Forgive the Dream

Forgive the dream

that carried you

on your golden litter

through long, hard-fought campaigns

for love.

A lucky rabbit’s foot

soft, bloodied,

traveled with you too,

until you arrived

battle-weary,

and tucked it safely into a drawer

overflowing

with pink candy hearts

commanding:

Be Mine.

A woman stands on the beach.

Her elaborately crafted sandcastles

wash away in the tides.

She makes sweet wine

from bitter grapes.

Heals wounds

when she can swallow truth

like honeyed dates.

She scatters sparkling confetti heavenward.

Tosses origami swans up into the sky.

Follows their landing pattern,

seeking in stillness.

We stumble away from the party

leave our footprints in the sand

We dance in the fire until

our pain, unnoticed,

like a timid guest,

slips away.

Dreams

are what we wake up from

when we learn how to forgive.                                                           

Welcoming the Wet

Welcoming the Wet

Soprano winds swirl past

the shores of the house -

Swells of bass notes lift

slumbering branches.

Elm, Oak, Redwood, even

giant Eucalyptus sway together

like tranced-out temple dancers.

the Goddess

lets down her hair,

tilts her face to the sky,

sighs,

releasing a cathedral of leaves.

She swirls gray taffeta veils

across a steel blue sea.

Torrents of teardrops,

full-throated sobs

soak thirsty earth, fill gasping streams

Jeremiah shouts his joy from the pond!

Translucent white-gold fungi

raise small umbrellas in salute.

Warm beside wood fire in the burrow

(just a few drops, inside, this time)

cups of  tea, cuddling, gazing through glass -

afterwards

clouds retreat, reveal the land again,

trembling, on new legs,

purified, reborn.

How we welcome

the wet.

Hawk Calling Card

                                                

Sharp Shinned

I fly

      Wind lifts me

            Up warm spur of earth

I seek

   Light, water

      Small furry, feathered

           pulsing energies that flee –

To soothe my morning hunger

Thriving lush

           scent of water

Fluttering leaves scatter

     Sun

          into bright dancing prisms

I fly

Strong steady beats 

      to rosy nimbus of flesh

            that stands near shiny upright pool

Green-gold

        shimmering 

                Flash of light

Wait! Not right!

Strange aura deflects my flight

     Sharp unknown scent of human breath

                     I bank right

Settle in cool leaves

Watch her

 with my golden eyes.

 

Lone Palm Poetry Lab

Retreat

The pump

and snap of modern life

charges us up

with relentless dreams,

infinite distractions. We strike

poses projecting purpose.

Escape: Tranquil ennui

on spur of mountain range reaching

down to the sea.

Hummingbirds dance to hurdy-gurdy music.

Rattlesnakes buzz a slow warning from

hidden places.

All night

Orchestral crickets sing a sleigh-bell song.

At daybreak

Endless flies whirl by.

Grasshopper days of summer draw to a close.

House filled with laughter now still in the heavy heat.

The dirt pants in thirst.

Scent of warm earth baking rises up in greeting.

Retreat

Retreat to the land of sunsets

and flying saucers.

There’s nothing better, and yet

Every flight has its price.

Coyote Girl

She's Big, she's Bold, she's Nocturnal and Imperturbable. 

She showed up on the deck outside my glass bedroom door at 2am recently, her fur sparkling in the moonlight. The shape of her body somehow so obviously not a dog.

As my puppy growled and I sleepily grabbed for the rifle,  I knew that I couldn't ever really hurt her,  all shining in her wildness under the stars. But I was determined to scare her properly with the cracking sound I hoped her species knows and fears in their bones.

Soon after she did a come hither move at dusk in the ravine below the house, beckoning the puppy towards her side of the canyon.  When he came running back a few moments later I could breathe again. Coyotes hunt in packs, but lure dogs towards those packs, and neighbors believe this big-as-a-german-shepherd-bitch coyote has a nest of pups a few slopes over and down the ridge.

A few evenings later Leonardo (smart as Da Vinci) and I went for a before dinner walk. The lupin was in full bloom, filling the air with a scent like warm grape jelly. Leo ran after the ball again and again and I figured its powerful magnet would keep him close.

