message recieved

I've been thinking a lot lately about the core tenets of my practice as a Pagan psychotherapist.  Buddhism is currently in fashion in my profession,  mindfulness turning out to be just as useful (if even more) in creating emotional well-being as analyzing family dynamics.   Are there particular things that we earth-worshippers do that inform my profession?  Psychotherapy truly is more art than science, and it figures that many of us who are in the Craft have something to teach other healing artists of hearts and minds

This week one of my core tenets has me laughing. I believe, and try to transmit to my clients, that the world wants to be in meaningful conversation with us.  Once we accept this as true, and cock our ear towards it, the world will not shut up.  

Under great distress, of course, it's hard to listen to anything or anyone. Anxiety and fear can operate as mighty misfiring car alarms, drowning out any truth of the real threat or danger. The Buddhist gift of  mindfullness  is a damn fine tool for re-calibrating the human car alarm. But then what? That's where I think we Pagans have something to offer. We know how to carry on mytho-poetic conversations with the world, and any rich conversation like that makes human life a hell of a lot more meaningful, if not more interesting.

The other day I was with a group of friends, all stressed or beleaguered in some fashion. There were, of course, those who were newly unemployed, and those who were worried about their jobs. There also was a friend had just mid-wived her mother's death from cancer, and another friend who waiting for biopsy test results. And, I had just received a notice from the IRS that I was being audited.  Despite all the stress, there was much laughter, warmth, and gallows humor.  I left the gathering, my heart stretched with tenderness for my friends, and also beginning to contract with worry and mounting anxiety.

It only took me several steps on Cortland Avenue until the world interjected and had something pithy to say.  There, in a window of a small shop, was a big red poster with white lettering.   "Calm down, and Carry On",  it simply stated.  Yes, indeed.

Calming down, is of course, hard. Breathing helps, and slowing down thoughts. Carrying on, well, that's hard too, but it's made easier by the world carrying some of the burden of the ongoing conversation. Cock your ear, and really, the world, it just won't shut up. 

Thankfully, it's pretty darn smart. Carrying on, we would all do well to deeply listen.

divination bordello

 

On Saturday, I had a benefit at my house for the restorative retreat, A Fool’s Journey, that I’m part of putting on at fall equinox.  We raised seed money and 

 money by turning my house into a Divination Bordello.  As it turns out, my house LOVES being a Divination Bordello!  Every room and cranny comfortably held a couple of people intensely engaged in opening up to the divine. I could almost hear the house purring.

 

Our customers trooped up the long front stairs and were offered choices; tarot, dreamwork, aura reading, psychic consultation, reiki,  and prophecy board.  Julian, a talented twelve year old, offered readings from a deck of cards he had made himself.  Between reading for others, I got a reading from him, pulling three cards – Phoenix, lake, and mist – which assured me that I could rise from some challenges I have at the moment if I stay calm, look deep, and stop trying to see into the future.

 

It was a glorious spring day, with fresh air gently blowing in from the bay, and I was happy to read for others on my  deck, surrounded by lemon trees and countless containers of new seedlings waiting to be put into the garden.  The garden too held readers, and my attic art studio as well.

 

It was a perfect day for the flat downstairs to receive its new tenant, and he wandered up and down the stairs, a little disoriented by the beauty of the day and house’s ebullience.  He picked my friend Robin, who has a deep affinity for mermaids, to do a tarot reading for him.  We knew the house had chosen the right tenant when she came away illuminated by stories he had told her regarding how mermaids figure into South American mythology.

 

The house found Gregor through our network of friends, as he came to a party downstairs several months ago. He’s a young British environmentalist who has been living in the Amazon for the last seven years. He’ll be traveling back throughout the year, but for now, he’s ensconced in exotic San Francisco.  His open countenance, and the fact that he literally came with just a few bags of stuff,  made him the Wise Fool of the day, stepping off the beaten path onto a whole new journey.

 

At the end of the day, we readers  contently collapsed in the living room, ordered Chinese food, and drank some good red wine.  We sprawled around the good upholstery, telling new stories and old. 

