Each Time

Decades ago I saw a French movie once, about the moment of total silence and its demarcation when it appeared to switch-on-a-dime into the incremental beginnings of the rustlings of the new day. 

Living in my box canyon in the wilds of New Mexico I discovered that moment. I always wanted to contemplate on it--study it, expand it--capture it and hold it still, then pull it apart like cotton batting wads, or cumulus clouds, but there was no time to do so--it was but a moment--a mili second, a nano second--as quick as that nighttime lightening flash across my meadow that lit brilliantly long enough to create a hunger to see more.  

Do you know what I mean?

I don’t know.  It was so momentary.  Unable to grasp its girth in any extended manner--I could only sense it, observe it for that fleeting time.  It took my breath away though, and equally so, left me with a deep sense of loss--as if a trick?  As if there were no markings to track--only the dash between two missing dates on a tombstone.  

And no one who knew the deceased.

Kat

1-29-16

dining upon her plate

Love courses as blood in veins
that framework of body
moves and feeds all at her table
nourishing the belly and heart
nowhere and everywhere

Sustaining as does all love
giving joy and heartache

Kat
March 2015

Mars Energy Meets Venus

Heavy-handed force pushes, weighs down upon the unsuspecting energies.  Beneath the crushing  words, nothing remained whole, let alone intact.  Pieces, veered off, hanging suspended and at odds from their wholeness, readied for the next moment to direct their spin—no longer at peace or a part of the whole that once sustained them, but now mere fractions where dissonant energy frazzled and fizzled and where harmony of wholeness ached in the smashing and splintering.

The dominance coming from the controlling force knows only the action of control and its power—with little capacity to refrain from its destructive blow.  Nothing can withstand it.  

Kat

10 November 2015

Caffeine Withdrawal

There must be a place to land—where ease and comfort exist and flourish, in spite of life’s ups and downs.  Those spiny light-formed edges, squiggles and angles that afford but momentary reprieve when what is being sought is deep warmth and comfort. 

Clashing intentions, clanging high-pitched and angular-filled stomachs--hearts and minds with dissonance and fear, deeply and solidly.  It is well understood that being caught in such a state of mind and heart, risk is required—to alter, to move through and beyond—into the radiance of joy, love and calm—to the center—the center of oneself, where connection and peacefulness, radiates.

Always possible, always there for anyone who risks to leave that place of angulations, sharpness and dis-integration.  Always at odds, always possible, center, unification and calmness, beckon.  And we respond with our ability to risk—each and every time we find ourselves outside that place of joy.

Kat

9 November 2015

Attractions

Drawn closely, with curiosity and intensity, distilling within brain cells and heart-centered neurons, the essence of that which powers forward as a train on its unending tracks through uncharted forested land, up impossibly steep mountain slopes and across immensely wild rivers.

Unstoppable in the draw of natural forces rendering reason mute-- sharpening receptors to their finest posture of perception—antennas, shooting like stars into the ethers—hungering for more connection to the thread-like energy tugging as a scent or waft of familial memory that captures hold and draws in, forcing breath away, causing pause before searching for more.

                                                           ****

It is that first connection—infant babe, blind and wholly intuitive, seeking breast, heart- beat and warmth once expelled from a warm womb.  That long life, long journey, now to become one’s own--the care, love and understanding of nurturance in those moments, hours, weeks and early years.

It is about that attraction—the compatibility and sense of responsibility and capacity of the mother, that is the send-off for the rest of one’s life-- for the ease or dis-ease, the peacefulness or angst, the love or sorrow, the security or vulnerability, the certainty or doubt, the successes or failures, trust or fear--these dualities in which we ebb and flow, wax and wane, crescendo and decrescendo--the way in which all life grows, matures and ultimately expires—and in which choice matters in each and every abstraction distilled and picked among dualities, unavoidably so. 

Kat

26 October 2015

learning and loving

a word, in a moment

at an end of an evening

one weekend near Halloween, and

 its waning moon.

two years of a pattern—

close, then far apart, and

back again, and again, and

again.

bodies, hearts in love and desire

then pain from withdrawal—

smarting, sorrow, sadness, and

grief.

a culmination of growth and gain

the many dimensions of love--

learning to open, look deeply, and

accept and love deeper.

a word was in the end, the ending

a man declaring it so--

vile, unloving, certainly so, and

correctly in his eyes.

a woman’s love and credibility, held

captive

in his eyes, holding only his truth--

a word, held sacredly in hers, violating their love.

a word spoken with love opened hearts, and eyes

more words, flowing over tongues through lips

feelings flooding and filling to over-flowing

words with love and breath drawing lovers closer.

understanding the depth of this sacredness—

their gift of relationship

growing up, growing more awakened, and

growing more in love.

