Kate Lamberg Center for Natural Healing and Creative Arts~

1) she thought about the differences she thought about the difference between those who pray, and remain hopeless, and others who pray, and receive true miracles-- spilling out of the places that were once dark and airless, cabinets needing cleaning,  become spanking clean under the high intensity lamp of paying attention  filtering the blurry  bitterness of lemons clearing the score of a muddied  symphony, written on a sojourn sealing the agreement to self-- to sit above the cloudy water, obscured by all those  who would have her sequestered, silenced, "on holiday" for having  beliefs, for her faith--- at this low tide moment in all of human history-- 2)pardoning friends pardoning friends for being quiet, not returning calls, she always had the companionship of flowers, trees, the wind, and the almighty keyboard for notes to spiral, or fox trotted words to do hand springs  by the river at dawn our lives be...

1) i've never dreamed of the world ending,  but have tried to access another world where peace and love ooze through cobblestone and heather, stilling the incessant babble of those detrimental weapons-- the word battles continue between, and around solitary souls 2) centered on my sage green cushion, i mind my business, and don't mind your business--just can't entangle inside the spangled splattered banner ways of poli-tics--digging deeply-- lodging beneath our skin sucking the living day lights out of any reasonable human, citizen, or country zen a gentle new horizon wearing flip flops in winter, the hibernation of a divided nation 3) as I mix the fixings for oatmeal cookies, connecting with children who would like to believe there are more things to learn in school than shooting prevention how to be civil, kind, & courteous appear to have vanished from vogue, since high wired technology can we listen long enough...

how in the depth of sorrow, and  the pleading for  the consolation of angels can we understand how how karma expresses fate, can take our beloveds heartlessly running circles of bullets, stealing the sweet breath of children..... in drones of despair a playground left to wonder, within the deadened winter air haiku sounds of jump roping on a bucolic lane silenced today words/haiku ~kate lamberg (c) '18  

1) what are the chances of having wings on fire from too much exposure to inhumane treatment of innocent children the exposure to harsh unfairness screams "no closure" the wounds opening again- no time for healing when a child is left screaming for her dear life, and learning of her brother dead in the nearby classroom a parent having to identify her own child, brown chestnut eyes blown out of sockets, snack change in blue jean pockets, coins still warm as body chills neath metal desk- filled with books such wasteful learning child's natural questioning, no longer burning, soul now churning into a buttered brevity -- parts of youthful hands charred, face of innocence in brownie bits- sent like rockets, into a vacuous space of no return 2) how even the wings of angels burn into flame- not the blame of any ONE, but only, the steely cold hearts of politicians pushing secret papers, fake flowers in vases in the white house, pho...

"There are magic processes that abolish distances of space and time: emotions."  ~ Simone de beauvoir  photo~kate lamberg  (c) '18

1) clearing the score of a muddied symphony ~ she thought about the difference between those who pray, and remain hopeless,  and others who pray, and receive true miracles-- spilling out of the places that were once dark and airless, cabinets needing cleaning, become spanking clean under the high intensity lamp of paying attention to where things are off balance, off-kilter, filtering the blurry bitterness of lemons clearing the score of a muddied symphony, written on a sojourn, sealing the agreement to self-- to sit above the cloudy water, obscured by all those who would have her sequestered, silenced, "on holiday" for having beliefs, for her faith--- at this low tide moment in all of human history-- 2) pardoning friends~ pardoning friends for being quiet, not returning calls, she always had the companionship of flowers, trees, the wind, and the almighty keyboard for notes to spiral, or fox trotted words to do hand springs by the river at dawn ...

