Kate Lamberg Center for Natural Healing and Creative Arts~

"I know nothing else but miracles." Walt Whitman Add caption simply allowing new loops of musical notes to ring between a pair of ears, trusted since birth a cool wind pushing through the old warm dead air a decision to climb another mountain, to care for another living being,  outside the parameters of individual uncertainties- to step through the flaming hoop of what was  considered danger    2) only to find river grapes only to find river grapes still ripe and ready for pressing-- through the landlocked province of mind fields lifting off in spiritus dance- we once again yield to the graces of angel faces courting the comfort of knowing we are eternally safe surely sassafras becomes 3) Illuminated by the new illuminated by the new| golden slipper moon setting along with the sun- the living melting mandalas- our ancestors share stories with us around the campfire for gratitude allows all things to inspire words/photos~kate lamberg (c) '...

reflections on setauket harbor- kate lamberg (c) '15 the rain again windswept, steps through what was seen as a blockage unravels a hymn for all to view how what we thought was taking place was just sheer illusiory sarabande' sounds created to fool how a river rises in spring as silver glints of dancing minnows- & drops down to darkened river beds beneath the insular snow how secrets shared through ethered notes are kept in confidence beyond mechanical a spiraled delivery- not caught up in the holiday wrapping we become the gift of our own realization words/photo~kate lamberg (c) '15

words/photo~kate lamberg (c) '15 warm night, windows open cool morning, windows closed what aches becomes smooth what is smooth becomes achey home is there, and also here you are sometimes here, and sometimes there we can choose to be silent, and be together as well  as speak when we are apart we can look at our lives as seamless or we can look at our lives as with seams seamless becomes with seams, as what has seams becomes seamless cool air travels through open windows some cool air stays out with windows closed there are times for being overly hot and times for being overly cold no one has ever drowned from gazing at the sun, nor has any one melted by looking at snow today i prefer jazz to zydeco if you ask me tomorrow, i might say that blues truly resonates if you don't like the present channel you are on get up, walk across the room (remember before we had remotes) and change that channel...do not sit down take action on your life and th...

we forgot the trees were turning when we were working on the barn somewhere between the joists and sky-light hammering, we just stopped mindlessly in our tracks and without a moment to waste, we flew clear across the smooth pine floors and out the sliding roughened wood doors for just this: blazing color on high trees lit as if from within the very core of existence radiating bliss- as if for only us: a kiss of pure amber honey words/photo~kate lamberg (c) '15

sky darkens soon after sunrise as the once dry leaves of the oak click a damp, yet deliberate song, speaking in tongues within castanettes- the slippage of sun warning everyone to play fair, choose to walk upon the damper, greener ground-- leaving thoughts that weigh the meditative mind- to usher in a lighter step-- first bird song, an impatient blue jay, robust, jeering his autumn feathered friends- a moment of pure unadulterated silence, and then-- a single wing of a blue jay appears, through picture window, so soon... we begin humming, 'blue jay way' until its incandescent chant fills the brightening room with tinges of blue, transfixing all who view the magnolia's nude arched branches-seem to embrace her own trunk, and then-- reach closer to the isinglass, from where we choose to gaze--sensing a clawing invitation to join--- how breathing bodies become swept up in the woodland dance inside the warm golden room, with tinges of blue- a sun...

“Poetry has an immediate effect on the mind. The simple act of reading poetry alters thought patterns and the shuttle of the breath. Poetry induces trance. Its words are chant. Its rhythms are drum beats. Its images become the icons of the inner eye. Poetry is more than a description of the sacred experience; it carries the experience itself.” -Ivan M.Granger I'm inclined to say that some poetry has the power to engender what Mr. Granger has expressed. That would be good poetry, the kind of poetry that I not only enjoy reading, but the kind of poetry that catapults me into writing my own poetry. If good music carries with it music, less than good poetry carries an irregular pattern of sound. Without judging, I am not being pejorative in my observation. Both reading poetry out loud, and hearing it read by the poet can be a visceral, "full body" experience, or not.  I choose to both read and hear poems that create a definite alteration  in my mind, bod...

