Kate Lamberg Center for Natural Healing and Creative Arts~

gray blue emerges in the eastern skies as soon as I look up my down turned eyes transform, widen-- from a melancholy sigh--to a calmer, more gentle lullaby this transparent being opens as sunflower, to receive the gray blue expanse,brightening in sky--softening my heart like butter--left out on the counter all night-- mollifying a dream of fright and returning the dangerous players from my dream--into a cascade of lapiz butterflies, and friendly fishermen, I can--- in peace, begin again Kjl 

 rain never kept feet from wanting to walk on earth- grounding the soul-self

 stream continues to flow clear however much injustice  draws near tethering mind with those who walk peacefully, share  the truth of non-harming, and are able to feel the undercurrents of love emerging beauty remains immune to harsh bruising-- as we stand up for the music  of earth's stream recalibrating...... kjl '20

 "Autumn, that season of peculiar and inexhaustible influence on the mind of taste and tenderness, that season which has drawn from every poet, worthy of being read, some attempt at description, or some lines of feeling. " ~Jane Austen october reels our senses in-- and out-- for a visceral Bouree'- a turn about of emotion.  autumn light hangs heavy sweet,  like amber honey--aligning   with all things intimate with her presence this beauty- can be tapped into--- as easily as opening mouths in song, or feet suddenly finding their own identity-- walking in woods, mid-october Kjl '20

  a mantra for a chaotic world stepping into spacious solitude: stilling the monkey mind,   quieting  all that is extraneous no need to leave this moment for the mountains, rivers, gardens-- it's happening here, right now! kjl '20

 Until all the rivers run clear, I shall bear witness to everything that does not serve my greatest good. By the root of the weed, I will pull corruptive forces out of my psychic field. tending to  the garden in autumn becomes a parable of letting go weeding, pruning dead-heading  the dried crimson mums, removing  blackened daisies, and long stems of rose prickers raking, ranting, digging, not quitting-- querying the future while weeding offers a more grounded perspective  how termites may view this eroding world:so different than a hawk-yet soothes the soul to know...   we are never alone, camus and doestyevsky-- we are simply tethered to meaning, feeling, and that brings connection the sweetness left, after savory reduction through all the kitchens of the world wielding, yielding to become closer, to touch, be touched in the silence of a gray October morning

 leaves are free to fall off the tree---without  ever changing color some stay, and hold on  for dear life-letting sun and cool wind  make them into burnished beauty queens  and kings    how we learn from trees empowers our intentions: free to stay, to fall, or  flee October 18th, '20

Taking back the Californian dreaming night passing hot coffee to an imaginary west coast friend, and then reminded.. she may still be sleeping, California dreaming down Berkeley streets opening flower power curtains to view all the magnificence of poetry beats trudging home after an all night vigil  to take back the night-- with spoken word, crusty bread, and free dance shining  pale gray blue sky brightens as we wake--  and the beats, like sleepy St. Bernards fall into a California dream   

 Day draws near. Another one. Do what you can.   - C. Miloz dawn returns independent of our dreaming when it rains, we see the impatiens flutter beneath the weight of the rain drops it is still dark at six am-- the dreamless night awakens us no sounds from sleeping cats lost in dreams of magic journeys  stretched out on sage couch, in a curved smile, one cat holds onto life, purring while other cat sleeps in a tighter bundle, faced away from the room's center rose ribbon and lavender cellophane sit in hand woven willow basket waiting for fragile hands to wrap presents pantomiming proverbs in striped pantsuit reveals little evidence of spiders  in the attic we already know, on rainy days: roof leaks down into the basement only during evaporation do the collected rain drops rise skyward

 A blast of wind from the south.makes her yearn for even slower days. Casting all worries out to green pastures, she revels in the dance of acorns--rolling on their sides, beneath the towering pine. The first quarter moon shines a golden luster--  nearing a lunar fullness. This luster brightens the circuitous earthen path, for soul travelers seeking to harvest a blue stoned home. Somewhere in the high sierras violet, fuscia, and yellow wild flowers grow silent. Tracts of herbal plantings are tended to, and rainbow trout swim-- up a fresh water stream. We remember what it means to simply breathe and create--an irregular harmonic improvisation--as we show up for our lives.   

