Kate Lamberg Center for Natural Healing and Creative Arts~

we forget, so we can remember just a little better, who we were at birth, when love was a feeling, not a concept- where touch was felt as a real home-coming- not T.S. Elliot in nature- but a true flying backwards to a nest of baby blue birds, tossing feathers into the ethers burning a warm circle of trust--- recognizing the sky's changing, knowing when to flee, free from rust, and when to count on the common denominator of a sentient love- a blush of remembering how long it has taken to get to this place of fully trusting free of the rusting, an aging hippy traipsing--- up stairs making a simple day rich with magenta meaning--courting no fear burgeoning--burgundy words on a grey silky horizon words/photo~kate lamberg (c) '18

she is entering a cool blue period where birds and sky and whispers from those who've passed over surround her with the sweetest strong blessings,the music of blue bells, along with a stoic understanding that all beings are hallowed, are eternal for those who have stepped gracefully from this earth as we know it--to the etheric blue world- are celebrating an explosive freedom and safety reigns supreme those who are left will still scan the mountains, skies, and rivers for a sign of her life, and seek the shelter of other mortal beings where the valleys are always filled with wild flowers, rain at dawn, followed by an inescapable brilliant sun her life as we knew it takes on another blue countenance- another reason to dance barefoot smiling in the rain words/photo~kate lamberg January 24th, '18

the cats did figure eights at 12:15- between bed and dresser; she dove into words, heard birds, resigned to scrap booking winter tree looking, dreaming of sunny puerto rico still thousands without power- a zen center's roof blew off- still, they met, and did their practice three hours in the deep of night could be seen as bordering on fright; she held her own hand, and let her fear be more fringe than fabric as the fabric of her life was alive with paizley, polka dots, bold solid colors, and long straight elegant lines- held together with a cris- cross stitch how plaids and florals can be comfortable together monet and mondrien bedding down in heather savory and sweet, melted snow and summer heat impossible to mince words as garlic, or squeeze an under ripe lemon under an invisible new moon to bed once again at three am, she carries a tune words/photo~kate lamberg (c) '18

In addition to our usual Swedish Massage, Shiatsu,  Deep Tissue Massage, Reflexology, Polarity, Cranial Sacral, Pre-Natal, Post Natal, Bereavement Massage, Reiki, Aromatherapy,  Gentle yoga: one on one, small classes. Available Mondays  9-6PM Tuesdays                   1-6  Wednesdays             9-6 Thursdays                  1-6 Fridays                      9-6 Saturdays                   8-12 noon Each hour healing treatment- 70. One half hour-                         45 Healing Mini  Retreats January 13th, March 24th, , May 12th, ..  11-12:30 pm Gentle Yoga stretches, Guided Meditation, Relaxation To live Piano music, composed for healin...

warmer air lightens a mood dark from waking into something more elevating take mountains, a lonely stream blend colors like a two year old who knows no difference between: any paint color, any person, place, or origin of any single race-- accepting all---- as wildly as   a sudden snow storm, rain, rocks, pine needles, and mud pies occupying a heart who realizes: not doing anything, whole worlds unfold ~words/photo~kate lamberg (c) '18

she needed to fly above the noise of the street, the chaos of the house no one was awake- she decided to make potpourri from dried rose petals, lemons, bruised apples, cinnamon sticks, & ginger books sprawled on the coffee table resting quietly--were still annoyed; she ignored them, as the mixing & tossing kept her mind from exhaustion--- whose grey matter splattered from beer, bar tunes, and too many re-fried beans- back to the potpouri pandemonium: no pressure, no one's warm breath on a ballerina neck currying favors, no spicy flavors--she was going citrus & savory for a change- the change suited her best profile pantomiming a smile, and deep flight in the rough edges of the darkest night....... she surrendered--calmness settled, & then--dawn fell on the land ~kate lamberg (c) '18