Suddenly the wind changed, blowing directly toward us. Leo lifted his head, dropped the ball and took off like a shot down the canyon. When I looked over I saw Coyote Girl again, ready for her close-up, sitting in the lupin on the edge of the slope. Just looking our way, and mysteriously beckoning. A canine siren with the sun setting behind her.

As I hollered over and over for my dog to return, he ran closer and closer to her, approaching and retreating, up and down the slope, thrilled and in love. Finally I saw him run the last several yards straight towards her.

My heart sank and I dropped to my knees...then...she lunged at him. With an impressive yip from Leo and a bursting cloud of dirt he whirled and spun back down to the bottom of the canyon. Was he injured? Would I be bushwhacking down through the lupin, poppies and tall grass to rescue him?

Real waves of relief flowed over me as he came racing back up the hill. I grabbed his collar and knelt beside him, yelling at the Big Coyote Bitch still perched on the opposite slope. "Go away!" I shouted, again and again, as forcefully as I could. She watched me hold my puppy close for several moments, and at last she turned, looking over her shoulder at us, with curiosity or disdain, and disappeared from view.

Leo had a tasty bone, and I had a very large glass of wine that evening. Despite the fear or perhaps because of it, meeting Coyote Girl stimulated an instinctive, ancestral kind of knowing, helpful for more domesticated creatures like people and dogs. I know she knows that Leo is loved, and I know Leo knows she's not a suitable playmate! In the magnificent setting we enjoy here, we really can get along.

Saving the World, One Book at a Time

 "It will be a great day when all the Libraries are paid for and the Military holds a bake sale to raise funds."

Well, we're not there yet, so the Friends of the Big Sur Public Library hosted their annual Book and Bake Sale this last Memorial Day weekend. Since I have always loved to read, I happily joined in the fun, selling $1 and $2 paper and hardback volumes to book lovers on Saturday morning.

It was wonderful to see people browsing through tables overflowing with books on the library lawn, sorted into sections like Poetry, Psychology, Travel and Biography, Business and Health. An abundance of children's books filled one table, and it was a particular joy to sell for $1 a thick, doorstop-sized Harry Potter book to a little girl of about 8. Her eyes lit up at the price, a bargain-hunting bibliophile already.

The start of the sale attracts all kinds of readers, from those who stop by on a whim, to others who plan their annual Memorial Day holiday around the sale, staying at the campgrounds nearby and filling their well-worn Friends of the Big Sur Library cotton tote bags.  

It all made for endlessly interesting conversations. The couple who picked up Robert Johnson's slender volumes of "He" and "She": "We have 'We' at home," they laughed, a little in awe at their find.

A family bought sheet music and orchid books, twin boys found a trilogy of fantasy stories, others found enough fiction to last several summers, signed editions of history books of the Big Sur coast, high quality art books and more.  Happy customers all.

People enjoying the simple pleasure of a treasure hunt for books, and the serendipitous quality of what they found, was profoundly reassuring to me, the daughter of a former librarian now devoted to her Kindle.

"There were lots less books donated this year," says my co-volunteer darkly. "I think we could be seeing the effect of the Internet." So we redoubled our efforts, reminding folks they can donate books for next year's sale year-long, by dropping them off during Library hours. (Wednesdays and Thursdays 2pm - 6pm, Fridays and Saturdays 11am - 4pm).

Inwardly I was shouting enthusiastically, "Hooray! People still read!" since I'd come across an article by Nicholas Carr, "Is Google Making Us Stupid?," reporting that our ability to think deeply is eroding thanks to all the "power browsing" the Internet provides. Maybe readers will return to books the way music lovers have embraced vinyl as the earlier, superior technology. A retro high quality experience, infinitely better for your brain.


As books are read less often and our collective cognitive abilities decline, one can only wonder if life will soon be imitating art, á la Fahrenheit 451.  Will we end up in a dystopian world where people no longer think for themselves, or even, really think at all? Just consume, like an enormous tribe of hungry ghosts?

It is through reading that I am who I am. A childhood as a bookworm, hiding behind my glasses, protected by ideas and dreams I found on the printed page. Books gave me the experience of sustained focus, and taught me how to "self-soothe". Now they expand my heart with empathy and teach me how to live as graciously as possible.