  pre-dawn moon set chilled feet dance across lawn snapping in the dark haiku/photo- katyajo '20

autumn comes dancing like a quick bright change artist-- restores sleepy minds summer waltzes now put on mute just turn up the rhythm, dress in heels-- it's going to be an all night tango

 Gentle Yoga Tuesday-Thursday at 4pm, and Saturday, at 8AM. Healing Treatments: Shiatsu, Reflexology, Reiki, Lymph Drainage Monday- Friday, by appointment only. 631 334-2663 healerkate77@gmail.com

   Love, thank you Why we meet another person, and have a sense of inter-knowing-- prior to words spoken, prior to knowing one iota about the person, is beyond logical understanding. It is the part of this universe that screams, does not whisper of old souls meeting again-- after several incarnations. It is the magical force of love, brimming over mountain tops, rising up from raging streams...making all of this present life more than tolerable. Meaningful.  We are all more than worthy of experiencing this.  It could be disguised in a kiss, a gaze, a song. It is  the harmless uplifting engagement in all that is most natural, most profound, yet what is needed more than ever.  LOVE, thank you! 💖💜💙💚💛

not to take any marked path is to follow the rhythm of one's  heart how heroes know there is never any fear in trusting the pulse of one's own blood-coursing like a race horse unconcerned about finishing first-- but simply to finish the paradisial concourse unscathed--- more than ready to disperse shadows into the almighty sea to allow the widening of light swaths to paint golden orange flowers on the outskirts of one's cerebrum--meandering into a cha cha- by the almighty blue sea words/photo- '19, kjl edit. '20

  "People will forget what you said, People will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel." ~Maya Angelou remembering the way willow branches wrapped around the trunk of the tree touching the very core of what it means to be free is the way we hold clear the image upside down translating to right side up- focusing on what pulsates stars to dance at a glance beyond meaning- doors deliberately open wide colors matching memories waltzing home to one's self ~words/photo~kate lamberg (c) '16

 none of our senses become abandoned:  like a barn left to crumble, or a dock at the lake, left to rot  similar to how we feel about a favorite old dress--once stylish-- faded and torn- beyond mending-- we let ourselves grieve its loss disquieted nerves relax at the origin of synapses, as branches of trees kiss windows, unashamed Words/ photos-kjl '20

In the center of  silence-- we collect what is most true about our selves. Like peering into the center of a rose, we focus on our abdomen breathing on its own. As worries drop, like fallen embers, softly touching the ground--- we receive a glimpse of our own aliveness  

The stream meets up with the mountain's base for sustenance. Its consistent music, and refreshing  coolness restores the lethargy which  builds within long stretches of  unbearable heat in summer. Fall finds delight in cool dry air. Apple trees line the stream's perimeter, bulging with ripe red and green fruit. Bees congregate at the onset of over-ripe fruit dangling.  Apples drop to a thud on parched meadow grass-- seasoned like crisp yellow hay, feed for our neighbor's horses. Walks, wearing jeans and bulky sweaters bring energy before winter's plaintive song appears. The bone chill of winter would set in before the end of October.  All the wood we would need for the following six months would be chopped and stacked neatly in the western side of the house. A fragrant blend of hickory, maple, and soft pine wood would snap, crack, and burn within our loyal non- stop wood stove. Winter often was felt through mid-April, when all we dreamed of were flowers, and fre...

  we have never been anything but wildflowers, sea gulls, porous holy earth open to healing rain, songs of our ancestors, cultivators of mirth letting go of the reins that bind, we simply become blind- don't know what will ensue and that is why------the wings of sea gulls in the bay turn  blue words/photo- katyajo (c) '20

 1) epheremal/literal the ephemeral becomes the literal: sooner or later, the literal fades--  embraces the unknown  2) rain bird in a weak moment the rain emerges-- while the bird has flown 3) amber moon  days begin to shorten alongside a waning  August moon words and photo- by katyajo- 2020

  galaxy of great velocity  hurl your grand light towards  all who need strength properly seal, and heal the wounds of a spinning out  of control planet, earth nurture the dearth,  all that is bereft of peace--  restore on contact all the losses, the gaping  hole in our  hearts--- never seeing this coming KJL--2020

