Longing, we say, because desire is full
of endless distances.”

31 July 2009

woke up four this morning wide awake alive more alive than ive felt since that afternoon on cherry hill when i was at home in my skin and the breath did not catch in my throat like something too big to swallow.

extraordinary dreams stretched and folded together. horizontal sculpture of marble flaming skull im crawling along through the caches of water with a little boy and we are laughing. tables for eight painted into every step down a spiraling staircase leading to day they make an offering to the cops. young men i used to know dressed elizabethan and dueling with small daggers the man at the bar in the breastbone mask pricks my palm and they say its an honor. these all opalescent satellites around axis vision pleasure pirates men and women taking hostage pedestrian transition space energy and convert it to laughter and beauty. they disrobe to prevent escape while along the edges enormnous men are elephant seals paired off and we queue up with what scrap weve collected against which to weigh our souls.

my eyes adjust to the light and i see my path so much more clearly.

we walked and offered ourselves to the hungry insect kingdoms. home i went out with the big basket and you see what i found. my hand and the earth my spirit and Her grace. clean powerful food blessed in the same night i sleep in, the same sun i am seen by. today rain and suddenly the smell of carrots, sweet spicy earth smell, less dense than tomato denser than dill. pools of time for stretching and the translation of words into life energy, a loaf for the day, a high holy, to offer and to feed. blessed be.

29 July 2009

something very soft is happening to me. the rain comes the beautiful song of the steady soft rain almost august almost corn that needs no water the good stretch of summer everything absolutely full of itself august indeed i am becoming an august woman. the energy in my hands is gentle seeking touching listening skin. the world it listens to changing from now to now for 36 years along the chalk outline of her flesh seasons growing bearing stronger now theres more to hold and less to leave behind.

this moment is so wonderful and unforeseen in my life until now.

the card said Temptation. and sick to my stomach in a sacred place i swung, fingers outstretched back toward the tree only a moment ago i was leaving. familiar tree with shagbark and moss echoing empty eaten out from the heartwood. but angels my own spirits lightness wouldnt let me fall and i did not touch and i swung away.

swung up through branches serrated leaves light blinding and above that canopy could i see.

and you were there.

thanks to J.L, D.Z.B and Krishna Das. miera piedāvājums
a series of garden tour posts and a poem by wendell berry, "The Satisfactions of the Mad Farmer," dedicated to my friend C.R. as an apology and to D.Z.B. as a love letter.

"Growing weather, enough rain;
the cow's udder tight with milk;
the peach tree bent with its yield;
honey golden in the white comb;

the pastures deep in clover and grass,
enough, and more than enough;

the ground, new worked, moist
and yielding underfoot, the feet
comfortable in it as roots;

the early garden: potatoes, onions,
peas, lettuce, spinach, cabbage, carrots,
radishes, marking their straight rows
with green, before the trees are leafed;

raspberries ripe and heavy amid their foliage,
currants shining red in clusters amid their foliage,
strawberries red ripe with the white
flowers still on the vines -- picked
with the dew on them, before breakfast;

grape clusters heavy under broad leaves,
powdery bloom on fruit black with sweetness
-- an ancient delight, delighting;

28 July 2009

the bodies of children, joyful
without dread of their spending,
surprised at nightfall to be weary;

the bodies of women in loose cotton,
cool and closed in the evenings
of summer, like contented houses;

the bodies of men, able and in the heat
and sweat and weight and length
of the day's work, eager in their spending,
attending to nightfall, the bodies of women;

sleep after love, dreaming
white lilies blooming
coolly out of the flesh;

after sleep, enablement
to go on with work, morning a clear gift;

the maidenhood of the day;
cobwebs unbroken in the dewy grass;

the work of feeding and clothing and housing,
done with more than enough knowledge
and with more than enough love,
by those who do not have to be told;

any building well built, the rafters
firm to the walls, the walls firm,
the joists without give,
the proportions clear,
the fitting exact, even unseen,
bolts and hinges that turn home
without a jiggle;

any work worthy
of the day's maidenhood;

any man whose words lead precisely to what exists,
who never stoops to persuasion;

