Kate Lamberg Center for Natural Healing and Creative Arts~

why we kill ourselves essence of blood bleeds into the roots of flowers, trees following spring-- the birth of the mandrake, blood root, bleeding heart, poison ivies wrapping around the oak, the pine, the aspen-- we are all in the horror of this together not going to button this sweater any tighter; sometimes we need to strip the birch bark, and let it rip into a million threads no despair, until you forgot to care the rain washes the bubbles of blood-- yet the stains of your narcissism silence my voice, push me to do umbrella steps in reverse still, no way to eradicate the abuse you are hardly aware of-- as you continue to build your empire into the plastic blue sky words/photo~kate lamberg (c) '15

words/photo~ kate lamberg (c) '15 Feeling off center is as natural a state as feeling centered. As long as we are not judging this state as being wrong, bad, or unproductive, we are absolutely fine. Sometimes our truest nature, the deepest part of our being, our soul is gently tapping upon our shoulders. The message may be to slow down, and not try to do so many things at once. Sometimes, it is the natural response of being empathic: resonating and actually experiencing the pains and imbalances of those who are closest to us. time to step back and simply be giving space and depth to what needs to be expressed--to leave the laundry, the cleaning, the shopping, the phone calls and simply, in the moment-- simply be

"When you do something, you should burn yourself completely, like a good bonfire, leaving no trace of yourself." ~Shunryu Suzuki the monk walked down the mountain chest open to the first streaks of sun ears upright, absorbed in listening to the waking woods, the glistening stream, the rocks placed spontaneously strewn with leaves, smaller stones- blue rocks splashed upon during the dark of night when the stream flowed more recklessly leaving dark blotches, revealing shapes of budda worship- when the fine pine air in the earliest hours before sunrise drew a picture of profound peace now in the market place, saffron robe wrapped snugly, monk simply views all the vegetables, spices, pottery and with the fewest words possible, purchases greens, curry, a clay cooking vessel, then slowly turns to face- & to ascend the mountain words/photo~kate lamberg (c) '15

beneath the canopy of the catalpa plant we miss the needling rain standing on a rain scented porch in summer clothes stuck to warm musk skin sitting in a well lit room, waiting while rain does not stop sometimes, we step outside of what is convenient sometimes, we walk outdoors, & crouch in the open aired rock garden sometimes, we let the rain soak our hair, clothing, being sometimes, we laugh at how growth happens without our paying attention sometimes, we brighten when this joy is too vast, to keep it to our selves   words/photo~kate lamberg (c) '15

bamboo flute charms even those who walk upright parlor painted such a warm ecru a single goose egg would have reason to be envious three layers of paint- a showcase for where we hide, may never be revealed; this paint resists peeling- but how the morning sun bounces her spit shine against the eastern wall of dining room; again, giving reason for those who sit upright, and for those who choose to sit on bare maple seiza bench shiken-taza!---one with the breeze-- like the queen, to her worker bees ~kate lamberg (c) '15 green tara (internet image) '15

haiku/photo~kate lamberg '15 petals don't promise: brightening an april day, return to soft earth

waking to a dark warm silence birds begin to sing only after she sips slowly,  the first strong cup of coffee-- with thoughts of missing her father-- the rain begins to pour clean upright patterns--to somehow cleanse the salt stream, & to soothe the heart moving towards a greater assemblage still so early- even the birds sing shorter songs she knows somehow the value of brevity no thing in the world could hold more meaning than simply to steep in the growing light listening with a greater intensity leaving her insatiable mind to narrow, melt, vanish without a trace of heavy weeds no longer keeping her from breathing freely so early in the morning, this rain scented air spreads its healing fingers, strokes her temples a testament to time & a learned willingness to begin, without wavering a still lake on fire

she could not stand to leave the door closed any more; so she walked out in the dazzling light -- dressed lightly in leaves and acorns, stepped into the bone-chilling stream, and with wide open eagle wings, spoke her dream in an unfettered scream of pure delight-- as cardinals, bluebirds gulls, bunnies, squirrels, and pigeons witnessed her changing patterns, cut out of the depths of her yearning: in calder colors, and the shapes of the paramecium-- no longer startled by her own quick changing artistry--but, like a random stone, falling into the non-stop fluid stream becoming apart of all that moves, grooves, allows the light to sparkle her self, inside out- in sacred time--- the resolve to begin within this spring of infinite flowering words/photo kate lamberg (c) '14

