Kate Lamberg Center for Natural Healing and Creative Arts~

(written at two a.m., when all I could hear was the ticking of my low pressured heart, tranquil sleep music, and the bursting rocket sounds of my twenty year old air conditioner-- sounding like a Verdi opera in slow mo)................ ...............salamander at the door-- there is no going back to a small life- that dearth like shrinking--so others can swing the baton, dictate my fate--- .......lion in my house--arms, legs, and torso grow-- as soul courses out of the amniotic sac-- a nascent gathering of humble pie--- as happily as children collect leaves, and roll down a grassy hill in autumn.... as purposefully as i grow my own purple wings-- defying gravity.... as elegantly as a single flower-- who believes kindness matters- in sunshine and in rain.... caring for others at the cost of losing one's selfishness- restoring mahogany canoe-- with a fresh stroke of prussian blue

truth be told, peering through key holes-- upholding door jambs, exercising caution during an almost full moon, now in capricorn flooded with a rivered emotion, picking up momentum: in dreams-- unfurling like roses ...who let go of petals- just as soon as they bloom walking unharmed-- while healing the hurts of early childhood-- pressing an ear close to the ground... where blood red gladiolas are found, rooted: some gone shooting high into one cornflower blue sky while others, hell bent on flopping on their crown...sighs, surrendering to the sound of goodbye

the warmth almost robbed her of her valuable resources: calm, cool, centered~ it missed thankfully due to a once sunny sky, now becoming more crowded with clouds from the west-- bless all of this... and how open are we to look beyond the present circumstance ~staying centered, carrying neutrality uppermost-- to just immerse in the isness of the details: comprising a single moment gazing out windows... trees' leaves only gently waving-- clouds separate again, a ballet jete'... without a bloody promise of anything more than the crisp sound of one acoustic guitar, and the soft light fabric of linen in summer-- keeping body cooler than ordinary cotton-- breathing in between the threads... air escaping on time, without haste or hesitation-- jeering self on-- carrying on down the dusty pink trail of nirvana nestling

she climbs to the summit of the fairly steep mountain--peering out to the hazy green mountain in the distance-- the view feels watery in the mist.... as she looks at the churning bright blue green sea below--- diving into a perfect arched dive-- the sea welcomes her dancer figure,so alive... cooling her spirit in ways only angels could understand... then she swims, focusing on the jagged green land she calls home

a cascade of words follows the deliberate babble of birds on the rocky trail. at the summit- she reaches the vortex between hard rock, brilliant flowers, and one expanding twilight sky.... total immersion in the pool of water colors restores resilience

feels like whenever I have an urge to write in the format presented, I rise-- like a red wing blackbird, take residence on the nearest telephone pole, have perspective when viewing the ancient whooshing harbor...... seems to be either luck, or I have burned off enough old karma to see: a shimmer spit shine in this little world of mine, and of yours--supine.... both on fire, and flooded with unending cascades of purposeful mind..... writing lines on wings: painted red to be seen, and intent to be gently heard-- by those who pass by on this rainy warm morning-- made more peaceful by such a humble bird

When I cannot sleep at the time of a full moon, I go outside and gaze at la Luna..... At four a.m., she was golden faced, surrounded by the lace of passing clouds-- just before setting behind the neat row of Aspens.... so I stepped barefoot on the cool damp grass,visited my garden,and sang softly to the flowers.... Not dissimilar to how I would treat my own children: I did not want to wake them, but needed to let them know how much I appreciate them in my life...