 

I’m thinking I truly am done with spiritual intensives.  Spiritual restoratives, like the Fool’s Journey, are rich enough for my tastes. As someone said during the day,  “let’s get restored, not floored.”

 

I am for it, and love that here in the beauty of spring, I can imagine us all in the fall, under the grape arbor, eating figs, lounging by the pool, opening our foolish hearts to the what the Magician has to teach us. 

breathing balance

 

My friend,  Donald Engstrom,  years ago coined a phrase worthy of generous usage. Every time I say this phrase or write it, his voice resonates in my consciousness.  Every equinox, I think of Donald, for my good friend is deeply committed to the building and nurturance of the emerging "Cultures of Beauty, Balance and Delight."  Beauty, balance and delight – for that is his phrase - are certainly the stuff of equinoxes.

 

The spring equinox is today, and as luck would have it, it is a beautiful day in San Francisco, The sun is shining, the breeze is sweet and fresh, and on the way to my office I was met with more smiles than eyes avoided. San Franciscans tend to take honest delight in a sunny day.

 

Today light and dark are in perfect balance. How rare a thing that is!  Every other day of the year the light is trumping the dark or the dark is trumping the light. But today, they face each other equally….not to do this again until the fall equinox. Tomorrow, light will be a little stronger, and at this point, I’m yearning for that increase in strength.

 

Therapists treat depression, and that’s exactly what I’ve been doing – hour upon hour since the economic free fall. Even with my clients who are not depressed, we can't overlook the effect the great economic shift has had on them. For weeks now fear has been a frequent guest to my office.  People are uncertain, anxious, and off balance.  Many are cutting down how much they see me, and some have left therapy completely.  And, old clients I haven’t seen for years are back on my green couch, struggling to regain equilibrium in an unsteady time. I'm seeing more clients than I ever have, but the majority can't afford to come weekly.

 

So, I’m breathing and getting my clients to do it with me. That steady and slow kind, where the exhale and inhale are of equal strength, balanced by the place between.  Our breath is a bridge between the para-sympathetic nervous system and the sympathetic nervous system, connecting what we have no control over with what we do. Balancing these two physiologically has an existential ripple effect, taking us out of the state of fear and able to step forward into an uncertain future with a sense of calm. 

 

It’s spring equinox and I’m breathing into balance, taking delight in the beauty that surrounds me, accepting there's a lot I can't control and taking the reins where I can.  Less money being spent has resulted in landfills receiving 30 percent less trash. 

 

All hail the mysterious power of balance! 

California Marriage and Family Therapist for Marriage Equality

In the summer of 1986 , while attending Reclaiming’s first summer intensive,  I called home and received  news that I had passed my licensing exam.  From that moment on,  I have been a licensed marriage and family therapist in California.  For years before that moment, as a registered intern, and for every year since, I have annually sent checks of a couple hundred dollars off to CAMFT, the California association that represents those of us in my profession.

 

Several weeks ago I found out that CAMFT is NOT representing me, or any other GLBT therapist in the state.  The CAMFT board members have refused for months to take a stand for marriage equality.  All the other major associations representing mental health workers have public statements regarding the importance of marriage equality and see homophobia as an important issue that effects mental health.

 

Because, it does. 

 

I am a marriage and family therapist who’s own marriage is in jeopardy of becoming legally invalid.  I work up close and personal with couples, all kinds of couples. Gay, lesbian and queer couples are no less loving, dysfunctional, loyal, short or long lasting than straight ones. Why should anyone be barred from being legally hitched if they want to take that leap?  And even for those who don’t believe in marriage or would never choose to marry, being denied the same rights as other folks is something that affects identity and self esteem. There's plenty of studies that have shown this. Discrimination is not emotionally healthy.

 

I’m proud that my alma mater, Antioch college, has issued a public statement regarding CAMFT’s refusal to join other associations representing my profession in doing the right thing.  This weekend, one of my colleagues from my association of GLBT therapists, GAYLESTA, will be presenting the case , yet again, to the CAMFT board, on why we need CAMFT to stand up for marriage equality and against homophobia.

 

Hopefully, this weekend the board will do the right thing.  Being spring equinox, I’m hoping that the spirit of balance, fairness, and justice is contagious.

