Kate Lamberg Center for Natural Healing and Creative Arts~

“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...