Kate Lamberg Center for Natural Healing and Creative Arts~

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