Kate Lamberg Center for Natural Healing and Creative Arts~

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