Reading is a contemplative, spiritual practice. Applied individually, one page at at time, it really can change the world.

Thank you, dear Big Sur Library, for reminding me of my first true love, books! And now, off to read.

                                                                         The lovely Zosia, a happy reader!

My own personal haul, for a total of $23, included the following titles:

The Last Days of Socrates - Plato

Diamond Heart Book One- A.H. Almaas

Madness and Cures - Regina O'Melveny

Identity - Milan Kundera

Traveler's Tales: India

The Prado - A huge art book of the museum's images and my most expensive purchase, at $10

The Book of Hindu Imagery - Eva Jansen

more art books - Victorian Fairy Paintings, Timeless India 

and, just in case I need to book a flight to Rome in the near future - 

An Italian / English bilingual visual dictionary

Puppy Love and Poison Oak

Well, here he is, now ready for prime time, Mister Leonardo Jones. A little hesitant, looking up at me from Mom's hallway, but perfectly suited to the warm tones in her carpet. Perhaps it is a magic carpet, that will fly a little dog back to Big Sur, minus the three hour car ride?  

Rescued from the Monterey SPCA, Leo was part of their outstanding Take the Lead program. He came with "papers", notes from the at-risk kids who reported that Leonardo would be "as good as he could be" and assured me that he would always comfort me through tough times. 

Leo survived Parvo and institutional living for the first 8 months of his life, to land on Partington Ridge as my companion animal. And that last bit he takes quite seriously, giving him what my dog trainer friend calls "velcro dog" status.                                                                                          

When I met Leonardo, my heart was still bruised from the loss of wonder-dog Kipling. But when this gawky little guy tried to climb up into my lap at the shelter, I melted and the pain around my heart lifted. This is not a metaphor, but was a tangible experience. I felt a genuine out-breath escaping my body in relief. Love.

And then, the adventure began. Too nervous and young to be left at home alone, Leo joined me in the office at first, barking frantically when I left the room, chewing up papers, and everything else, with abandon. Clearly, more SPCA training was in order, where a fellow dog-mama asked me if Leonardo was "as smart as DaVinci". For weeks, my wonderful work colleagues patiently shushed him, fed him treats and generally found him to be adorable, even when he jumped up on them. The words Off,  and Leave it! became staples of my daily vocabulary. 

As a cat lover, Leo's perception of my furry-booted friends as intruders and / or prey, was disturbing to say the least. Months of associative learning, "Good dog...nice kitty. Treat!" followed. Now, I'm quite proud to say that, unlike husbands, dogs, as least, can be trained not to chase pussy-cats. I had my doubts on that one. 

After swabbing the inside of his cheek and sending the results to Wisdom Panel, I learned that Leo is a Cocker Spaniel, Toy Fox Terrier mix. I was hoping for Appenzeller Hound from the Swiss Alps, but then, there aren't that many of them running around Central California. This mix explains his sweet face, hunting instinct and delicate build. 

While I trust him to run the coyotes off the property, he also could be vulnerable to their charms: A couple of weeks ago a coy wolf, probably female, showed up around 3am right outside my bedroom door. She was just looking, and perhaps coaxing him to come out and play. About the same size as Leo, her wildness was immediately apparent. A dog - coyote party is never a good thing, so I was glad to hear him growl as I sent her on her way with a blast of the BB gun.

In the last month, Poison Oak has blossomed all over Big Sur. Big, pale green leafy branches of burning venom. As Leo has now graduated to being the property dog-in-charge, a relatively smooth transition from more fearful pup, he has run through the forest and collected oak oil on his soft coat of sleek fur. Which I managed to pick up on my hands and, woe is me! my face. After weeks of experimenting with several treatments, my skin has more or less returned to normal.

What can I say, the little guy is worth it. The best part is when people, usually children and older folks, gasp with delight when they see Leo. Hearts open, lift and soar. Puppy equals goodness, like warm bread baking, fresh cool milk (with cookies, of course.) To this feeling of goodness I'd add the scent of just bloomed flowers, fresh cut grass, and the innocence of morning birdsong.