"Sunset is an angel weeping" ~ Bruce Cockburn no sides in this book-- that's how peace has a chance to fully flourish in gardens of gardenias how hip hopping, spoken word, heavy tidal waves, killing winds elegantly do crunch down on crowns-- & can be seen softly sweeping a stony north coastal sand readjusting the lens of the land-- glory be--sanctifying all that cares to be: strong, evergreen-growing in the dry sun of a ponderosa pine breathing in the low lands, where all things vibrate relatively to the intensity of attention paid to each thing we gravitate to; then thoughts take over when objects leave us hungry for more, ghosts sleep during the day- then arrive just in time to kiss a bloody sunset dribbling on the foot high fluffy snow words/photo~kate lamberg (c) '18

seeing through the ice, a kind of sweet brittle-- melting, with our warm breath words/photo~kate lamberg (c) '18

on my way home--  the frozen rain, tiredness weighing heavily in my muscles warmth felt for the first time after sunset- as the mercury rose... then-the stress of not seeing clearly through the windshield-- hot breath meeting with the hovering just above freezing- a chilled dusk air, wet with hail, wind wildly blowing in all directions-- praying that home would be found before the focus of seeing  would fatigue me,  would consume me-- as my patience is finite--- the infinity of yin/yang  in my mind  helped to become my mantra- serving me as a chariot   of gilded horses  would have done--  a few centuries ago praying for the light of clarity to keep mind and body in gear grace enters-- at the hour of seven pm- turning  into my street the freezing rain softens to just a light drizzle, windshield clears,  my breath deepens home, lit by blue & red lights sheer life, the delicacy of a potted plan...

eleven degrees, dreaming of round things: dining room tables, faces, clocks, a full moon, the repeated jazz tune, sevens, nines, elevens- horns, strings, keys, drums dare build a frenzy one of hope and heart ache- too close to the hard undiggable earth to muster mirth- trudging on with this jazz that lifts and opens those dark corridors in the isle of  willis- preventing the brain from draining its inherent abilities to learn and retain---the wisdom that would allow bones to  soften and bend for any situation is as good as any other to reach out to a sister, a brother, a stranger lurks in our peripheries- dare we let go of the grip of ego saying he'll be ok-- or do we go out of our way, because that is the demeanor of soft chiffoned angels: cheering on a neighbor, or a tree in a public place  that did not get the proper care back in the spring- it's the time for everyone and e...

emotions vacillate like flames kissing windows, or snow coating the bark of aspens still the fire on the stove, the chilled wind through the cracks in the windows snapping us out of needing to know a blessed thing: as blessings court inclusivity, oh to sing, without wavering ~words/photo~kate lamberg (c) '18

the surprise in my eyes found while walking in the piney essence of an arboretum more wild than most- trees, not planted in straight rows- but in curved shapes noticed while flying overhead: those hawks, eagles, and gulls have broken the code, clearly see;separating hard truths from flat fiction, while winging how even then-- I'd be found singing of geese and deer my loved ones near-- for just another toast-celebrating both the rear end , and the beginning of the year-punctuated in new sheets, comforter, journal book, pocket book, under ware the newness, no different than upon the snow- the winter sun's gargantuan golden glare! ~words/photo~kate lamberg (c) '18

we are as much the spring as all of winter's cold discovery's light is too bright to not share in the january air our inner fire burns alongside the chill of wind and snow impossible to know how this simple thought can eradicate the fear of our fate angels are always near in times of crisis as well as in peaceful times if you knew they would not give up on you- would you then trust them to deliver all the grace, wonder, freedom and bliss? to be kissed by an angel is something not to be missed! words/photo~kate lamberg (c) '18

creativity, born on the wind & snow beyond what any of us really know truth hides in pocket books and desk drawers waiting for the opportune moment to spontaneously reveal the secret that was forgotten under an inch of snow- so gloriously etching the branches of the magnolia, hosting buds which will burst in april as the breath of a long haired neighbor with a trench coat and work boots trudges on his own carved path to the beat of the Beach Boys; Breughel-ian trees shaking- in a pensive pitter-patter-- providing awakening: not waiting, nor forcing--just being born in the act of revering all that clings to trees and birds and strangers soft cold snow informing a hungry culture as in Bethlehem, waiting to be born ~words/photo~kate lamberg (c) '17