the day is a mystery of stillness the quiet cuts through the thick air delivering dampness to those who walk, or sit amidst this quiet day one bird sings in the lowest branch of the maple tree my neighbor planted last spring--its growth evidenced by its leaves tinged with a deep blush waving worlds through second story window as the sky slowly becomes more grey a terrorist attack happens each time we turn our backs- when we face our troubles head on- as train cars sit in a depot after hours there becomes less laundry to do as we witness the building up of stress and the releasing, as leaves shall tumble through a clearing-designed in earth tones- chanting all living things as one entity-tethered in god and goddess tapestry how the wind grows unaware of its ability to cool the poet stationed by the brook casting no shadows in a sun deprived sky words/photo~kate lamberg (c) '15

how sky lights up at dusk reminding our inner core to both broaden and deepen brackish waters of home are silenced- just as soon as sky darkens we are quelled simply, without vowels or consonants-- colors create sounds- silently uttering twinkle twinkle on upright piano, one last bike ride before dark.... pizza, ballet, the breast stroke words/photo~kate lamberg (c) '15

"Everything you can imagine is real." pablo picasso she had thoughts of riding the amber moon lassoing the stars, exuberant with her new found perspective what was vacant, became full what was full, watered down the darkening black blue sky sent fertility to planets needing nourishment on a ballet slipper bow impossible to know why wind whirled her curls becoming more taut she knew to listen for quick change spent in a higher thinner altitude pears procured in mid-air welcomed peanut butter kisses stuck on sweet salt anyone thought of immediately received natural healing on contact, rigid thinking caved into the swirling river rapidly offering a quick game of frisbee football before the real meal is served dinner gong- everyone we ever cared about sat down to talk freely how gravity cooperated preventing floating baguettes, whole bowls of fruit from flying high above our mouths, all that is imagined wholesome, our beings firmly p...

"If you realized how beautiful you are, you would fall at your own feet." ~byron katie understanding the candle burns brightest from the inside, she learned of trusting allowing all that's fluid to rise up spine & wings keeping her from rusting the little lapping of river's tongue upon the grassy knoll how it melted any thoughts of separation we have always been the river, the tall grass, the cobalt sky, the radiant sun practicing silence more is akin to kindness-- making natural what was charade how beautiful we are side-stepping comparing fanning the centuries--- flaring a new palpable peace words/photo~kate lamberg (c) '15~kath*odes.

We're all golden sunflowers inside.” ~ Allen Ginsberg (homage to allen ginsberg) when you sit playing your shruti box singing sutras through the rice paper walls your glowing from the inside both before & after the golden sun-flower becomes revealed outside- in the garden you tend, with the same hands that make music, write poems-- both sacred and ordinary, in the smoke haze of dawn so early- you arrive before the rooster rising on a prayer shawl of words written off the beat making the street quake- the world, be healed intoning the sound of infinite OM! words/photo~kate lamberg (c) '15~kath*odes

"When repeated difficulties do arise, our first spiritual approach is to acknowledge what is present, naming, softly saying 'sadness, sadness', or 'remembering, remembering', or whatever" ~Jack Kornfield the nature of good poetry, or what makes for a good piece of music can only be found in the moment of focusing with laser hawk eyes, clear elephant ears...... conversely, my friend, when those rough spots appear, seemingly from some faraway plot to undo the very thing we harnessed to create--we simply stop in our present tracks, mud drying on a dime in the harsh sun- and call that backsliding by name eyes closed- the last of the roses come flying, as the moon rises gold-- a story impossible to be told when processing too much information letting the scene be clean of excess the simple soothes the purpose of stillness, sorting laundry allowing lessons to burst forth among autumn flowers leaving the tired pushing breathing in the...

