WaterDragon

WaterDragon

Wednesday, June 29, 2016

Personifying Grace--White Poppy


A soft-spoken woman knocked gently on the side door of my Seaside home asking after the glowing tissue blossoms held elegantly tall and upright in my corner southern garden.  Fluorescently white, as if reflecting all the light in the universe, bright white, the purest essence of absence of all colour possible—baring no pigment, even in its crinkled shadowed vertical-lined single petals.

Large and earthy-abundant in pregnant-form, overshadowing its plain surprisingly stocky stem with its brilliance--sleight of hand, so-to-speak.  Not with intentional deception, but with beauty, elegance and a majesty of being because its integrity demands an equally determined rootedness to carry it firmly, substantially and gracefully into the air.


Kat
6 June 2016

Evolution and its Encumbrances


Red feathered, yellow footed and beaked, Ruben was not an unusual-looking rooster nor was he set off in any other way from other cocks.  But that he was my first rooster in charge of my first flock, gave him meaning to me.  Proud, I came to understand, was Ruben—and over the months, I noted that his preference for Juliet and only Juliet, set him apart from other birds I later came to know.  Inseparable they were—from coop rung at night, to field grazing during daylight hours, the two were lovers, friends, and where one was, so the other was to be found.

Birds’ brains we are told, are pea-size—and of little matter.  Emotions and feelings, obviously lacking.  Otherwise, how could a human population house birds in the deplorable conditions where beaks and wings are clipped, in cages holding them tightly squeezed and where daylight and movement are absent?

Howard Zinn, author, historian, playwright, social activist and Boston University professor, told us that what a government will do to a country abroad, it will soon do to its own people.  Extrapolating from this, we might wonder how the current corporate US government manages to fool its own people into similarly deplorable living conditions where food, air and water are contaminated with toxic shortcuts for corporate profit--dulling our minds and ultimately allowing our government access to our own choice for freedom. 

The domestication of our fowl came through man’s evolutionary shift from nomadic to agricultural based living. As we might suspect, from Zinn's perspective, our own ultimate fate is clearly presented to us in our animal’s quality of life.  How is it possible for the “smartest” species to be diminished so greatly and that we do not see it upon us?


Kat
2-29-16

Origins Without Endings


Life teams with newness—tender lily shoots tipping out at the creek’s surface, touching air and sky.  Wet unfurling curled cone leaves ribbon out on slender stems, lushly engorged on photosynthesis and early sap flow.

Peeps and chirps, delicate as baby’s breath, fill a background silence of earthy under-story in the dense oxygen-rich landscape, merging fauna life with flora.

The fullness of newness.  The culmination of cycles—waxing of a full moon, extending her feminine edges in tandem with the light—of not only her cycle, but in conjunction with the solstice—both reaching newness of boundary, yet ancient. 

Long ago now, without beginning and with no ending, in my short lifetime.  On and on, life begins-- waxes, wanes.  Tender. Expanding. Maturing. Closing.  Only to begin again and again and again.


Kat
20 June 2016

Fuzzies And All Those Other Sensations


Don’t stop thinking about tomorrow.  While it is getting ahead of you, it is a good way of getting lost.  And sometimes getting lost is a good way of finding yourself.

Do you think? 

Being in love with the fuzzy brown center of a sunflower can be wondrously cozy and life-saving.  Mesmerized by nature’s beauty calms the mind--slowing down the physical breath and finding a place outside your own head long enough to recognize that an entire world is afire with the miraculousness of life itself---and, that we are not only a part of this beauty, we are the beauty--the ocean wave, the sunset, the fuzzy brown cone center, the sweet honeysuckle perfume and all and everything else.

Kat
13 June 2016

At The Water's Edge


She rested near death, head gently bowed, the ever-most tip of that majestic beak at rest upon the grayed sand at the incoming tidal surf.  Wet back, dry neck—those grayish brown hues --feathers muddled together revealing a diminished stature -- all collapsed in a mere puddle of sluggish wet filoplumes.  The feather keratin sloggy and no doubt her body temperature plummeting.

A crowd of gawking bobbing iphone clickers zooming in and out, at arms length, formed a semi-circle around the Pelicanus.  Her final hour.  Click click went their phones.  A background of hushed excited clipped voices muffled in the surging ocean tide.  They know not from where they came, nor where they are going.   

Alas, this world is a confused muddle of eccentricities and too muchness.  Discontented, disconnected souls whose journeys are yet to be understood by those who are on the journey.

And yet, we wander, to and fro.  Some gather at the ocean’s edge, at the magnificence of the Feminine and take in its majesty of her gifts like breath.  While others fall short of understanding we are one—that we are not only to observe, but to act in love and compassion to all in our path.  We must join in concert together in this journey and embrace, aid, love one another and not distance ourselves through the lenses that hold us at bay.


Kat
27 June 2016

Monday, June 6, 2016

Acceptance, Personified


Acceptance is a small quiet room within our house of Jungian symbology, opening onto a balcony of Self-love, located next to the library of Compassion, west to the den of Forgiveness and joined in the middle by the Great Hall of Love.

Kat
3 June 2016

Advice


Unasked for advice rambles and tumbles off lips, relapsing into unconscious motion, like schools of fishes swimming circularly in a vast sea.  When requested, advice falls like pebbles on fresh grass, sweet as wind chimes and warming as campfires on a chilly night.

Kat
6 June 2016

Night Owl


So much to reflect upon into the late hours every night.  The depth of each thought, complex, with layers upon layers of wonderment oozing from a mind that refuses to still.  Supporting the weight of the ideas, my head bows—my eyes droop half-mast.  A tiredness washes over me from head to toe.  And as the moon rises in the sky, I fall deeply asleep from the immensity of all before me.


Kat
 9 May 2016

Wednesday, June 1, 2016

The Mother--the Ocean


She leads me other than
through worm hole directness,
over grey granule
after greyish granule—
those briny specs swept molded
onto the ocean shore
mounded and matrixed
by moon draw
careened on backs
and underbellies
 of churning water walls
crashing and coursing—
pulled and fading
then beckoned back
to her sweet swell --
  beginnings
  broad flat and
  motherly full.


Kat 15 March 2015