 Working with children is not bringing out my inner child.... I got that. Working with children brings out my worker bee instinct: desire to be industrious, and to make a difference in childrens' lives. This is palpable.  These children are opening my heart, expanding my compassion, and developing my patience.  - 

Driving on the tree lined back roads of Stony Brook, she prayed for all beings. A heavy rain, and high winds created challenges for her driving. Looking up at the graceful elderly trees, some of whom were arched over the road, she then prayed that their branches would not snap, and fly into her range of vision, or fall onto her car or windshield. She kept breathing and praying through the thick of the storm. She prayed for herself, and she prayed for all beings that they be safe. Arriving home, no power was lost. She made dinner in advance, convinced the power would be lost sometime in the evening. Close to bedtime, power was lost. She prayed before sleep overcame her- for all beings in all points of the planet. That they be safe, and free of harm. And they know--how very much they are loved-- now and always. Waking at two thirty, she felt the power would be restored before dawn. She got up to have a snack, and play with her cats. In less than an hour, the power was restored. Bein...

places she's never been but feels a sense of familiarity in... droem* #456 she walked through rooms-- strewn with books, tins of tea, and tall vases filled with gladiolas- in shades of crimson,  tangerine, and yellow shards of broken bowls smoothed over by time and patience lay on tops of bureaus--- one wall clock remains at 4:56, her birth month and year---there is a way out, but she is in no hurry to go outside surely there will be  a small token, a prize for all the work she did as an understudy in a play about underwater species-- that never went viral she practiced her part as a rainbow fish, her entire life with no applause she believed in memorizing the method of breathing while underwater-- where nobody would notice how bubbles rise to the surface of an understanding-- in the depths of warm Caribbean waters a rainbow fish was seen--upon rising above water's surface dialoge-- purple and pink scales gleamed in an arc, over blue green saline waters *Droem- a ...

a low grey fog fills the meadow goes nowhere-- feeds our eyes with an uncertain mist a mystery not seen before becomes our in breath breathing out, we let go of a fire in the belly renewing vows to be here now, unraveling the seed pods of truth words/photo~kate lamberg (c) '20

thunder thinks not of consequences-- beheads the lilies how the rain poured liquid angels at our feet-- became retribution for lost dead heads

such a mitzvah, the rain coming down without fanfare vanquishing the pain garden and yard satisfied so easily-- never forgetting how the rain felt needling its soil and now we can go about our day-- in a more envigored way-- donning a perpetual joy kjl '20

in friendships, I'd like to think we are a light house for each other, shining not forcing--boats of mutuality to cruise on salt waters to notice the familiar signal- -truth is oared towards into the wind of any one's imagination on high gingered pineapple shook with crushed ice--at sunset splashing in some cranberry essence--cleaving to the triad of red orange yellow not close enough for sunset-- yet mimicking the range of emotions--as a sail is hoisted filling the canvas with all the wind we need-- to sail clear across the sound holding the hushed vocalizatiins of baby whales,  and dolphins-in song---a fragile inter-loping ideas, actions, scents meeting at full sail ahead-- northeasters settling the score not needing any more than just this-- salt water dribbling on sides of the vessel carrying the awakened wide- eyed through the tunnel of uncertainty-- to witness just this: a kiss from a frosty wind-- no sea gull or robin can ignore the ...

perchance to dream of monkeys living in the shade of poplar pine, juniper, oak, and cedar taking up no room-- just a jeering jester spelling out the secrets of enlightenment underneath the one great oak tree-- firmly rooted in a sandy soil replenishing a thirsty soul with nutrients of stamina-- to last all of our live  long days

misty sultry heat penetrates through willing skin tin roofs-- gladly receive an onslaught of a needed rain garden grows without conscience, competition blessed sun, blessed rain

waking up to boogy woogy light breeze from the north cats sprawled out on piano 

To be true to self, to have accountability in word, thought, and action, and to be self-nurturing are vital, for inner peace, and a peaceful collective consciousness. .. our planet depends upon it!!"