a sweeping sea gull centered in present time makes music in sand leaves tracks on the land becomes our peace prophet immersed in sky wind letting silence speak ocean, sky, pine needled tree-- rose petals fly free haiku/photo~kate lamberg (c) '15

Either seated, or on mat, experience the best of gentle yoga. Beginning with a centering "earthing" guided meditation, and reiki, followed by postures, ending with a deep relaxation journey! All stages, and sages welcome! This is a light- hearted approach to hatha "gentle" yoga. Tuesdays, Fridays, 9:30 am- 10:45 am Beginning Tuesday, Sept. 29th. Donation: 15., pay as you go. (or buy ten classes for 120.) snowy egret~kate lamberg (c) '15

Discover... how listening  to  live piano music, composed for healing.... can relax, soothe, balance mind/body/spirit! Participants bring a yoga mat, pillow/blanket... while I read poetry, play on my baby grand music, I have composed for body mind spirit healing! No previous experience necessary. Only the genuine interest in deep relaxation, body mind spirit integration/balance/natural healing. Mondays, 4:30- 5:30 pm Ten dollar Donation With Kate, BA, NYS Licensed Massage Therapist, Reiki Master, Sound Healer, Published Poet, Composer/Performer of original piano compositions, Yoga/Meditation Instructor. For more information/registration: healerkate77@gmail.com 631- 334-2663 Namaste' May all be well in your world! kate lamberg plays piano, at the mill pond house 9-13

google image (c) '15 Dedicated to the United Nations, and World Peace! breaking bread with friends-nothing comes closer to pure delight.... then i think of those who must stumble upon scraps-as the mercury does drop in the darkened night even crusts of bread can break a tooth... we look away as our hearts break in sorrow- we never know what to say to help mend the brokenness of homelessness "don't give money, as they might use it for booze or drugs" my parents used to say-- give them food- something nourishing like a turkey sandwich and some fruit-- fine, i'd say,  but what about tomorrow?.. what about tomorrow.. we've been raised on annie's "tomorrow"-- where wishes come true, if sung on key- where no tummy goes hungry..  i have struggled with this my whole life... in a country where we could feed everyone like kings and queens- and still the suffering....  we are born innocent, look...

the cool wind of a september evening left us turning to receive the crashing of aspen leaves, hitting green blue grasses-- how the leaves became thick ocre thread, weaving unity between all souls, not dead the relaxed green fronds-- sacred lawn of autumn: a field day for larks, sparrows, chickadees with the punctuation of birdsong, followed by a certain grave silence-- a somber soliloquy occasional dandelions pop up, neither asking to own the spotlight-- or to be overly reticent... . among baby flowers parading as bright as yellow can blare-- as loquacious  as a cloud may dare smelling like turpentine whisked over bonfires, its red and orange glare words/photo~kate lamberg (c) '15

when we dream of those who have transitioned from this world i believe their soul meets ours, full on- (reminding us) that they have never left us dreamed of my dad this morning he was wearing the colors of fall burnt sienna jacket, cordovan shirt he was waiting for mom to get ready dad was always patient as a saint i saw him looking out the kitchen window, drinking a glass of water he said, "if you called home more, you might get more work" i share that i had a cell phone not realizing when he said "home", he meant to talk to my own heart, to what is most important; to talk to him more, perhaps-- as i feel he was speaking to my soul by virtue of dreaming of him and then he reached to hug me, plant a kiss on my cheek-- it felt as natural as how days get longer in springtime offering the sweet fragrance of undying love-- to last my whole life- spilling into all lives left to live a returning to apple's core, i need not sear...

~for charlie mingus Wrote this, as I listened in my mind to his 'better git it in your soul', from his a u m record.  I had the pleasure of seeing charlie in his later years at the vanguard in '74, which would be the beginning of my life long love of jazz. i hear the sounds of mingus, as cats wake me at two forty five thinking of the a u m record better git it in your soul charlie was saying to capture the joy wherever you are to listen to all the grace notes flying high in the sky choose carefully- then make it move, make it groove, make it be love making on a higher level- this non-stop bebop in your soul, sweeping boundaries melting under your feet--toe tapping no rushing ahead, no lingering behind know your one and two, your three four five- come with the wind walloping, popping, parading pressing through darkened dead air corridors- pushing out all that sounds familiar go crazy with the beat sweat like hell in the heat no longer heari...

