this wind

- embracing the unconventional as a path towards wholeness

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with Sound
we can
feed
the Holy, i feel

seeds
in this
wind
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night sky through the dome in the yurt 2/29/24. photo by author

i saw it like that once, divine roses and all, suspended gently there in the sky, as i lay in the tall green grass, exhaling our living altar.

my heart,

that tender radar in the center of my chest, became a stained glass window in the great cathedral of my ribs, after the birth of my daughter.

— letting all that light in, prismatic beams of green, red and gold —

enormous. shatterable. the stunning magnificence of the Heart of Mother.

Country church: Beautiful little church in the village of Les Andyles west of Paris. Photo by Dennis Herzog

flower bath in the wilderness with my daughter ❤️ photo by author

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there are miracles
in the dirt

and shadowy
cracks
of mountain paths, i

was caught
staring into
the dust
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i am becoming, deeper, into my purpose, as the sunlight travels on her elliptic and these winds blow some fifty miles an hour through the mountain forests, meadows and our camp.

i have pulled the curtains on an old way of believing and uprooted the stakes of our ancestral positioning as women in my bloodline.

i am; returning to an even older way, as my daughter plays peekaboo with the moon and my center empties into the center of the earth.

i am embracing the “unconventional” as a path towards wholeness, and

i don’t always '“know”, but there’s a feeling, a pulse in the direction of truth.

a voice in the wind.

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february’s sentences ~ based on this guy’s writing practice, a sentence a day, a simple and profound way to pay attention to the small and subtle moments in life. enjoy~

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2/1 • “We are a circle of Life, calling to the Spirit Nation.”

2/2 • A gentle rain dances on the canvas roof of the yurt as Amara and I lay down for an afternoon nap.

2/3 • Coming back into orbit with the tender heart of my man.

2/4 • I wrote poetry in my mind as Amara slept in my arms and the boys put up the first caterpillar tunnel on our land.

2/5 • Not enough sleep, but I managed to channel the wrathful goddess giving birth during an impromptu blessingway for a very pregnant mama.

2/6 • I pulled out some old music to entertain the tiny human, when I came across photo copies of music from a library in Portland, Oregon, taken many years ago: “Hymns of the Morroccan Jews” and various Egyptian scales.

2/7 • There are a million ways to cope with the million unexplainable pains of living.

2/8 • It’s like the sound of the coyotes has made it into the water and I hear them singing in the spring.

2/9 • A blessed few moments to do nothing but stare across the snow and into the frozen pond.

2/10 • I walked down the snowy path to the car at the bottom of the road and saw, by the tracks, that a coyote had just walked that way too.

2/11 • Biggest fight we’ve had in a long time… I wonder what will come of it?

2/12 • My daughter and I discovered, beneath a big rock in the greenhouse tunnel, the first sprigs of sprouting wild onions, which we ate immediately and with great relish.

2/13 • The most amazing walk at sunset: tall wild grasses, golden against the blue-turning snow, Amara on my back.

2/14 • When we entered the antique shop in Basalt, the eccentrically brilliant oil-painter took one look at me and thought we were from Tibet or Nepal.

2/15 • I think we are supposed to dance and dance, until we become fluid.

2/16 • Unexpected meetings lead to unexpected tears and I feel genuinely altered as I look into potentional future realities.

2/17 • “When Wind and Thunder move in unison, the power is unstoppable.”

2/18 • Amara, barefoot, climbing and jumping up and down the pile of compost in the tunnel while my mom watches from a video chat on the phone.

2/19 • Chewing on elk bones and osha root, three fires burn on the land: one for cooking, one for dish water and one for a bath.

2/20 • A stack of books fell off the sheld, revealing one mega treasure: a tiny book written by Alice Coltrane.

2/21 • After the family falls asleep, I find a moment to just be myself, and I meditate on the peak of that mountain and the star above my head and how they are related.

2/22 • We fill the child’s mouth with honey while I painstakingly pull an enormous splinter out from beneath her fingernail!

2/23 • My friend and I talk of death, heart disease and dementia as I sort through frozen bags of peas.

2/24 • I remember to remember the good and that you can sing to the silk worms.

2/25 • Multi-colored thread stitches me back together among a circle of mothers.

2/26 • Big winds blowing in from the north — the entire yurt trembles in the night.

2/27 • I sang until I became an opening, surrounded by devotion, celebration and praise.

2/28 • “A gift from Heaven”, she said to me, with tears in her eyes.

2/29 • An incredible day of beauty on the land, just me and Amara, sweeping, cleaning, rearranging, dancing and giggling.

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“The music is within your heart, your soul, your spirit, and this is all I did when I sat at piano. I just go within.” - Alice Coltrane

the walk to work, photo by author, this morning