out feels like a clinging fear of lost belonging or union.  To see the energy, the source of all life on earth stretching out to touch, to caress, to embrace and nurture the earth with every push and pull is hypnotic.

She leaves her nourishment at the shore to be absorbed and spread throughout nature in such a way that we can find evidence of sea creatures far from her, in trees of all things, along waterways and tributaries.  La mer – the beneficent womb may be their home, but they give birth to and fertilize everything else far, far beyond the water’s edge.

The smell of the seasons all provoke me today.  It’s like the first of summer’s warm caresses coaxes the scent out of everything, and if you pay attention you can smell and taste everything that is on offer.  I want to be lost in it.

There’s a cool breeze to balance out the power of the sun, the flora have yet to be tried as they will be come mid summer when the breeze, hot and weighty, will change it again and become that sweet smell of drying fennel and hay.

For now we feast upon still yet blooming flowers, shoots of Fennel green and reaching for the sky, and the taste of salt on the breeze.  The Eucalyptus, Cypress, and Laurel are a heady mixture more intoxicating than any drug.

2021 Marin County

It has been a challenging hike today. I sit now next to the fallen man. An old weathered tree that when viewed from a certain angle looked like a man mid-stride. Recent blustery, demanding storms must have finally finished him off. My perch is somewhat of a risk. It clearly inhabits all manner of insects and goodness knows what else. But this is a nice sunny spot with a wonderfully cool breeze and I’ve been on the lookout for a place to stop and reflect, to observe more closely without disturbing the forest creatures.

The owl calling softly nearby has stopped and the small birds, brown with their black hoods and masks have started up their conversation again. I finally spotted some large grey fluffy squirrels scampering from treetop to treetop. And once again evidence of Persephone abounds. Purple crocus and green shoots of all kinds sprout. I do love this hike with all the twisted tree limbs and fairy dwellings amongst the largest members of the forest. The butterflies have also come out to play – reborn and seeing their home in a new and I imagine fascinating way. Here and there animal trails break off to unknown parts and if one pays attention, carefully constructed dens are to be seen. Of old dead branches homes have been made, but which woodland resident is it? Clearly one that feels more at home on the ground than up in this courtship of the large and small, bare and lush family of trees. Could fox or coyote be so crafty?

The only complaint I have here is the dim noise of the freeway in the distance and the too frequent airplanes. But, if I listen to the wind, the birdsong, the trees rubbing together, I can almost block the man made noise out. Almost. No matter, this dendrophile is calmed and enchanted by my slow ambling today. It is a wonder to see the changes since I was last drawn here – and what autumn will transform.

1997 Hope, Idaho

Today I say goodbye to the Lake and give thanks to She Who Is Most Beautiful. Mother gave her that name and I cannot think of a better one. I found my second arrowhead here last Friday when I came home for Bubbles’ funeral. A wonderful storm came the night before revealing some of the Lake’s secrets so that I might learn a lesson.
I was looking of course – I always am. Scanning the beach lazily for some little treasure. Sitting there in the sweetness of late afternoon Mom and I had just been discussing our impossible dreams. Roger, her true love came down to join us and asked me if I had found any arrowheads yet. I knelt down and looking around I said I thought finding one was like winning the lottery – it only happens once. No sooner had the words come out of my mouth when a dark something caught my eye and I picked it up. I found in my hand this beautiful carved stone gift.
Well if a person can’t understand a direct message like that they won’t ever understand anything.
I give thanks to the Lady of the Lake for her wonderful gift and lesson.

1996 Idaho

Trestle Creek was all I had planned for this morning’s excursion. I walked along the edge as the icy winter water trickled by. The fall leaves of yellow, orange, and red covered most everything in sight, hiding the rock people from me or so I thought. The creek bed not long ago swollen with fresh mountain snow melt now lay exposed to my marauding nature. I knelt, precariously balancing myself on the unsteady rocks to get a closer look. The sandy sides of the creek wall were crammed with rocks and who knows what other treasures. As I scanned the wall, two eyes looked out at me from the small smooth head of a rock barely sticking out of the sand. My fingers already numb from fishing rocks from the freezing stream, I began to dig this little face free from it’s trap. This was no small rock I was soon to discover but quite worth the dig. I cannot say whether I found him or he found me, but he is the biggest rock person I have yet to come across.

He sits now with others of his kind, upstairs in my sacred space, and I have to wonder if they miss the creek bed.

Texas 1997

I saw that slight feather of a moon just above the tree line, dark before the fading blue sky.

How it looked as if plucked from a fairy tale.

It did flirt with me, asking if it could lull me softly to sleep as I floated down that cool quiet road.

We sliced through the cool air on our two-wheeled wonder, the road darkening as the trees stood as a thick guard hugging every curve.

Love, did I ever tell you how magical that was for me?

2000 Lake Luzern, Switzerland

We woke to Thunderbird’s dance and the cool morning mist. The soft whispering strands of clouds now teasing the mountain cradles are but remnants of the unseen blanket that covered our Swiss alpine gem this morning. I went into the mountain yesterday – the great Pilatus whose crown now lies obscured by the cleansing storm. The mountain was cool and energizing as I walked the man-made path within it. The feeling of it made me giddy and I get a little of that back now as I think on my earthen experience. I likely could have languished in its cool sky-bound embrace all day. It will never be the same for me to look up at it now. Thankfully I can no longer gaze unknowingly at it from our home here across its green glacial reflecting pool. Now, when I look up my soul is transported to the dark cave in the sky. I see the black-gray rock and the tiny tufts of grass and flower clinging to the cave’s own window ledge, and I can feel the cool pure strength of it.