 

Homophobia is something we therapists need to treat, not perpetuate.

blessings

It rained almost nonstop for the entire span of Pantheacon. Pretty much every conversation contained expressions of gratitude, as most Pagans were cognizant of the serious threat of drought hanging over California. The rain fell as a blessing on the land and as a blessing on this year’s conference.

This year was a significant one for me. It marked the anniversary of my diagnosis of Type II Diabetes. I’ve kept my blood sugar within normal levels for a full turn of the wheel by making big changes in my diet and by keeping moving. I am healthy, and that has been a major magical working. Shifting consciousness by going into trance and working between the worlds is a breeze for many of us Pagans. Shifting consciousness to brussel sprouts and a brisk walk, not M&M’s and a good novel, being what the body wants, is a heck of a lot harder.

But, I’ve done it, and I kept it up at Pantheacon, where the easiest food to obtain is chocolate chip cookies and pizza and the exercise room is one of the few rooms in the hotel not teeming with Pagans. Working out is a great way to get some solitude, and the hotel is hospitable enough to provide a lot of comfortable seating areas where you can spread out picnics you’ve brought in. Judy wouldn’t eat in the area where she’d witnessed a woman holding court with her five snakes, including a massive white constrictor big enough to eat one of us. My guess is that even next year she’ll give that area a wide clearance, she’s that snake phobic.

I’m a lover of panels, of watching a variety of folks discuss a topic and then taking questions. This year was no different, and going to the panel with the wonky title of ”The Non-Dual, Polytheism, and Magic” led me to become enamored of Lon Milo DuQuette. It true synchronistic fashion, he turned out to be the author of the only book my non-Pagan partner bought. Who can’t resist a book called “The Chicken Qabalah of Rabbi Lamed Ben Clifford”? The title grabbed her (being a lover of all things chicken) and then he impressed her mightily by answering the very question she was thinking when he signed her book. He drew a little picture of himself with the caption “No, Judy”, he wrote, “I am not the Rabbi Lamed Ben Clifford”, thus making her sure that he is, indeed, a mighty magician. I’m for any mind-reading magician who says “I can change only one thing with magic – myself”.

There were well over 2,000 Pagans at Pantheacon, with a breadth of workshops ranging from Tibetan Buddhism to a Jim Morrison ritual. One of my friends almost lost her 20 years of recovery at the Morrison ritual, and another is all geared up to start studying Tibetan Buddhism in earnest.

There are lots of stories to tell, and perhaps I will be telling them here now and then. But, at the moment there is a break in the blessed rain. Gratefully, I know exactly what to do with it. Time for a walk! It’s such a darn fine thing to be healthy.

a step into the unknown

 

 

I’m sitting in one of those hotels for people who are on business trips of over a week – you know, the ones with small kitchens, that are more like truncated apartments?  I’m here because the hotel that hosts the Pagan conference Pantheacon sold out months ago.

 

Both hotels are in San Jose, located amidst several office parks. Most of the offices have emptied since we were here last year, with almost every one sporting a “for lease” sign.   Things are so desperate that the lonely Denny's is offering a big discount for customers with a Pantheacon badge.  It has the feel of a place that has just become a ghost town, with no hope of coming back to life for quite a spell.

 

But there is life at these hotels, both full of all manner of folks interested in places between worlds, comfortable with working with spirits and all that is not visible to the naked eye.

 

It’s always been a very kooky thing, this conference of Pagans in a corporate hotel, but this year, amidst this rainy ghost town of corporate businesses, it feels like we truly are in dreamtime.

 

Last night, the group of us who put on the restorative retreat The Fool’s Journey did a ritual to help conference goers drop their expectations and step into the shoes of the Wise Fool.

 

It felt right, this piece of magic about stepping into a future we cannot see, going forward with an open mind, open heart and outstretched arms. What I loved about the ritual was the breadth of age in the circle. There was a pregnant woman, a new baby, kids of all ages, and my guess is just about every decade of humanity was represented. All of us together did a spiral dance (the baby was strapped to a parent, the very old in the middle in their scooters) and good humor filled the room.