Opening~ My first experience with Vincent Orlando was taking a class, around 1970. I was 14 years old, and Vinnie as he was lovingly called, was a daunting teacher to say the very least.  Once, early on in my dancing history at the dance studio-- which resembled an "Adams Family" haunted house, the front door brass doorknob came out of its socket into my right hand!  Then,   during the  intermediate ballet class, I was in for a rude awakening from the head dance teacher, Vincent.    I took a peek in the mirror at the dancer in front of me...OK OK I was caught COPYING her...  Vincent quickly stopped the dancing, and the music on the scratchy record player ; he took me by the hand. He then brought me to the front of the class. Was my face red!  Then he proceeded to give me a crash course in  self-improvement/self-esteem 101! "You must look in the mirror as you  dance, and know that mistakes are acceptable, but  copying othe...

for rick~ to meet, conmingle, ask for another view--- apart from buried fear-- making myself clear: to both you and me and yet still operating as if we would grow old together---no matter what   the weather to be able to distinguish between fantasy, and what is   staring at me through translucent iced-over windows... warmed by a shared breath, long afternoon dalliances-- not far from feeling: we are good, we are solid, we are free we are good, we are solid, we are free and in our freedom, we keep choosing each other walking on an ordinary path made sacred by conjoined mittens, a common view of an over turned pine tree -  a shared landmark of hope and healing a ship of common ground,  washed in softening snow impossible to really know  what is in store- more coffee,   slippers, early dinners on sunday--  to the tune, 'brother can you spare a dime'  poems that used to   not rhyme, are lurching in a sunless sky---why argue with the common ...

flower catalogs occupy a vision  of moving beyond what is an ordinary winter setting in retaining the aspects of lace and sateen pillows-- yet staying open to a wind  that could propel itself right through the ceiling joists to wrap around my see- saw heart on a spinning leaf of sassafrass caring no more  for clothes dropped  from 7 stories above  the street level  one urban afternoon it was snowing, and we had to walk 9 blocks to find a place open for breakfast: the corner of ninth ave. and twenty first street, our urban diner--- a run-down neighborhood favorite during the storm, we'd have several cups of coffee, while waiting for the snow  to let up... as I thought of winter, cabin fever,  sooty coffee- while the snow piled up outside  words/photo~ kate lamberg (c) '18

have not visited the piano in three days,  leaves me longing for the keys that made me become more of a woman, musician and all that jazz jeers from peers, like a needle prick,  soon passing the dull ache of wanting home on the range with a proper suitor  to wake me--no, that picture has faded with my old blue jeans-  just want what stills  my mind in prayer my soul's knowing it's ok--the piano sits quietly and wakes-- waits for me to shake the blues in an open aired theatre- any town usa blessing the disorder,  the chaos, the messes addressing the audience is not so strange,  we can rearrange our karma with the gentle flick of a pen, a soft warm chord, in the dawning of remembering  who befell the straining-- no loss, no gain-  just settling the score- wanting more  of the gentle, sliding free from the harsh-- out the window, and down the driveway we are more than all of that, fancy fat cat curtsies: for the audie...

sky splashes a neon pink as backdrop to birds in cherry trees just enough to wake peripheries the intermittent rain serves to allow winged ones to sing their ruby throats into a quiet pitch of growing rings light spills on meadow relaxed--continues on down to catch up with the running stream unhurried-- this endless spilling unrehearsed, frames the view to which water coalesces and swirls becomes a mighty flattering flame of quiescence even wind chimes cheer-- this blessed time of year for to be heard in a chaotic world is a triumph beyond the simple eureka moment ~words and photo~ kate lamberg (c)

too cold to wonder  why anything ever happens-- clutching to a warm cat,  some bach, and   black coffee-- our lives spinning finely between worlds words/photo~kate lamberg (c) '18

Healing, like love.... begins within. When we love ourselves, we  make  healthy choices for our  bodies, minds, and  soul. Healing Treatments: Deep Tissue, Medical Massage, Shiatsu, Reflexology, Reiki, Aromatherapy, Cranial-Sacral, One on one yoga, Gentle Yoga, Sound Healing. ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**~*~**~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**~*~*~*~*~*~* We are open Monday-Friday, 10-6 Saturdays, 8-12 noon All  Massage & Healing treatments.~ 30 minutes-          45. 45-                        60. 60-                         75. 90-                         110. One on One Yoga 30 min- 40. 60 min-  70.  Gentle (Chair) Yoga                   Mondays, a...

