Kate Lamberg Center for Natural Healing and Creative Arts~

Sacred is not something one can put in a polished wooden box, and take out every now and then to remember what it is. Sacred is an all the time accessible feeling tone....one experiences when taking the time to be still and quiet, hearing one's soul whisper, and acting upon the higher messages, with grace and humility. (words and photo~kate lamberg (c) '14)

sky holds pink stripes on white and blue peeps through while she walks softly through the dew laden grass garden flowers, drowsy welcome her quietly she breezes past, taking notice of how very much she feels alone--although she full well knows that robins, blue jays, and gulls are circling above in perfect arcs to remind all who are feeling left behind--that we are neither alone or behind the times--the edges of the warm air, and her brushing against a damp shrub-- beginning to grow crimson berries.. are all the signs she needed to know walking softly--every so quietly towards october's end she sighs along with pumpkin face richly orange, jeweled fertile seeds moist within--clinging to long thin fibers of light orange flesh deep inside the recesses of a bright joyful pumpkin, sitting upright in the garden at dawn ~kate lamberg (c) '14 ~words/photo~kate lamberg (c) '14

what images dreams do show never stop revealing where we hold back from being more greatly there a million years can fly by dancing quietly in the luminous core of a golden sunflower without a tap on the door and then-- a sudden wind opening a single door-- imploring all who care to walk within the realization, amidst the apple crisp air: no choices need be chosen- when souls go dancing bare words/photo~kate lamberg (c) '15

surrender to the ever present love for one's self not rushing the opening of the voluptuous scented flower nor safely keeping watch we allow the natural course of buds and petals...as friends we gladly connect with on the ascending path we join our feet hands hearts dancing the effortless work of being our selves in a world of harsh artifice we wind around the sweet rising fire of delight never giving up the flight ~ words/photo~kate lamberg (c) '14

october rain becomes the hyphen--- between lines we tether sumac ribbons ivy covered brick, willow leaves turning a silvery sage--the aspens blazing climbing once distant hills of caramel now, so close we can touch its fringes random rain drops on pitched roofs, rollicking morning barely apparent-- steeped in sounds of birch bark peeling, scents of apples simmering, and freshly found pine cones leaving sticky resin north wind gently pushing lace curtains acquiescing so early, no sounds of cars or the clop of feet stomping music still late enough to see an awakening charcoal sky from the vantage point of angels on high ~kate lamberg (c) '14

we cannot be sure where the mill stream goes when we are sleeping but we love her still her ability to bring up the muddy bottom and carry it along in quiet reverie, or with the softest of songs ~string of haiku/photo~kate lamberg (c) '14 all rights reserved.

"The entire universe is contained within one's imagination." ~Albert Einstein where would angels appear if we did not believe in their inherent healing? how would stars reveal themselves to us without our faith in their incessant turning? why do birds sing so soon after sunrise? they have always sung-- we are just now paying attention to their endless precious singing.... words/photo~ kate lamberg (c) '14 all rights reserved

in memory of Ronald Fischman alone on the sabbath grappling, as if my own natural ability to breathe easily was shut-down my own self closed in an air tight darkened room first thinking of how i was light freely breathing on my woods walk before i knew of the tragedy how he was bludgeoned from behind while i was probably hugging a tree in my innocent non-knowing not an accident, an intentional stabbing of another an intrusion,that took his breath, blood, and a life a senseless act of violence perpetrated by an angry out of bounds person who never knew the word compassion--- while the victim's two small children lay dreaming in their beds--- the older boy, soon to be seen as a man on his Bar Mitvah only two weeks from the horror the younger girl, still innocent among dolls and stuffed unicorns the magic of family destroyed by the single act of an intruder as if hitler walked into a Monet painting- and insisted that the lilies instead o...

the still muggy warm air of october leaves her restless---waiting for the cooler dry to wrap around her slowly opening heart---to dance with what is changing all around and not to offer any resistance is the leafy path she was ordered to walk in a whisper--sometime long ago-- when walking was new; where beauty sung both loudly, and in a hush of a prayer purveyed in a swish of deepening reds and golds-  the leaves,secured on trees,  and those that crept free-- filling the skies with wonderment clearing her eyes of the pressing pain of lies that got her in the solar plexus she returns to the path carved by her need for solitude soon to be shared with one who reaches to hold her hand through all kinds of weather no longer feeling she had to be a fair weathered feathered friend but one who warbles along until along the worn stones at sea until the stones stop clicking a salsa tune beneath the all embracing moon words/photo~kate lamberg...

