Travelogue

Halfway through the journey
You forget which way
You meant to go. You
Stop, and slowly turn toward
Each direction till you feel
A tug. It’s this way: North.
And though you dread the
Darkness and the cold,
You know by now it’s
Better just to listen when
You’re called.
You move through woods
And cities, mountain ranges,
Rivers, valleys, farms, and villages.
Through fox dens,
Rooftop pigeon coupes,
A beaver dam, McMansions,
Cardboard boxes. Till you reach
The Condor’s Cave where
You are welcomed.
You spread your wings
As though you’ve had them
All your life and you begin
The next leg of your journey
Soaring on­ the thermals,
So close to the sun you
Start to laugh because 

You worried you’d be cold.

A New Chapter

As happens every few years, I have been seized by the poetry muse. And so begins a new chapter. I'm happy as can be to be writing poems good and bad. Much gratitude to those people in my life who support me in this activity, along with my genes, which would predict that I'd be doing this. The poems have started to surprise me because the subjects are things I'd never have imagined would inspire me, like the following offering. Written today, it is the second poem I'm sharing in this space. Thanks in advance for reading it. xR

Breaking Training

With Gratitude to Julianne of Norwich,

Christian mystic, died c. 1416

I let myself believe

that all is well, and

all is well, and all

manner of thing

shall be well.

How contrary to

my upbringing,

this notion is,

as if to see

this troubled

world and feel

around inside it

for the healing,

is to be

boring, vapid,

born without

imagination, or,

worse yet,

a traitor to

my ancestors.

But I take comfort

in the certainty

that we mystics

have no need of

adjectives, and that my

Sister Julianne

would recognize me

not as Jewish mystic

but as a fellow celebrant

at the dawning of the day.

An Offering

My friend, Maya Stein, has been on a journey she's calling Type Rider. She's cycling from Amherst, MA to Milwaukee, WI -- 40 miles a day for 40 days, beginning on her 40th birthday, which was on May 5th. Today is day 39. She's carting along with her, in a little trailer attached to her bicycle, a turquoise Remington typewriter. Everyday, she sets up a workstation with a chalkboard that says" Write Yourself Here." She provides passersby of every type of human there is with a writing prompt and has been collecting what she's calling "The Great American Poem." She's also posting those prompts to a google group for those of us who are following along without having left home. 

The poem below comes from the writing prompts from Day 37 
(I choose to believe...) and 38 (I am...). 

The Hope

    with gratitude to Patricia Monaghan

What is this unending love
I choose to believe will heal me, 
and you, and the planet, 
will heal the madness that’s stealing 
my grand-children’s future? 
I feel it in the constancy of
the sun coming up in the east, 
the moon waxing full every month, 
the change of the seasons, 
the shifts in the tides, and 
in the certainty that all things pass. 
I am that crazy old woman 
in the middle of Times Square, 
laughing and pointing at the sun 
as it rises over the city, 
as it streams its golden light
across 42^nd Street. I am the one 
who calls out to the rushing people,
“Behold! Behold!”

Encountering Starling

Gorgeous Spring weather, a week before the Equinox, has my windows open and the screens not yet in place. I come home from an early outing to find a starling frantically keeping out of paw's reach as my cat, Lucy, in full hunting mode, is tracking her. The starling, whose home, typically, is in one of the big oaks on my street rather than in the confines of my little fifth floor apartment, seems to have established a route through the house; various perches from the top of my bookcases in the living room to the top of the big framed mirror in the entryway, to the top of the kitchen cabinets, then back the other way as Lucy stalks her. All very exciting (for Lucy), and frantic (for the trapped starling). I am happy for Lucy. Not much adventure in her life these days, but I am distressed for the starling who I have no idea if I'll be able to coax out of the house. And then there's the inevitable deposits of birdshit I'm likely to be finding.

My first task, much to her consternation, is to get Lucy into the bedroom and close the door. Then, I make an effort to send a wave of calmness to the bird. I assume an attitude of complete indifference, keeping my focus away from her as I begin to plan an exit strategy. I am already grateful for whatever powerful message Starling medicine holds for me. When the bird is free, I'll be looking at my books and online for information about Starling medicine! But first things first. Free the bird! My kitchen window is the biggest window in the house. It opens onto a fire escape so getting to it involves unlocking the gate I have installed -- a sad reality of city living. Gate open, I pull up the bottom half of the window as wide as it will go, which seems plenty wide. The bird flies directly into the top half. Somehow, she regains her perch on top of the kitchen cabinet and, sitting with its beak wide open (is this starling for "I just bashed into a not terribly clean window pane. I'm embarrassed, pissed off, and my head hurts...."?), seems to be waiting for my next move. Continuing my attitude of disinterest, I close the bottom half and open the top, kicking myself for not thinking like a bird. What must it be like to actually fly!! Up! think "Up!". I step away, all the way to the door of the kitchen which is the farthest point away from the window. I hold up the sweater I’ve been wearing to discourage the bird from heading this way. I have the pleasure of seeing her take her leave. I cheer and clap and feel jubilant. This has all taken, perhaps, five minutes, from my walking in the door to the the bird gaining its Freedom.

I let Lucy out of the bedroom and watch her as she searches the house for the intruder. Ultimately, homebound creature that she is, she's distracted from the prowl by her food dish where she makes short work of what remains of her breakfast. The house settles down. I close some windows, put screens in others and go to my computer to start work. But first Starling Medicine. What wisdom, what story, what instruction, does this encounter hold for me?

Starling – birds that fly in great flowing swarms, creating living waves in the sky. Surely, they are masters of community. What caused this individual to pierce the veil between our worlds? I will be thinking and dreaming on this encounter for a good long while. Right now, I find myself focussed on what Starling offered me: an opportunity to take action without thinking, to move quickly, efficiently; to be fearless and precise in the care of three different species; to have my attention brought to bird-mind (Up, silly! Up!); to be an agent in a story with a happy ending involving freedom.

I know there's more here to know from this encounter. I'll be watching for how Starling shows up in the coming days. Stay tuned.