step up and share, but be prepared to bare (and bleed) the whole skein of yarn in colors of burnt sienna, cordovan golden corn, and boysenberry unraveled into a shifting scarred, & hurting earth distinguishing between the tired sad truth, and the ugly tortuous lies-- flies court disaster in the simplicity of rotting meat and sour milk the sand sticks to the bottom of our feet as we flee, as nothing gets away with murder how the truth shouts from a resounding sea wall protecting us from the sea keeping US from flooding more lies, couched in lullabyes what is the takeaway in a world of "big bucks come first," & then the environment"-- after we are gone "out dark candle" bless us with a new set of candle sticks (magic tricks yet to learn) whose candles stay lit in the most powerful storm a message from our elders who have passed on into the ethers of sandy dune, infin...

(1) waking up to rain, and cats circling from her pre-sleep brain-- swirls of om shanti left over resurface--just in time- the openness of heart, a promise to self- to make a start whatever is happening around--heavy rain, blotched windows, mimicking her complexion; tortilla chips left in the wooden bowl on the table top- tossed, and just wondering why we keep coming back to the simple-- when the world focuses on the complexities- flinging a high- stress economy onto poets, & dreamers, such celebrated snow flakes--hearts' fluttering (2) in a warm rainy sunday--she's festooned with a black beret from her dad, picked up in scotland, and she's wrapped in a tawny/grey/black blanket from ireland a purple needle pointed pillow from wales, she shares with cats flanked around her-- and her baby grand from england- a gift from nana and pop- from her matrilineal side she has ignored while waiting out the storm (3) the warm air haunts, the rain soothes at least the tea cozy i...

waking in the dark- no dancing this morning offers moon gazing, sky grazing a half-pint milky moon straining for a tune, the cow has vanished behind some low hanging clouds, like linens on a clothes line flapping in a chilly wind from the north soon sunrise from the east, softens the beast in me who holds her life together in a loose assemblage oh beauty--how the light allows us all to look most favorably, without a crystal ball, the divining is just the truth shining a mirror back to earth revitalizing all its inhabitants-- and now we can dance, dance dance! ~kate lamberg (c) '18

outside the hermitage the river looked as if it had been blessed with tiny points of light, chiseled like perfectly asymmetrical diamonds, drifting down the russian river all those who would stop to gaze could not help but be carried along, the murky gray green sheen of our heritage- home russian river resounds by the museum, home to several impressionistic paintings- before the century turned itself on its own head, when the purveying of paintings was a craft- values of light blessings, sacraments made sacred by a demure smile in the dark red square-- sequenced by black birds against an opaque creme sky--where secret languages had been revealed- warm hats secured for a stroll around the museum mid-day amidst the sun, a quick spiraling snow white surprises strollers in large shreds- a black and white speckling ...white pieces of dry light snow, melting on black hats, and childrens' mittens, children lined up obediently for the school bus, parked in between the lin...

a memory poem ~  after gary snyder your speed and closeness to the earth neither brings sadness nor a growing mirth watching you reminds me of all the centuries I too have crawled against the sometimes hard earth, with no thought in mind, no song in heart making a start among the cool wet bamboo fronds catching tiny morsels on tongue, reminding the crawler that there is no finer thing in heaven, or upon this earth--- but to continue.... the dance of life is shining at noon, is crooning underneath a full moon, is felt with the intensity of a soul awash- inside a full and balanced hearth fearless, love is simply paying attention, and continuing through the snow dampened bamboo side stepping the mud- finding a small hallowed-out log to rest inside, and to recharge- swinging molecules of breath, through twin lungs, parallel harmony strung along-- with felicitous fluid organelles rearranging, the future of an entire species ancient one- you d...