daubs of crimson, russet, gold trees on fire- impossible to hold onto any solitary beauty; all becomes revealed while walking. unrehearsed; this world, we inhabit crowns us with all the elegance we would ever need to know-- with a score of one million herons placed, to sing where once we slid beneath the illuminated pond- on fire with desire! ~words/photo~kate lamberg (c) '14

he arrives with earthen sleeves and a warm flood of amorous chords dribbled in from a galaxy i have yet to visit he seems to live there with a stare of a meditative star how far can two candles burn without snuffing out the flame how long can two pillars continue to pave the road with ecstasy...before the tall grasses alongside the country road flare up in cognizance; it is the will to flame that leaves us out of breath, which causes the burning of her golden mane, turned into a pixie cut- for fancy loves change and how the sparkler enjoys rearranging window panes, and thick oak doors left open for amour madness escapes through key holes and heart holes on cellos deeply rich and sweet to gingerbread fussing and white picket fencing, letting in the sonorous sweep of music from across the street, letting that be the gentle harmonics she wishes to keep-- the symphony alive in pies. shared by the baker's son before any chords w...

scarlet leaves, you've returned from a place of mystery- how green you have been wistfully waiting for miracles... struggling to make sense of a restless, sudden spring will you allow me, in the grace of summer's leaving, to give a broader berth- for fertile fall, simply weaving to celebrate the garland spot which you effortlessly ignite let me spin with you a conjoined essence around the ground from which you rise ~words/photo~kate lamberg (c) '14

"If I waited for perfection, I'd never write a word." Margaret Atwood what is perfect to me may be just an irregular shadow of a tin pipe tarnished in the sun the perfection of a moment can only be the one that is most fully experienced the still point between the out-breath and the following in-breath even the thoughts of wondering how... no person ever goes down the same uneven pot-holed road similarly some can notice the clear lines of feet parallel to ground, while others take notice of the first of the sails being raised on a still temperate morning so early we can, with deliberation, detect the rich citrus scent of an orange peeled at midnight- while looking up at the almost full moon- it's golden solemnity pooling through all the sleeping eyes and those, such as mine, looking at yours--from a distance of a million stars, close enough to taste the sharp points made by a super nova overlapping with the smooth awakening frui...

sometimes, the light of day sweeps a darkness we thought we could not bring our hands around we thought the noose of expanding dark would trap the freedom of the lark and leave a cloistered life for evermore; but, no; it seems the crooked door could utter a plaintive song which would let the light once more wrap around the wooden shudders softening sighs and lifting the tight noose of darkened corners to one which lets the semi- dim window pane-- a preposition to what we knew would wander in no expanding light could be left out when providence and upward gaze courts the brilliance of one autumn sun words/photo~kate lamberg (c) '14

where would we be without the fading tatters of a life spent relaxed with one heart open who would we be without  the leaning in to cup the freely flowing waters of anagada springs pumping joy without exhibiting one blessed thing it's the feelings that trump, the thoughts that split in a second of infinite wondering-- wanting to be what we have been ushered into the world for a slowly rising poppy, perforated at the center of all light reaching deep within the watercolor washing wistful through  tubular bells red foxes on the loose- let love rest where the leaves spill in figured eights collected by the cool rounded boulders forming a circular pool of pensive sitting along the banks of stillness a random swaying of torso indicating nothing but pure flow words/photo~kate lamberg (c) '14

leaves peak in amber bursts on some trees, while others remain still green--hanging on the branches samba with a forceful north wind and one soft october rain we arrive at beauty road by neither holding on, nor coldly dismissing but simply attending to the delicate details focusing on the clean sheen of present moments- birthed into leaves spiraling against a placid sky falling on to the welcoming earth floating upon  rivers of our mirth words/photo~kate lamberg (c) '14

armed with books and journal high energy snacks and relaxed openness she joins her winged friends watches them do their flapper dance studies the changing sheen on tall green grasses--how queen anne's lace brown in an all day downpour the tide dead low, allowing her to explore the tiny creatures moving in adagio she steps into the center of time stretched like salt water taffy on retreat from the sputtering noise of exhaust fans harbour is crooning cleaner air whipping her honeyed hair into random curls of surrender she's becoming misunderstood from some who appear outside of her soul group---and she is beginning not to care- for her feet are returning to the dampened sand with her self-respect held between her healing hands she touches smooth stones and in turn is touched by the peace of pine cones ~words and photo~kate lamberg (c) 9/11/14

we wrap the day in ancient beauty seeing through our abilities to free summer in a backstroke through a slower stream in a backyard dream we release the child of incessant wants, and embrace with grace: what guides hearts and eyes-- with the simplest of lullabies ~ 'chant', and photo (c) ~kate lamberg 9/22/14

a tire swing, tied to a loyal oak tree allows each child the simple joys of flying higher than they could ever conceive the mind, released from thinking becomes a bright steady flame with persimmon wings, reaching beyond the height of copper leaves a soft rain falls in places once occupied by the sun how we accept miracles while the blessed work is done words/photo~kate lamberg (c) '14