Kat

14 November 2015

Deepening Love

once the love projections fall away

after the sheer delight in one another

while still aglow,

when that time of bliss

when that perfection leaves room

for one another's humanness--

then, oh yes, then,

that relationship begins to grow--

realistically with deepening love

Kat

7-27-15

Coffee Shop Musings

sitting in a warm hum of

music and background chatter

a phone rings, cars drive by and

mothers push their strollers

intersections move us through life—

forward, not backward

we are ready whether we are

ready or not

and it is our choice how we take that step

Austen says it’s character and conduct—

preceded by reason and logic

Bronte and her sisters embrace –

love and passion

my understanding speaks to no black and white—

 or one solution

only simple presence and conscious action—

 in each and every moment

Kat 

8 September 2015

A Sacred Word

Trust is a rich word.
Even a sacred sound
when rolled

upon my tongue
and let go

into the air.

Sometimes

so allusive,
I desire to crawl

into a ball
and go to sleep,
avoiding aloneness
and the fear
that joy and love

are forever
gone.

Wanting to sleep

and awaken to

another reality,
sometimes, but
sometimes

awakening
to sameness.

Yet, each time I shift,

if only slightly.
get up--greet a smile
upon my face,
go out

and embrace
the moment.

When shifting

back into the grace
and beauty,
love, song and joy abound.

Trust as allusive,
is worthy of such a
 journey.

Kat

2014

Pixels

The pixels were beginning to form into an image—positive and negative spaces around each and one another—connecting with absence and presence of forms .  The highlights emphasized that which existed, and suggested that which might appear—but had not yet—as in the water colour painting that suggests through white cellulose paper, the sunlight, clouds, waves and their froth, smiles, and gaiety.

The absence of colour--the very purity of all essence—halos on angels, glowing hearts, pearl necklaces and brides' flowing gowns—essences without edges—the flow and movement of life and ultimately, growth—for all life is chaotic change—energy in constant flux—our aliveness and ability to thrive in the in-betweens and the peaks and valleys.  

The string of moments held together creating form that reflects our nature—our character—our pattern—and to which we claim our unique Self and the Universe in which our Soul journey flies and thrives. 

Kat

12 October 2015

Woman's Worth workshop series

dual nature

a sigh draws breath from all edges

cheeks collapsing and relaxing against bone and flesh.

breath drawing inwardly, expands

our physical presence,

our psyche’s presence.

breath that sighs and draws us closer

to our heart and soul dance

gathering and churning this drawn breath

revealing the dual nature,

that light and dark,

the completeness of our humanness.

drawing breath that feeds dream's

symbols, and archetypes

through sighs drawn and breath released

upon waves we ride

deciphering language of surrender.

Kat 27 July 2015 
Revised 5-31-16

divine feminine

is grace with a mix

of raucous gentleness in action

with a spark leading to explosion

soft-hearted with easy tears

that lead to firm clear boundaries

that do not compromise Self.

resolve with compassion

selfishness that takes nothing

from another’s own journey

respect for all life—

a clarity of knowing

when respect for death is correct

a connection to laughter smile and calm

Kat

11 July 2015

"be still," she says

“be still,” she says--it’s all within

each archetype’s gift, unfolding

there’s no more room

the holes are fully filled

it’s time to sit and gather

“be still,” she says--listen and see

you are complete--with love

and inner knowing

hold it true--find center

your sight is clear, in stillness.

 Kat
7 July 2015

belonging

as a wave’s wondrous break, the syncopation of ocean surf,

the moon’s waxing and waning, the sun’s ascent and assimilation

paralleling train tracks, peas in a pod, a pearl in an oyster shell,

wet water, hot solar sun-rays, cold as in chunky ice,

the rustling of thousands of trees’ leaves in wind.

homeostasis as in equilibrium, 

inner calm and its peacefulness and joy,

health and happiness.

belonging

as in a period at the end of a punctuated sentence,

a comma before “but,” & “e” before “i” after “c,” 

a woman and her wild feminine, a crone in her centered wisdom,

a village of varied people,  a warm-hearted woman and her mated man, 

lovers and their lingering kiss,

tears as in spilling sorrow, laughter as in jubilance,

a crescendo and decrescendo,

a heartbeat and life.

belonging

as in a circle is whole--

without a beginning,

without an end

all complete—

belonging to itself,

its entity

unified

and belonging without question—

one

whole.