Learn to get in touch with the silence within yourself and know that everything in this life has a purpose. ~ Elisabeth Kubler-Ross unlike random rain drops, thought patterns are habits worn heavily, keeping out what must be heard we enter the silence like a morning bird, learning the fine art of deconstruction: noun, verb, adjective stripped of meaning aligns soul with an unfettered joy, as green bamboo peeled creates a flute- to begin some art again--randomly the rain falls on a diagonal paints visions of cedars upon the isinglass silence, as a wide open opaque sky-- steals the show, doesn't ask why- and we let it fly--- as confidence holds hands with not needing to know words/photo~kate lamberg (c) '15

i know not of what you suffer yet know the power found in universal prayer a candle lit, sitting cross legged helps so does the simple act of gratefulness speed up healing focusing on all that makes your heart sing, ring-- bling beauty! wishing you a spiral of bright stars, a whoosh of laughter as surprise- through dense green forest-- trees lit with the same golden glow within your mind, soul, and body angels on high- oh do let it be so-- words/photo~kate lamberg (c) '15 *kathodes*

"Every journal is a confessional. If it’s in the first person, it cannot help but be. Unless the author of it lies to himself-—and that makes it even more of a confessional. For some reason, travel brings out confessions one would never make at home. I am trying to draw the rake of my journal over the landscape. Perhaps I will uncover something." ~ Lawrence Ferlinghetti asking why lawrence believed a travel journal to be more confessional than a home journal helps me get closer to the person, the poet who walked the streets of san francisco when many of the sidewalks, freshly paved led down to the bay, the bridge, the desert holding appeal in allowing those souls who thirsted for a beach shack, some time, pens, pencils, a brand new journal book, virginal and ready, waiting on the bedside of one small room sitting upon the vestige of a beach looking out to nowhere, wistfully we watch the time, letting our own curiousness pen poems that would win ...

"Not causing harm requires staying awake. Part of being awake is slowing down enough to notice what we say and do. The more we witness our emotional chain reactions and understand how they work, the easier it is to refrain. It becomes a way of life to stay awake, slow down, and notice." ~Pema Chodron she chose to stay awake most of the night- beyond choice--the gravitational pull of the new moon, not yet visible was all she needed to know her worthiness could bloom like a wild hisbiscus in the cooler blackness of night softly studded with stars the present moment, holding the rhythm of wildflowers, books, clouds unfolding- a non-reactive essence in the slow silence of feet letting go words/photo~kate lamberg (c) '15

Reiki One: Sept. 26th, Sept. 27th...10-3PM Reiki Two: Oct. 24th, Oct. 25th.......10-3 PM (you may sign up for just Reiki One, or Both Reiki One, and Reiki Two. ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~~~ ............*Learning to harness powerful healing energies*............... For physical, mental, emotional, and spiritual balance/healing. Mastery Level taught privately. With Kate Lamberg, BA, NY State Licensed Massage Therapist(since 1987), Reiki Master (since 2010), Musician, Poet, Dancer, Nature Photographer, Blogger. katyajo.blogspot.com Fees, directions, and all information: healerkate77@gmailcom May all be well in your world.

why thunder storms hold appeal must begin in childhood, when trees loom larger thunder booms louder and so we run for cover more excitably- running home with a storm cloud growing greyer in the sky my running in sandals, through puddles splashing running with all the faith of the western wind to bring me back to dry safety- at dusk when all the families on my block were beginning to orchestrate dinner barbeques cancelled- tablecloths and table settings quickly brought indoors for a make shift meal of zuchini and sweet corn omelette thick slabs of ruby red beef steak tomatoes, oozing the flavor of mid summer we dine accompanied with still the sounds of the rain, the wind now having died down....we take our time to talk about our warm sunny days as if they were strung out like an opal necklace stretched from the rocky north shore beach connecting to the other side of the now warm august harbor we, celebrants- rolling with the changes- cheering ...