 

When I am done with my coffee I’ll go back to the conference. Who knows what will happen? We step into a future that we cannot see. Best to do it with a bunch of wild earth loving visionaries.

Jupiter aligns with Mars

 

Today is my birthday.   As far as I am concerned, February 9^th  is a great day to have a birthday. The plum trees are in bloom, plump red hearts are in the store windows, and the hills of California are green.  Last night it rained, and now the sun is shining on the damp earth. Yes, a great day to celebrate the miracle of this one specific life!!

 

Next weekend I go to Pantheacon, the annual Pagan conference in San Jose.  The last couple of years I’ve done a lot of reflecting on what it has meant to follow my particular spiritual path, and something about being at Pantheacon makes me acutely aware of the trials and tribulations of being a modern Pagan.  Recently I realized that I’m in my Saturn return of being a Witch, as is the particular tradition I’ve taken part in creating.

 

A Saturn return is an astrological event that happens 27 to 30 years after we were born.  This is the amount of years it takes    Saturn to move through its orbit and return to the exact point that it was at our birth. A Saturn return signals the time when we grow up astrologically. It is the time to release structures that no longer serve us, and a time to mature into our new adult selves. My first Saturn return has long past, my second one looms ahead, but I, along with a lot of other Pagan folks, are actively being challenged in a Saturn-like way to examine ways in which we and our spiritual tradition need to mature and come of age. Many modern Pagan "traditions" were born about thirty years ago, so despite all the claims of being "the old religion", this is our first go around with Saturn.

 

A friend wrote me today that besides some whopping cosmic eclipse, today is a day that Jupiter aligns with Mars.  I’m not sure what that means, but it makes me happy. It feels almost as great as the birthday that fell on the day that The Beatles played for the first time on Ed Sullivan. I know almost every lyric to the entire soundtrack of the musical Hair. Today, I've been singing that song about the moon being in the seventh house and Jupiter aligning with Mars all day long. You know, the one that starts with "This is the dawning of the Age of Aquarius...".

I’m thinking today about my spiritual Saturn return and loving this dawning of the Age of Aquarius. I'm pretty darn sure it is officially here. And something about the Saturn return of being a Pagan and this new age  intersect. The grandiosity is fading away, and more and more I feel comfort in being a miniscule part of a much bigger whole. And that's what the tradition I use to believe would change the world actually is - just another small little group among many groups, all of us putting our shoulders and prayers to the wheel, trying to move things in the direction of peace guiding the planets and love steering the stars.  The world is changing, you can feel it in the air. But, that is the nature of things, and no person or small group of folks was or is the linchpin of change, or maybe we all are. Every one of us. Yes, I like that idea much more. It's so Aquarian!!!

Can I tell you again just how much  I love the plum trees in bloom?  It is a damn fine day to have a birthday!! 

a perfect day

Yesterday was a good day. I got drunk on poetry, all the plum trees on my street burst into bloom, as if on Brigid's cue, and the day ended with hearing my all-time favorite bad poem.

Yes, my favorite bad poem.

Years back, a friend had a birthday party where all the guests read a bad poem they had written or did some bad performance art. It was fantastic! There's something completely liberating about creating Bad Art. It's also not quite as easy as it sounds. Try it! There's lots of words that are crying out to be included. Reading poetry all day yesterday, I learned from a lover of Tennyson that we can now adopt abandoned and neglected ones as our own at Savethewords.org. Your poem need not be full of tortiloquy, it just needs to be bad.

My favorite poem at that reading years back was one that my friend's partner, Bill Simpich read. It has stayed with me for over 15 years. This year, I went to their house for a small Brigid ritual which included poetry (mostly good) being read. Bill contributed his bad poem...substituting the line about 12-steppers with something more of the times. You will know that line when you read it. And, please read it. What would the light be without the dark? And what would this ocean of good poetry be without some bad poetry? It was a perfect way to end a perfect day.

Yesterday I posted Walt Whitman's beautiful poem. Today, I am giving you:


BILL SIMPICH'S REALLY GOOD BAD POEM

I am suffering.

I am offering my suffering

To you.