27 July 2009

"the talk of friends, lightened and cleared
by all that can be assumed;

deer tracks in the wet path,
the deer sprung from them, gone on;

live streams, live shiftings
of the sun in the summer woods;

the great hollow-trunked beech,
a landmark I loved to return to,
its leaves gold-lit on the silver
branches in the fall: blown down
after a hundred years of standing,
a footbridge over the stream;

the quiet in the woods of a summer morning,
the voice of a peewee passing through it
like a tight silver wire;

a little clearing among cedars,
white clover and wild strawberries
beneath an opening to the sky
-- heavenly, I thought it,
so perfect; had i forseen it
I would have desired it
no less than it deserves;

fox tracks in snow, the impact
of lightness upon lightness,
unendingly silent.

What I know of spirit is astir
in the world. The god I have always expected
to appear at the woods' edge, beckoning,
I have always expected to be
a great relisher of this world, its good
grown immortal in his mind."

26 July 2009

the mysteries of pittsburgh.

man has symbols. those are our clues. that is our gift the parting glass from home elsewhere everywhere. pigment alphabet dream all symbol for some small part of something else so great and full of love that there is never anywhere it isnt. tune language stone our cells vibrating we are constantly trying to throw clothes on the emperor to give him a shape we can identify.

pittsburgh was greenspace and forward thinking, remarkable urban quiet and cooperation, community identity. humanity, connection, culture.

tides of life-change realization laughter, all happy and unexpected.

to begin again sweetly gently unearthed from rubble, what we waited for, birthing pains and numbness, all good things revived and set out in the sunlight to the beat of blood in a grateful heart. together and apart there is more of us, a stronger spirit a renewed sense of ourselves together and apart looking forward toward the same gentle stars. blessed be.

25 July 2009

1. the light according to palms, 2. A Wild Baby Rabbit, 3. Cloud Shadow Canyon, 4. X Underwater portrait, 5. synchro-stretching, 6. Laughing Puppies!, 7. Inuksuk in the snow, 8. beuys bunny, 9. panther, 10. Three is a charm, 11. Mabon 2006, 12. Fairy Treats for a Cloudy Afternoon, 13. Call of the Raven (formerly Nature's Special Effects), 14. In Memory of a Beautiful Soul, Mauricio Saravia, 15. Sparkling dewdrops, 16. Greetings, Plejaren (part 2), 17. Old woman with dog, 18. backroad, 19. goodnight moon, 20. the cloud that distills a mirror, 21. Caladium, 22. Mt. Auburn Cemetery in autumn, 23. Only For You, 24. Scotch mist!, 25. bubble dance II, 26. Dammit The Amazing Wonder Dog, 27. yodell ♫ lay-od-lay-od-lay-he-hoo, ♫ lay-od-lay-od-low yodellay, ♫ yodallay, yodal-low… ♫ and they fly low supreme! ♫ little egrets from bali- egretta garzetta ♫, 28. self portrait: two seconds of a summer evening, 29. Colors of Africa, 30. Faith regained, 31. Winter Puddle, 32. Patience...., 33. natural sparkler, 34. Alien's farewell to St. Patty's Day celebrations_1411, 35. You are me!!! / Vous êtes moi!!!, 36. Taking the Plunge

couldnt sleep. no words. washed dishes and as they dried wrote a poem with pictures.

to be
black caribou
black panther
mother mary
the good folk
call the circle
silver branch
well lit path
dog woman
raven woman
the comfort of books
a garden
a long walk
sleep in a white bed
letting it slide
dancing light
blue heeler
of honey
a certain week
away when
the words spill over
puddles reflecting
love rising
soul inspired
so ready to live
my hearts truth
my lifetime.

i spoke too soon, it seems. the cowboys back sooner than never, a papery chrysalis shell rolling away on the road home.

