Kate Lamberg Center for Natural Healing and Creative Arts~

 "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