For your enjoyment

And your education

And your edification

And the inevitable reification

Of my suffering


I am suffering

Because our planet is dying

My family is fucked

The facebookers ae everywhere

And the man is at the door


I am suffering

Because our lives are without meaning

But for those values we impose upon them

In these fleeting moments of existence

Dominated by the slavery of a living wage that is nonpareil,

The glossy slickness of advertisements of an utterly vacuous ghostlike form

Of electronically opiated and mediated and emaciated and masticated

Entertainment


I am suffering

Because I cannot see the sun

My eyes are red and hurting

I can only stare at the moon

I adore you, Dark Mother

But now you are dead

Before I join you over there

Won't you join us over here?

Deep in the core, is your heart still beating?

Wasn't your Sea of Tranquillity once teeming with salmon?

Were your meadows filled wtih apples?

Did your inhabitants bask in the earthglow?

Did they suffer from earthburn?


And I am suffering

Because it would be, if nothing else, insufferable

To grow old and die

Without being there

At the creation

And in bringing

To a close

Completely and totally

Once and final

Caving and breaking

That leads to the inevitable

Crashing and burning

That concludes

In the demise

And the fall

Of the American

Empire

Poem for the Fourth Annual Brigid Poetry Reading

In honor of Brigid, Goddess of Poetry and Healing, this year my contribution is a poem written in 1860 by one of my favorite American mystics, Walt Whitman.

Follow the links in the comments section of this post and the original invitation to the great web of poetry that is being spun today.


States!

by Walt Whitman

STATES!
Were you looking to be held together by the lawyers?
By an agreement on a paper? Or by arms?

Away!
I arrive, bringing these, beyond all the forces of courts and arms,
These! to hold you together as firmly as the earth itself is held together.

The old breath of life, ever new,
Here! I pass it by contact to you, America.

O mother! have you done much for me?
Behold, there shall from me be much done for you.

There shall from me be a new friendship—It shall be called after my name,
It shall circulate through The States, indifferent of place,
It shall twist and intertwist them through and around each other—
Compact shall they be, showing new signs,
Affection shall solve every one of the problems of freedom,
Those who love each other shall be invincible,
They shall finally make America completely victorious, in my name.

One from Massachusetts shall be comrade to a Missourian,
One from Maine or Vermont, and a Carolinian and an Oregonese, shall be friends triune, more precious to each other than all the riches of the earth.

To Michigan shall be wafted perfume from Florida,
To the Mannahatta from Cuba or Mexico,
Not the perfume of flowers, but sweeter, and wafted beyond death.

No danger shall balk Columbia’s lovers,
If need be, a thousand shall sternly immolate themselves for one,
The Kanuck shall be willing to lay down his life for the Kansian, and the Kansian for the Kanuck, on due need.

It shall be customary in all directions, in the houses and streets, to see manly affection,
The departing brother or friend shall salute the remaining brother or friend with a kiss.

There shall be innovations,
There shall be countless linked hands—namely, the Northeasterner’s, and the Northwesterner’s, and the Southwesterner’s, and those of the interior, and all their brood,
These shall be masters of the world under a new power,
They shall laugh to scorn the attacks of all the remainder of the world.

The most dauntless and rude shall touch face to face lightly,
The dependence of Liberty shall be lovers,
The continuance of Equality shall be comrades.

These shall tie and band stronger than hoops of iron,
I, extatic, O partners! O lands! henceforth with the love of lovers tie you.

a reason to believe

“For we know that our patchwork heritage is a strength, not a weakness. We are a nation of Christians and Muslims, Jews and Hindus - and non-believers. We are shaped by every language and culture, drawn from every end of this Earth; and because we have tasted the bitter swill of civil war and segregation, and emerged from that dark chapter stronger and more united, we cannot help but believe that the old hatreds shall someday pass; that the lines of tribe shall soon dissolve; that as the world grows smaller, our common humanity shall reveal itself; and that America must play its role in ushering in a new era of peace.” Barack Hussein Obama, from his Inaugural Speech

The power of these particular lines continue to resonate with me. It is these lines that have been most marveled at between the four walls of my therapy room. Why?