rain falls, and everything becomes altered, transformed, cleansed: shifting sands, open hands..... sore feelings, harsh thoughts, injustices, stings, bites, judgements, dismissals-- evaporate for a little while after the rain pelts down on a thirsty ground--willing flowers, evergreens-- all return to a peaceful green sheen words/photo- kjl '20

having to hold my breath to truly listen to the breeze as it crescendos-- then relaxes each breath bringing me closer to truly listening, without moving in my chair-- just feeling the enormity of both human joy and human suffering pooling at the foot of the mountain we all at times must climb-- there holds another view not for the faint of heart to comprehend a fractured world, a fractured earth--we must start-- forging for--an eternal palpable peace

  most likely clouds have no agenda-- dance directionless as birds, hard- wired for water and worms fly in perfect formations fret not of fate, family, sudden rain gain speed in flight---festooned in lazer vision their songs reminding sentient beings how-- we will persist only when we release the hand of frantic, reaching for an umbrella of calm

Meditation begins with the clapping of wood blocks, and the striking of a brass bell. It is 5:30 a.m. in the foothills of a quiet village in the Catskills.The air smells of pine trees and wood smoke. Cold water splashes on face, brown robe is put on quickly, and with care. Stepping out of my one room cabin, I walk down a steep hill, and across a grassy dewy yard. Opening the heavy side door of the Monastery, I grab a quick cup of coffee, before walking up the stairs to the Buddha hall. Then, I settle in on my black cushion, with other robed beings, preparing to meditate. The sun rises through the eastern facing windows. Pine incense rises in curlicues up to stroke the polished pine pitched ceilings in the dojo. The Osopus River runs parallel to the Monastery, a short ten minute walk across a pine lined road. It is 1984, and I choose to study Zen Buddhism, by living and working in a Zen Monastery in a magnificent woodland paradise in Mt. Trempe...

Birds move with decreased velocity in the heat of the summer afternoon. Earlier, the air was less dense with moisture, and held a delightful dry coolness--meant for early morning gardening. Walking in the wide open blue sky air canopy, she felt renewed with innate light.

We witnessed little oval pearls drop from the heavens,  and thanked the stars for illuminating our path of purpose. Revelatory incantations spill over into fellowship (like a conscious rain) with moon, stars, sunflower and flying owl. At dusk, the owl in flight forgives the moon for her not being present most of this overcast, warm wet July. How the garden survived without much housekeeping is a secret secured-- between the edges of the Japanese maple, and the blue hydrangea.  Even the honey bees, lady bugs, and bats know. Weeding and dead heading throughout a hot damp summer becomes child's play. Sometimes September seems so far away. Yet, it continues to creep closer. How I shall welcome Autumn is a secret; like a cat in the bag, it soon shall be released. kjl '20

damp heat wears away-- cuts through any semblance of patience weeding by hand- eased by rained- on soil---soul tethered with simple quotidian acts clarifying what makes us human, grounded--reaching-- no conclusive evidence so close to high tide--cool salt spray helps to balance the heat of the day kjl '20

We welcome you back! Things are different around here, as they are everywhere. We are all abiding by, and observing pandemic protocols during this challenging time! Now when the entire world is dealing with a multitude of challenges, we offer healing treatments tailor made for your specific needs. Shiatsu, Reflexology, Energy Balancing, Reiki One on One Gentle (Chair) Yoga- by appt. Hours for healing treatments and One On One Yoga~ Monday through Friday: 10-4PM Saturday:                         8-12 Noon. Sunday                             Closed Now, Gentle Garden Yoga~ Mondays at 10 am For all healing treatments, One on One Yoga, and Gentle Garden Yoga Please email: healerkate77@gmail.com or call: 631- 3...