Idaho 2020

In the early morning hours I can truly be one with the landscape, feel the desire, the memory, the draw of the clay from which all life was born and we are made of.

In the darkest of nights the unending mosaic of stars in the inky blackness draws me close, and it is one of the few sensual vibrations that cracks me open to the memory and connectedness of living in a universe – one among many. This one is mine at those moments. I feel it and claim it and let it absorb me, shedding the illusion of separation.

2006 December West Seattle

It came so swiftly…how did I ever make it this far? Like a thin layer of ice over a clear forest puddle. The life I thought I had left behind waited there just beneath the icy surface. It cracks gently at first and the pieces slide with ease out of place until the roots and vegetation of my past life are loosed, and I am drowning in those six inches of water. It was frozen there while life went on. People walked past, planes flew overhead, our blood grew older. But those roots are still there waiting for the thaw and the freedom from death. The water is so cold and I want to drink from it, no really I want to take the ice into my mouth and let it melt. What will happen if I do this? The sun bears down on me, the pain ebbs now, for a moment. I feel powerless against our nature. The snow melts, the ice flows, and the dead grass gives way to new shoots.

Now, the moon is full in the dark blue sky outside my plane window. So bright it reveals evidence of life far below. It shines on the amphitheater of my life as if to say look here at the things you have done, how you have come to this point, and now you are in this place.

I hold on tight to my belief that everything happens for a reason, and in time it will be revealed that everything that happened was for the best.

I see them all gathered without me, it will be loud and merry and I see myself there where I should be. Six inches is starting to feel like six feet. As they drove away every cell in my being cried out for life. Even as the forbidden thoughts arrive again at last, that I did not want this, this was not a conscious choice, this is not fair – I know it matters not, and wish the puddle frozen again.

Washington 2020

I went in search of Cape Flattery. Why? So many reasons, but it being the most Northwest point of the lower 48 was a big one. I wanted to feel the wild rawness of being at the remote point of the land mass I have criss-crossed my whole life. I almost made it too. The Makah Tribe had wisely closed their Reservation borders due to the manufactured pandemic. I don’t use the word “wise” because I think virus itself is a concern – but that topic doesn’t interest me. Very smart of the Makah but I digress. On the coastal road towards Cape Flattery and not long before I was turned around I spotted a curious triangular opening in the trees that looked like possible shore access. Crushed with disappointment I slowly retraced my course to search for this opening. Not only did I find a beautiful shoreline with views out to sea, but the tide was low, revealing so many treasures. These “circles” cut into the solid rock of the shore have me very curious. They were everywhere. My imagination went wild with possibilities. I began to notice that there were also worn rounded mounds of stone about the same size as the circles, averaging around 9” across. What if the “empty” circles once had these mounds and they had been removed or simply worn completely away with time. An archeologist would know – my dream job. The mound must have been something or have been hiding something within. I am already planning my return to explore the entire coast once the Makah Tribe allows it.

1997 in flight

I love looking out of the plane’s window and imagining what ancient secret’s like below on the Earth’s craggy and rugged surface.  Adventures abound, especially for one who could spend all day sifting through rocks. I prefer the Earth untouched by man, with no scars to mar her surface.  I delight in the sculpted depression of a long past lake or river. Nature never takes the straight or direct course.  It meanders this way and that, always ending up somewhere surprising or inspiring – never predictable. One of my secret adventures as I look down is finding shapes of people or animals.  Now, red rocks sitting brightly on top of the soft, dark brown earth specked with snow, looking like fudge sprinkled with powdered sugar. Today is a day for fish, particularly large ones full of all the distinctions one would expect.  I imagine them as huge fossils that have been overlooked thus far due to their sheer gargantuan size.  Mainly I see women though.  The Goddess in all Her different shapes and sizes drawn gracefully on Mother Earth’s surface. I have never seen a piece of art as beautiful as a simple dried up tributary, etching it’s dry tendrils upon the banks of no distinction.

“Though we travel the world over to find the beautiful, we must carry it with us or we find it not.”
– Ralph Waldo Emerson

February 2000 Archive

2007 Arizona

Ah, a fresh new morning, the air a little crisp but the sun comes up quickly to warm me.  I make my way up to the mysterious boulders using a small trail that I am careful not to disturb.  The scent of the sweet Acacia mesmerizes me as I reach the entrance that will transport me back in time.  These giant boulders leaning, poised just on their soft round edges create an amazing space.

A sacred cave where they gathered for ceremony and where the women sat in the cool breeze and ground what they have foraged.  I touch the grooves they have made in the stone from their women’s work, the breeze on my neck, the boulders poised above me, it is a surreal moment.  The boulders feel like great grandmother and grandfather earth leaning over me protectively.  As if saying, come here to this place and we will protect you.

The wind comes in from all directions, speaking to me in an ancient tongue, older than the people of this earth.