With these words, Obama opened the door to an enormous group of Americans who have been not only disenfranchised, but have been rendered downright invisible. He included folks who’ve never been mentioned by an American president before, who were never included as a valid part of the whole. Up until now, every politician has had to distance themselves widely from these Americans, even if they were, in truth, solidly one of them. Our Christian-centric leaders have given lip service and a nod to other faiths as being part of the American tapestry, but never to those of no faith. Hearing the term “non-believers” used in such an inclusionary way was striking. It was a shift in the national consciousness.

As a Pagan, I don’t consider myself to be a“non-believer”. I could by no means be called “Godless”. We Pagans for the most part have more Gods than less. We even have countless Goddesses. And boy, do we believe in ALL kinds of things! I believe that spring follows the harshest winter, and that all matter matters. My spirituality is chock full of faith. However I find myself deeply reassured that Obama’s vision of America includes not only ALL faiths, but those who don’t have any faith. And, of course, in doing so, he is giving those of no faith, some faith. He is giving non-believers something to believe in.

These words got mused, mulled, and commented on a lot in the past week in my therapy room. We live in a time when growing up Catholic, Hindu, Jewish, Muslim, or Pagan doesn’t’ necessarily mean you will BE that as an adult. Many people are either searching for a spiritual system that fits their own personality, or cobbling one together out of several. Many of my clients under thirty-five were brought up by parents who had no spiritual practice or affiliation, who didn’t have the conviction to call themselves atheists, but had, for one reason or another, disavowed organized religion. This phrase “non-believers” catches and holds a lot of people who either firmly don’t believe in God, or don’t believe that there’s one system of faith that has all the answers. This past week, I was amazed at how many of my clients identified with that phrase and how important it was that it was named.

For many of the folks I work with, their spiritual quest rides not in embracing Gods of the Sky or a Goddess of the Earth, but in embracing the strength and sacredness of our common humanity. Obama’s words go far to legitimize this quest as valid and brings us closer to truly seeing each and every person as divine. Even those who don’t believe in divinity.

Thank the Gods for this new president! Or don’t. No matter, we all matter in this new era.

hope and history rhyme

Last night, as I was watching the television coverage of the festivities in Washington, I found myself sobbing yet one more time. How many times in a day can the heart break open, releasing cynicism, letting in joy? I turned the television off and cried a good long time after witnessing Joe Biden quote a line from a poem of the poet Seamus Heaney. As if life wasn't good enough, it turns out our Vice President is the kind of guy who quotes Irish poets.

Brigid is pleased. She can't wait until her feast day to have the whole poem shared..so I'll do that right now.

What poem will I find for February 2nd?

Doubletake

Human beings suffer,
they torture one another,
they get hurt and get hard.
No poem or play or song
can fully right a wrong
inflicted and endured.

The innocent in gaols
beat on their bars together.
A hunger-striker's father
stands in the graveyard dumb.
The police widow in veils
faints at the funeral home

History says, Don't hope
on this side of the grave.
But then, once in a lifetime
the longed for tidal wave
of justice can rise up,
and hope and history rhyme.

So hope for a great sea-change
on the far side of revenge.
Believe that a further shore
is reachable from here.
Believe in miracles
and cures and healing wells.

Call the miracle self-healing:
The utter self-revealing
double-take of feeling.
if there's fire on the mountain
or lightning and storm
and a god speaks from the sky.

That means someone is hearing
the outcry and the birth-cry
of new life at its term.

Seamus Heaney,

Elizabeth Alexander's Poem for Today

I love the tradition of poetry being read at inaugurations. Words are potent, are powerful. They give shape to our thoughts and sensations, they change our consciousness with complex simplicity. Poetry is the mindful/soulful use of words and images. Wasn't this morning poetry itself?

This moning there was an ocean of words and images, coming in waves that brought relentless tears. Poetry was part of today. Today was and is poetry. My family, the cats, the downstair's neighbor and his dog all gathered around our television to bear witness to the change of power. The warm sun of San Francisco streamed in the window, yet we yearned towards the exhilarating cold of Washington. I know that in the future, I will remember feeling and seeing my breath in icy crystals, although the truth is that the only air made visible was the steam rising from my hot coffee. Nevertheless, I know I will remember us all as one, in the cold sharp sparkle of our capitol, cheering for the promissory note that was delivered today.