haiku & photo~kate lamberg (c) '15 "When I would recreate myself, I seek the darkest wood, the thickest and most impenetrable.....I enter a swamp as a sacred place, a sanctum sanctorum… I seemed to have reached a new world, so wild a place…far away from human society." - Henry David Thoreau what is wild, is new, is this grey skyline vanishing into infinite whiteness what is loving, is true, becomes hands stroking sand salt water rising through what is worship, is you looking at me without a clue how this poem ends the heavy cloud at dusk recreates its form- as rain drops fall on rocks when we stop to notice how all of nature's song can never be wrong we are entering into an age of post-forgiveness absolving recovery pitched roof protects dwellers in rainy season bamboo sleeps silently nature is no less woven into our beings than our own heart, lungs, and breath

sun peeps through the southern sky with no thoughts of warming hikers or allowing flowers to bloom just in its wired intelligence, does the deliberate dance this grace cannot leave her face illuminated the birthing of apollo through all who choose to take the time to truly smell the flowers not yet blooming to trust the re-tuning of a world held together by an integrity seen in egret's flight above the now greener pond so early, the grass holds dewy council, electing wee folk to oversee the moss gleaming this celebrated morning ~kate lamberg

we cross the river with no harm it is a  propitious day to  plant a garden, dance near moving water, learn the bongos, go into the sharp clean taste of knowing our self, but wear it as a silken garment...as if it was for the first time on the earth--fearless to newness, as the truth of every molecule dances before our eyes in realization of being; going through the mirror of deception once presented on a scrub pined hill one warm summer night on the bluffs-- the air so still before the storm you could hear me breathing from three doors away--- resounding on the upcoming high tide, pounding on the sea wall, so close to the sun setting misty cistrus words/photo~kate lamberg (c) '15

Honoring my dad today, on the anniversary of his passing, April 9th, 2014. The following poem by Wendell Berry speaks directly to my heart. My dad loved dogwood trees, and I remember the beautiful pink dogwood tree he planted in the front yard of the home I grew up in. Missing and loving you, Dad. (Three) by Wendell Berry Early in the morning, waling in a garden in Vancouver three thousand miles from your grave, the sky dripping, song sparrows singing in the borders, I come suddenly upon a Japanese dogwood, a tree you loved, bowed down with bloom. But what blessedness do I weep? Wendell Berry, from 'Given'

shades of lilac, mossy green heaven dressed on earth explaining nothing more than the meeting of two worlds stepping through the smoke and ersatz mirrors knowing only the breath, which moves the curtains, and the more expanding arc of light, when april begins words/ photo~kate lamberg..(c) '15

""If your spiritual experiences make you more kind,  & less judgmental, they're true; if they make you more cruel, & less forgiving, they're false ~ Rabbi Rami Shapiro (photo~ kate lamberg (c) kath*odes..'15)

full moon sets robed in gold and ivory april blood moon purple crocus curls up towards the easter light how we all rise spooky cat gazes from the sun warmed window sill framed in natural pine rock garden rests both within pansy petals & cold bone winter photos/haiku~ kate lamberg (c) '15

Therapeutic Massage, Deep Tissue, Acupressure, Shiatsu, Polarity, Trigger Point work, Reflexology, Aromatherapy, Reiki, Sound healing, One-On-One Yoga~ Monday-Saturday--by appointment Gentle Yoga~ Mondays, at 4:30- 5:45 pm...at the center Fridays, at 9:30-10:45 am....at the beach. With Kate Lamberg, BA, NY State Licensed Massage Therapist (since 1987), Reiki Master, Student of Hatha Yoga (over forty years),  Instructor of Hatha Yoga, and Meditation for over twenty years, Aromatherapist, Composer of Music for healing, Pianist/piano instructor. For more information, and to schedule an appointment: kindly email : healerkate77@gmail.com or call: 631-334-2663 *Namaste'* The highest in me honors the highest in you! ~*~*~**~*~*~*~*~**~*~**~*~*~*~**~*~*~*~**~*~*~*~*~**~*~*~*~*~*~**~*~*~*~