just one infinite sky bespeaks how tiny we are yet, how we hold the key to our own vastness---awash within the coursing of blood--- the beat of stars, entering awe awe awe ~kate lamberg (c) '15

when the calling is complete the rain shall again burst forth what we mean (when we say) the calling is left for oblique interpretations as etched messages revealed in rock, dirt, sand...... whirl with power outside of how much strength breathes through the hand that reaches out to touch the one who shares the setting orange sun- no way of fully knowing will rise once more, splashing calder colors by the opposite shore- how the widened river runs unbeknownst to willow leaves drifting integrating both the origins and destinations-- while wondering how hearts on fire transpire to take all the time they need raw silky dough bakes until tapping on the exterior opens the door to explore the sweet glutinous steam swirling- to make known how subtle tastes like raspberry relics, rocking the rafters, without remorse a no nonsense approach spirited, we rise parallel to lengths of french breads their stories- always following the breaking- ...

big fat warm chords of wonder left their mark while she lay under one huge rain cloud--now, thunder! photo words~kate lamberg late july, '15

late july- neither here, nor there she sprawls out under a willow with no thoughts, other than getting back to the garden on time for the cool wind- blowing from the west; rain- no where in sight the earth remains still, yet gravitates to the western wind feeling at the moment like a rainbow fish under water, skimming the surface of a shallow river- moving north and south all thoughts as slippery as trying to catch a rainbow fish, festive--gets away by just a hair floating northwards meeting with no formalities at the mouth, spilling saline secrets--deep into the heavenly sea words/photo~kate lamberg (c) '15

redwing blackbirds linger on the tops of reeds alongside the grist mill- close to sunset they review the arc of their day at rest, and in flight-- we fail to see the bright stroke of red tucked in to their black bodies but just now- while perched quiet the stillness infectious to all those who take the time to drop baggage and simply be among the red wings who become our teacher at dusk and never ask for anything we too make pure our life stripped of pretentiousness when all that echoes in our veins is this: "it's kindness that brought us into this world and kindness which keeps us more than treading; we navigate through sea weed, vine choked dogwood trees, day old bread, soured milk-- we rise like cream so close to sky's edge, are moved by wind, & restored by sun's radiance the new moon of possibility becomes all we care to breathe ~words and photo by kate lamberg (c) '14

National Beat Poetry...on Long Island! Tuesday, September 8th, 2015 Port Jefferson Free Library/East Main St./Port Jefferson.. 6 PM Sharp- 9PM Sharp Poetry Features: George Wallace,  first poet laueate, and Kate Lamberg, Poet/Musician/Host Musical Features: Richard Sackett, Christie Baker,  and Bob Reminick. Open Mic follows Features! Free, and open to all! Fabulous Refreshments! Don't be Square---Be There! 'splash' ~ photo by Kate Lamberg (c) '15 ~ Kate Lamberg~Host/Admin.of National Beat Poetry--On Long Island! If you wish to participate in open mic poetry/music: Kindly email Kate..at : healerkate77@gmail.com

pink rose of sharon breathes in outdoor zendo spills sun-warmed secrets haiku/photo~kate lamberg (c) '15

haiku/photo~kate lamberg (c) '15 how turtle survives clover lawn, sweet tart berries keeping to himself

iced coffee meshes with the sharp beaks of birds blaring beneath my window facing north, no glare to keep me from noticing how the light to the west beckons, without mistrusting how we all can be lured like a small piece of cuttle fish a dangling participle attracting hooks of songs from fishing poles, played softly down by the delta deliberately waiting for the first silver minnows to appear through the clear morning harbor- heaving a cargo of snails pushed up through the ages of volvcanic sand- smearing the dry sun burnt land with new breathing life dancing by the delta to the blues my grandma took me by the hand to show me some summer evening when the air was a perfect opaque stocking- safe and without snares we colored together in a coloring book i learned was just a sky, and our fingers pretended to be crayons it was before i entered into the public school system before I knew that I could do whatever i set my mind to but secretly...

