Kate Lamberg Center for Natural Healing and Creative Arts~

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