Here To There

May 11, 2017.  Reflecting on a day at Red Corral Ranch in the Texas hill country – I go every other month with a spiritual awareness group.  Last week, right after group reflection on a Stanley Kunitz poem – we went out into the May sunshine to spend some quiet solo time reflecting and observing.  Red Corral is home to a number of peacocks, noisy birds, calling back and forth to one another.  Their squeals are intense, sounding like “HELP” – mixing in with Kunitz words, the birds helped this poem emerge.  They reminded me who I am – poet.

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Energy Of Change

April 4, 2017.  Not typical Spring Fever!  My restless state stems from too many changes I am unable to influence – this urge to tackle something tangible, make something prettier, even if insignificant in the larger realm of unpredictables.   Why not transform a once-stately (still-comfy) rocking chair into a bright turquoise meditation station?

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Layered Grief

March 28, 2017.  I’m wrestling with the loss of our tabby a couple weeks back – just when I think I’ve gotten over it, I find myself in tears again.  Yesterday I watched the calico sitting in dappled shadows – I drifted deep into meditating on her focus in the moment, pondering her intuitive feline ways of adapting to this loss of companion.   I found more questions than answers, but also acceptance that I don’t get to choose when grief resolves.

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Serious Trancing

March 8, 2017.  For those who ponder how poems materialize, today’s example (not exactly repeatable, but representative):   Morning routines are just that – routine …  Sketch begins trancing …  Gary pauses on way out the door to describe a scene he’d rather stay home with …  I tiptoe to peer at cat and experience a flash of envy …  Pen in hand first, I think of camera a little too late …  I rely on words to convey the scene.

The image is thus of resulting state rather than feline process of “getting gone”.

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Leaving

January 31, 2017.  Lately, a series of dreams have occurred driving solo in my Rav4, and while I puzzle over the varying symbols (a horse in the back seat, a bear hauling me and Rav4 up a huge tree) the constant of behind-the-wheel is perhaps of greater significance. Pondering if the Dream Maker is promoting solo travel, I found my way back to this poem.

My last big solo drive was January 2013, to Taos NM for a meditative intensive.  I was quite hyped about going, both for the experience once there and for the long hours driving.  Driving solo is a unique meditative experience in and of itself.

But going entails separation … this poem wrote itself between home and Taos.  While I have no photograph of the departure scene beyond the poem’s imagery, I do have the contrast view a few hours post arrival.  Parting words of caution rang in my ears as I skidded into Taos along with a major snow storm, icy roads, and much anxiety.   Nothing prettier than an undamaged car, blanketed down for a few idle days.

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