Your heart is the size of an ocean. Go find yourself in its hidden depths. ~Rumi expansion contraction joy and pain waves rise up crash down in a single breath what are you doing to make peace with change how are you inspiring others--in the way you are naturally imperfect celebrating the height of the wave, and the flattening water the impermanence of mood becomes what true humanity shares what brings you and me to a common denominator of waxing and waning "we" once you get me, are you allowing me to be me-- as i make my intention's list to include both getting you, and letting you be the magnificence you soared into the world with benevolent bright blessings, like baby's breath..... innumerable and sacred words/photo~kate lamberg (thank you rumi for always coming through at the correct time, for my greatest good)

shade trees, offering the touch of coolness body craves, mind seeks while soul sings so softly we can almost hear the touching of aspen leaves in the dry brittle heat of july we can almost hear the cool blue of harbor bells calling us to surrender relinquishing the sweaty hand of heat's incessant horror we dive in--unrehearsed deep in the quenching of harbour blue we are restored--become moored in liquid lapis ~words/photo~kate lamberg (c) '15

"When you walk with naked feet, how can you ever forget the earth" Carl Jung it's only when we insist on shoes clothes, layers of ordered thought that keep us from touching keep us from being touched by this earth we call home she can, and she has been known to wrap her willowed arms round those who accept the presence of new spring green leaves the refreshment of a southwestern breeze it's enough to bring us to our knees now isn't that better than running directionless among mind thickets and the onslaught of honey bees oh how we've put ourselves in the line of battle, in the spirit of it being, "that's how i feel" when we give it up for the will of willows the ten million things emerge two dozen geese fly diagonally over the house sounding like huge hand painted fans cooling our minds, sending strong ropey roots even deeper into the origins the ...

the ivory colored goose eggs sit in an old rattan basket placed on the weathered pine wood table, upon the worn slatted  porch floor with views of the ceaseless stream directly  below; every time the stream runs behind the house, the participants are left breathless--a water view to die for-- in winter it is most difficult to see the river run there is an abundance of snow piled up above the frozen stream, beside the stream that would in spring break open into dance yes, t.s. eliot--april is the cruelest month we get used to it--we do not get jaded by it--we celebrate all the stream says to us whether it runs in a trickle, or a steady pulse of galloping ripples: a race horse with no conscience how she sweetly swirls in spring while the wild daisies spill their petals of white and yellow stones, weeds,  pine needles both breathe and are breathed into another fiasco under water as lovers battle out who is right underneath the spot light ...

carman's river-photo by kate lamberg (c) '15 "we inter-breathe with the rain forests, we drink from the oceans. they are part of our own body." ~buddha when we deny the presence of trees, seas, earth---we reduce our own capacity for humanness to acknowledge all bodies of water, sky air, and earth as being no different from self-honoring is to enliven and empower our own earthbound vehicles-- allowing us to move with grace, scanning all the various layers of the atmosphere: swimming, flying, dancing, connecting all beings with each other as we revere the very common thread we call home ~kate lamberg (c) '15

logic never releases its hold as well as little waves against the shoreline taking to deeper waters spontaneous sets up camp where the run off of adages punches in the gut she- spontaneous slips and slides in a muddy oracle of bliss forgetting the time a spit shoe shine works best in hot weather tempering the leather the july sun on the harbor bobs up and down, sashays sideways in the form of a cross st. francis never gave up on animals, humans, and chocolate brown robes the dark night of the soul awakes with pink high heel sneakers hip hopping through newly leased clover the lavish spread of picnic items procured promise pate' fois gras on a baguette- hold the horn between your pursed lips, and blow Braham's lullabye ~words/photo~ kate lamberg (c) '15