Kat

10 August 2015

living

I live on a street

where people walk by

I see their parts and pieces

through stands of trees and bushes

their mass though bits of movement

on scattered light beams--

rays of reflecting light

tell me so

ants, moving slowly to and from their hill

with a certainty

known to them but

a mystery to me

these go to the ocean shore

to the waves and crashing surf and

more perhaps,

and back again

I saw a blind woman walk this way

and back in the later afternoon sun

tap, tap, tap--another mystery

I hear clipped laughter like a movie

that reels onward--then, gone

an audience of the audience

who seek and look and return

a movie,  always in the making 

Kat

24 June 2015

angle of repose

the sunhats shed rays

the canoe hull dried

pigments, too, on stretched

canvas

autumnal grasses and

paintbrushes splayed , upward

he painted

she, deep within

and still

leaned away and toward

the canvas, brushes, grasses--

all an angle of repose

Kat

1 June 2015

refractions and reflections

the sun drops under the rim of my eye,

into the dome of my cornea,

moist, tepid and home to images

I catalogue with each eyelash flutter

each lens shutter

focus near in and far away

the broadness of horizon curves, to

the fuzziness of too much closeness

each image captured, held

in liquid suspension, with

fix, stop and wash,

upon my psyche, heart and mind

opening me to what is, and

what holds beauty, now

and forever etched onto, and into

my being with energy, imagery,

sending me places only the Universe’s

planetary marvels possess when

striking my water receptors and refracting

upon my mind.

Kat 

1 June 2015
revised 31 May 2016

Through the Looking Glass

Among other dangers our imagination had created, we still had to resolve the upset between us at the upcoming tea party. The White Rabbit was causing me great agitation.  His constant muttering “I’m late, I’m late, for a very important date” was getting on my nerves.  His universal cuteness—that white fuzzy symbolic presence whose velvety ears and little bobbed tail just didn’t add up to the total picture of this fretting bespectacled top-hatted Leporidae who kept zipping back and forth in front of us—his energetic worries spilling into and onto our energetic waves that caused me accumulative angst. 

I purposefully sat with the quiet Dormouse and ever-grinning Cheshire Cat , who together, were politically correctly honouring the occasion at my table--at the Red Queen’s court –the upcoming wedding celebration---awaiting tea to be served.

I couldn’t help having been drawn lovingly toward this Dormouse, whose calm demeanor and obvious inner strength which were revealed through her warrior courage and presence as she sat unruffled by the frenzy of this white fluff bouncing back and forth around the court.

The Cheshire Cat just grinned and sat back in Buddha grace, apparently observing the richness of the colourful characters—as if and obviously so at peace with the menagerie of souls arriving to partake in this festivity—appearing grateful, loving and at one with the moment—with the unfolding—the oneness of perfection of it all.  Oh, the Taoism of it that he exuded in his smile from cheek to cheek in blissful contentment.

Most certainly the Cheshire Cat, as content and blissful as he appeared, was already on something, and less than likely emoting with anyone outside of his close circle–besides, now the Dormouse and he were engaged in a quiet love exchange—his eyes gazing into hers, as they expressed their devotion and appreciation towards one another.

I noticed the White Rabbit’s clock bob striking 1:37 and I sensed my gut tightening.  Now that the courtyard was full and spilling over and beyond the flatness of the edges of the earth’s circumference, the Bride and Groom from somewhere, appeared—Jefferson Airplane’s “White Rabbit” played the Bride’s solo as she walked into the Groom’s arms while the Caterpillar muttered something to the celebrity wedding couple as they kissed and floated off---as magically as they appeared in the midst of this chaotic gathering.