"The moon does not get wet, nor is the water disturbed" ~zen quote however close the moon lingers above the still lake, she holds her integrity omnipresent, pared and peeled no dangling lunar participles, no waiting up half the night to meet on tiptoe with the calm waters both elements revel In spacious interludes moonlight sonata rocks all beings asleep sharing spaces, sewn in counts as water--barely festoons the moon Kate lamberg

she loves to wake up to feeling the undulent waves beneath her yogic spine mimicking the sea waters' symphony-- connecting endless summer days together, like long airy necklaces breathing each day up - with the openness of a toddler, shrieking to echo a new sea bird's song in early morning--when the day leaps ahead of baby steps- birthing the sweet soft cushion of strawberries bridging memories, with what is spiraling-- in swings and see-saws- so early the air is loaded with promises how she follows the sounds -- like a star hurtling through infinite blue jay skies - kate lamberg (c) ' 20 -- Kate Lamberg

gray is the theme of the day wrestling with decisions- instead becoming the dance deciding nothing is riding on the weather but geese and clouds crying out loud no time for stillness to lose its essence laundry, yoga, piano, scrabble all loves dealt to a dancer unsure of the password icebergs melting, bees complaining there are less scented flowers and more showers of acid rain

I fade willingly into the earthly assemblage of frozen earth, and iced over harbor. Close to dusk, all hurts transform into burnt embers, sinking beneath a tawny sand beach, tiny stones glittering with high tide shine. When night owls prowl just above roof tops- housing the perfect vision of discernment, pink blue gray mauve chiffon sky darkens into a clear solid coal. After bringing tiny stones home, salt water returns to its own broad swath of belonging.

the warmth waltzed in, and kept a strong hold on the earth softening the soil, making buds on the maple tree hiking in the woods could have been fun slipping on the mud, feeling the sun literally warming, reddening a fair complexion but no, had to go to the library to return a book- and chose to stay freaky warm days in January rarely are inviting for this new england heart waiting for the global warming parties to turn themselves in so we all can inhabit the planet fearlessly dance, sing, and spin!

shadow work shadows cast on a beige wall have no power to destroy all we are composed of flesh, sinew, bones, brains, heart, lungs, poems, songs terra cotta bowls, a crisp button down spring dress for a goddess, grazing on spirit's tremendous force to create miracles honey combed patterns glistening within a believing sun

she would often pause while walking past her favorite house, facing the salt sprayed harbor-- receiving tiny floods after a heavy rain she never saw anyone leave or enter the home-- how it always appeared spanking clean, with a fresh cloud white paint, and charming gingerbread details no chance of it being haunted still... in the quiet of early morning, she thought she heard it breathing, "gaze at my beauty, but I am not on the market; don't expect to make a deal... please keep walking." my ancestors return in summer to walk down the pebbled driveway they cross the lane to feel the sand below their ghostly feet, to plunge into the bottle green harbor, and to swim without expending any energy to simply allow themselves to float lazily across the sound--- undetected by the most prayerful beach bums.. now in winter, the souls of the house could be felt skating when the sound freezes, the sweet elegy of heart- beats against the north wind c...

stepping outside the library we were startled with a soft snow falling in huge wet flakes luckily the snow did not stick to the roads street sounds, subdued the quieting mimicked peace: stopped any anxiety the poet felt before the reading quieting heart, breath, thoughts like thieves vanishing into the spiraling snow trees, homes, cars-- all etched in whiteness, touched with a clean clarity like a perfect line for a poem-- arriving in a dream how we run to get it all down before the line escapes-- into a tango tangle

poem for peace and healing in the new year the sky sleeps in blackness longer this morning at dawn the atmosphere has become fatigued with all the releasing of rain rain drops dart, dance, and soak our parched earth filled with longing for a more permanent peace in another hour the darkness will lift again the sky will soften into a pale angora blue whatever happens, we will hold steady: our mug of hot coffee, what we choose to read in every language, and in multiple rhythms we shall open our hearts to a more palpable peace crossing the river composed of wicked lies we arrive holding dear to trusted lullabies integrating what we learned with blessings too vast and too rich to name kjl '19

lessons in discernment fears dissipate as quickly as unrealized dreams are understood as just dreams..... sparkles remain kindness settles a disparity between living in fantasy and stepping upon solid earth receiving the gifts of one's work-- mobilizing integrity as a recycled energy dressed in filigreed mirth