"Doctrine"

I love the church
of the osprey, simple
adoration, no haggling
over the body, the blood,
whether water sprinkled
from talons or immersed
in the river saves us,
whether ascension
is metaphor or literal,
because, of course,
it's both: wings crooked,
all the angels crying out,
rising up from nests
made of sticks
and sunlight.

Todd Davis, poet

SELF-PORTRAIT

It doesn't interest me if there is one God
or many gods.
I want to know if you belong or feel
abandoned.
If you know despair or can see it in others.
I want to know
if you are prepared to live in the world
with its harsh need
to change you. If you can look back
with firm eyes
saying this is where I stand. I want to know
if you know
how to melt into that fierce heat of living
falling toward
the center of your longing. I want to know
if you are willing
to live, day by day, with the consequence   more...of love
and the bitter
unwanted passion of your sure defeat.

I have been told, in that fierce embrace, even
the gods speak of God.

David Whyte
poet, author, naturalist

(holding sacred space for the bears this weekend)  less

If you're reading, well then HELLO! and I'm glad you're here. I'm haven't been around too much in the past couple weeks and probably won't be back and communicating regularly until late December. I'm making a BIG move and it's taking up lots 'o time and most of my brain cells.

I'll be back soon. Honest. I'm missing it here.
Hol

HAPPY BIRTHDAY DIANE ! ! ! and thanks for being such an amazing friend for all these years.

"Natural Bridges"

There comes a time when we
no longer walk the trail alone.
Slowly, imperceptibly,
there comes to live
in our hand another,
and suddenly it seems
it was always this way.

It is not always a hand,
but a found stone;
a feeling, finally
of blessed connection,
and things look just right
where they are:
a rock, a word, a touch,
just so.

And suddenly,
we are walking the trail together,
and there are no walls.
There is no holding back.
The call of the canyon wren
tumbles down slickrock
without hesitation.

The   more...colors of the afternoon rock
deepen to warm skin,
and the canyons marry us
to the world.


Laura Girardeau, poet  less