13 July 2009

"Sometimes she would take breadcrumbs or seeds out to the birdfeeder tray and wait for the jays, standing quiet as a tree, or she would pull weeds in the garden; but on some days she would simply vanish, walk off by herself into the forest...she was either ten thousand years behind the rest or fifty years ahead of them."

immunity. possession. sabotage. always wrestling the angel. the light gets brighter, stronger, but its easier to see by. the scene shifts. dark crystal, mirrormask, harry potter for heavens sake. im the prophet the sponsor the buddha, dead on the road.

getting your fix scratching your itch your cozy hole they dug you.

love and forgive them, bless them and walk out of the grim skin they grafted you. you are love and you are free and your life is a gift and you deny it on the doorstep fruit rots in a box. my garden grows in rows she said, her hands a chute. i see you on the other side, there is less and less of you to see. dont be afraid. dont be afraid. who are you believing? dont believe me im a traveller just like you. but do you believe the one that has no reflection, gives off no light?

but its your life, or not. im up ahead, in a shower of sunlight, and its alright. come see.

so infinitely grateful to have this land to love. to tend to, breathe in, eat from. its like a beautiful dream this land where i am. i wake and i am a butterfly, a mockingbird, a chestnut tree by a stone fence old barn red geraniums. i wake and i am possibility love gratitude equanimity something i read she said i am a sparkling portion of the universe self reflecting.

in the cool of the morning im eating down the row of peas and into the bramble hedge like a spring bear. the earth is gentle under my feet, the breeze upon my face, the sun on my skin my life fortified by this land i love through all my human senses and the gift of spirit awareness not ego consciousness. toward together not apart.

i decided to stay and am glad for it. there was a leap made there, a shift of seasons in our togetherness an after and before. closer to everything i am coming, including my true nature boundless light.

everything deserves our gentleness. there were so many things in the box that i gave her for going away and it all meant love one another, learn patience compassion togetherness not soul blindness intolerance ego separation illusion. it connects her to everything else the art i made of a woman and an orange on the subway and a poem shard from Naomi Shihab Nye she said

"Before you know what kindness really is
you must lose things,
feel the future dissolve in a moment
like salt in a weakened broth.
What you held in your hand,
what you counted and carefully saved,
all this must go so you know
how desolate the landscape can be
between the regions of kindness.
How you ride and ride
thinking the bus will never stop,
the passengers eating maize and chicken
will stare out the window forever.

Before you learn the tender gravity of kindness,
you must travel where the Indian in a white poncho
lies dead by the side of the road.
You must see how this could be you,
how he too was someone
who journeyed through the night with plans
and the simple breath that kept him alive.

Before you know kindness as the deepest thing inside,
you must know sorrow as the other deepest thing.
You must wake up with sorrow.
You must speak to it till your voice
catches the thread of all sorrows
and you see the size of the cloth.

Then it is only kindness that makes sense anymore,
only kindness that ties your shoes
and sends you out into the day to mail letters and purchase bread,
only kindness that raises its head
from the crowd of the world to say
it is I you have been looking for,
and then goes with you every where
like a shadow or a friend."
i have dreams of water like this. but technically speaking, this is not a tsunami.


1. please make your own hummingbird food. boil water and add sugar (parts four to one), boil a few minutes longer, cool and serve. the red food coloring added in otc hummingbird food is harmful to the birds. buy a red feeder. clean the feeder and change food often.

2. feverfew and lambs ear are invasive ground covers.

3. if you would like to make good on my offer to send you a crafted gift, please email me at blackcaribou at live dot com with your address.

4. "Why, who makes much of a miracle?
As to me, I know of nothing else but miracles,
Whether I walk the streets of Manhattan,
Or dart my sight over the roofs of houses toward the sky,
Or wade with naked feet along the beach just in the edge of the water,
Or stand under trees in the woods,
Or talk by day with anyone I love, or sleep in the bed at night with anyone I love,
Or sit at table at dinner with the rest,
Or look at strangers opposite me riding in the car,
Or watch honey bees busy around the hive of a summer forenoon,
Or animals feeding in the fields,
Or birds, or the wonderfulness of insects in the air,
Or the wonderfulness of the sundown, or of stars shining so quiet and bright,
Or the exquisite delicate thin curve of the new moon in spring;
These with the rest, one and all, are to me miracles,
The whole referring, yet each distinct and in its place.