My gut contractions continued until I connected the source of my anxiety—the rabbit hole—I’m not a rabbit, I thought.  I am a writer, and I am not Alice.  I am not any of the characters and do not know why I am appearing at this tea party—this wedding, in this royal court.  I am a voyeur, perhaps.  And I don’t know how to ascend up through the rabbit hole back to the real world, back out of the hole through which I followed Alice, who followed the White Rabbit-- who then cavorted with all the other characters beneath this earthly crust down into this Wonderland.

Perhaps though, just perhaps, this world beneath the rabbit hole, where all is not what it appears, but which is all but what it is and isn’t---where appearance matters to those who care or to those who create appearance.   Perhaps it is the judgment held by others who live insecurely within their own beings that is the result by the makers of illusion and angst that sits so firmly in guts and causes distress…….

Perhaps all is correct and as it need be, with those who jitter, frit and skidder about while others sit in peaceful harmony—appearing to hold a loving, accepting sense of themselves, and that, therefore, this state of being is what becomes their reality.

Perhaps outside, inside, above, below, upon, against-- all opposites and all similarities--are apart of possibilities without any right or wrong, but all a part of the whole—perfect, complete and one.

And perhaps, just perhaps, the rabbit hole is the way—The Tao--the access to our Soul—to the archetypes within whose differences, similarities—all bejeweled with gifts and riddled with flaws, allow us the distillation of our journey—our choices, our unique path that culminates in whatever manner we choose—loving, compassionate, kind, or perhaps the karmic ongoing resistance—any way, it is our journey, however we dream it-- rich, pleasurable, and sometimes angst-driven, but certainly as colourful and perhaps potentially confusing and unreal as Lewis Carroll presented to his readers so long ago.

Divine Center

Opening the heart towards others

is at our inner core of humanness.

It is like breath, or could be.

Sustenance for joy, peace and happiness

allows connection for our purpose in life.

When given freely, love sustains.

Asking nothing in return

not a single need or want bears form.

In selflessness, our hearts open.

Wide, wider, soft, softer, melting in grace

selfless giving of our heartfeltness.

Flooding back, filling, sensing peace.

Stilling us.

Kat 

11 May 2015

Sentidos de la Vida

The purity of nature, untampered by man, allows my eyes to open widely in wonderment, my ears in earnest, and my heart in holy joy—holding me glued as if bonded by the natural world’s mystery and the ever-unfolding majesty of the high mountain llanos and mesa of New Mexico, reaffirming my love for this particular place—for this particular landscape.

When skies thunder, booming solidly followed by electrical schizophrenic flashes juxtaposed against rain-saturated blackened layers of May storm-centers over my 120 year old adobe home and onto my chicken-proof gardens, whose fences, today tilt catywonk from neighbour’s cattle leaning hungrily towards my greener pastures, my heart leaps in joyfulness.  Thrills surge upwardly from the pit of my stomach, outwardly from somewhere deep within my being, into the air, the skies, throughout the forests---saying “Hello, I am at home with you again. Thank you.”

It was God speaking to all of us—the cattle, sheep, coyote, mountain lion, badgers, skunk, squirrel, and bear—all the wildlife and domestics, dependent upon the rain god, the mercy of this higher being, blessing all of us with Spring rainfall that just might hold the animals safely this season if combined with yet another God gift—a mild spring transition free of a late freeze.  They could not bear yet still another season without acorns, gooseberry, chokecherry, apples and wild plum. 

The evening clouds hold concert time in the eastern skies—skyscraper tall and broad—hanging motionlessly curled, like Tibetan figured ocean waves stylized and brilliant white.  Blue skies cradle the billows until pink tinges stain the lower skirting, spreading like watercolor pigment across its newly moistened page.

At once mesmerized, tuned to the visual acuity of this unfolding sky, my senses draw yet again to another wonder—the silence.  The abject stillness not only in the grandeur of boundless skies, with banks of sun-setting-clouds, but a quality of stillness that assuages my inner channel—the tiny bones in my ear drums, that no longer feel tired or drained, but at peace with what they knew—what they know--to be at one with myself.

The lightness of heartbeat, so slow now—the in-breath and out-breath, as gentle as the breeze that hangs softly as the Spring cottonwood fuzz that floats downwardly, slowly, until it reaches its place of purpose.  All senses imploring, yet settling in step—into the rhythm with the earth and sky—this land that I have grown such a kinship with these past decades—the moments of awe it opens me to for my sensual feasting and awakens the recognition—my ancient memory of what love means and the beauty of loving in all moments.

Kat

14 May 2015