To me every hour of the light and dark is a miracle,
Every cubic inch of space is a miracle,
Every square yard of the surface of the earth is spread with the same,
Every foot of the interior swarms with the same.

To me the sea is a continual miracle,
The fishes that swim--the rocks--the motion of the waves--the ships with the men in them,
What stranger miracles are there?"

5. the merriam-webster collegiate dictionary has officially added these words to its latest volume: frenemy, locavore and staycation.

6. some happy crafter love. domo arigato.

7. a beautiful idea (bless you).

thank you, and have a nice day.

11 July 2009

it rains for weeks. the naked wood of our home is saturated and breathing there is a monsoon quality to our lives, the crucible of damp humanity. it rains. nightshade sisters lush and light craving long grass goddess in palisades of blessing the rhubarb is lazarus the earthworms sacrosanct and phenomenal.

rain and then clear heat, brightness buffeted by fronts moving toward greater water.

heat and light and everything learning its name. we give up our pure energy for a chance to be alive. we are stranded grateful cast-out wincing at the walls that pinch or fall away in a world of million mirrors rock of ego black and steady sucking out the lights. cold morning pond fog blackflies on the back way lightning bugs late at night good folk signal and the mythological velvet nightcloak worn thin at points of star. summer.
ive been away.

shifts, ends, beginnings, summer, revolution, reconfiguration.

digging, weeding, walking, for weeks it rained.

getting older, growing into my skin, finally believing in my own happiness.

reading, tea from a huge ceramic mug, live music, small chocolate.

stretching, breathing, crafting, talking, laughing, here now.
"And if the question were asked: What is more real, the mundane or the sublime? most would hesitate before they gave an answer. On the one side, details: say, the aftermath of a breakfast, dirty chipped plates in the sink, their rims encrusted with egg yolk. Against this, the unnameable: small aching heart with boasts, what can you know? Outside the cage of everything we ever heard or saw, beyond, outside, above, there lies the real, hiding as long as we shall live, there stretch and trail the millions of names of God burning across the eons. When all through this our end will come before we even know the names of us.

For many the egg yolk prevails." -L.M.

"Love many things, for therein lies the true strength, and whosoever loves much performs much, and can accomplish much, and what is done in love is done well."

"The perfection of the Absolute where all Becoming stops and pure Being, immutable, timeless, unchanging, hangs forever like a ripe peach upon the bough." -E.A.

"...and the whole incident was incredibly frazzling and angst-rod and filled almost a whole mead notebook and is here recounted in only its barest psycho-skeletal outline." -D.F.W.

"At the top of the mountain, we are all snow leopards." -H.S.T.

"Only when we are no longer afraid do we begin to live." -D.T.
"Cometh a voice: My children, hear; From the crowded street and the close-packed mart I call you back with my message clear, back to my lap and my loving heart. Long have ye left me, journeying on by range and river and grassy plain, to the teeming towns where the rest have gone - come back, come back to my arms again. So shall ye lose the foolish needs that gnaw your souls; and my touch shall serve to heal the fretted nerve. Treading the turf that ye once loved well, instead of the stones of the city's street, ye shall hear nor din nor drunken yell, but the wind that croons in the ripening wheat. I that am old have seen long since ruin of palaces made with hands for the soldier-king and the priest and prince whose cities crumble in desert sands. But still the furrow in many a clime yields softly under the ploughman's feet; still there is seeding and harvest time, and the wind still croons in the ripening wheat. The works of man are but little worth; for a time they stand, for a space endure; but turn once more to your mother - Earth, my gifts are gracious, my works are sure. Instead of the strife and pain I give you peace, with its blessing sweet. Come back, come back to my arms again, for the wind still croons in the ripening wheat."
-John Sandes, The Earth-Mother (excerpt, 1918)