On Brigid, poetry will fill the blogosphere. Today, poetry spilled across our nation and perhaps, the whole world. I print here Elizabeth Alexander's poem she read at the inauguration. While she read it, the camera went to the crowds, and then, to birds flying above in the cold winter sky.

There is magic in every sentence we begin. There is magic in this poem.

Praise song for the day.

Each day we go about our business, walking past each other, catching each others' eyes or not, about to speak or speaking. All about us is noise. All about us is noise and bramble, thorn and din, each one of our ancestors on our tongues. Someone is stitching up a hem, darning a hole in a uniform, patching a tire, repairing the things in need of repair.

Someone is trying to make music somewhere with a pair of wooden spoons on an oil drum with cello, boom box, harmonica, voice.

A woman and her son wait for the bus.

A farmer considers the changing sky; A teacher says, "Take out your pencils. Begin."

We encounter each other in words, words spiny or smooth, whispered or declaimed; words to consider, reconsider.

We cross dirt roads and highways that mark the will of someone and then others who said, "I need to see what's on the other side; I know there's something better down the road."

We need to find a place where we are safe; We walk into that which we cannot yet see.

Say it plain, that many have died for this day. Sing the names of the dead who brought us here, who laid the train tracks, raised the bridges, picked the cotton and the lettuce, built brick by brick the glittering edifices they would then keep clean and work inside of.

Praise song for struggle; praise song for the day. Praise song for every hand-lettered sign; The figuring it out at kitchen tables.

Some live by "Love thy neighbor as thy self."

Others by first do no harm, or take no more than you need.

What if the mightiest word is love, love beyond marital, filial, national. Love that casts a widening pool of light. Love with no need to preempt grievance.

In today's sharp sparkle, this winter air, anything can be made, any sentence begun.

On the brink, on the brim, on the cusp -- praise song for walking forward in that light.

Invitation to The Fourth Annual Brigid in the Blogosphere Poetry Slam

Feel free to copy the following to your blog and spread the word. Let poetry bless the blogosphere once again!

WHAT: A Bloggers (Silent) Poetry Reading

WHEN: Anytime February 2, 2009

WHERE: Your blog

WHY: To celebrate the Feast of Brigid, aka Groundhog Day

HOW: Select a poem you like - by a favorite poet or one of your own - to post February 2nd.

RSVP: If you plan to publish, feel free to leave a comment and link on this post. Last year when the call went out there was more poetry in cyberspace than I could keep track of. So, link to whoever you hear about this from and a mighty web of poetry will be spun.

Feel free to pass this invitation on to any and all bloggers.

Thank you, Reya, for beginning what is now an annual event.

i'm back

Yes, I'm back in the blogosphere.

It was great to take time out, to slowly stop writing blogs in my head, to free psychic space for internal processing of the big changes at hand. For several weeks now I've stayed, for the most part, off the internet. I've attempted to stay simply dialed down to the home and work front. And, it's been good. I've needed to keep it simple, because right now, things are really complex.

I'm in the business of change, being a therapist and all. Personal transformations are challenging enough, but when we all together are riding a wave of economic, environmental and social change...well, that has me grounding and doing mindful breathing pretty much on an hourly basis.

Some of my friends and clients have lost considerable amounts of money. Some have been laid off and more are dreading upcoming "re-orgs" at their work. Which translates into more lay-offs.

Friends in Portland were snowbound at home for days in December. Here in San Francisco, we've had our windows open and are wearing flipflops in January. And... in the midst of the climate change and financial freefall, excitement is building for the inauguration on Tuesday.

I'm back. It's time to join in with everyone else and celebrate. Change is hard. Really hard. But, miraculously, this election my country didn't resist it, didn't vote to pretend it was not happening. We voted for the kind of change we want, we voted for hope and we voted for getting through the hard changes together.


Sometimes the most unsettling changes are those which are the changes for the better. I know that for sure from my long years as a therapist working with people who are struggling to let in love and trust their fledgling ability to be happy. I know this from the painful stretch of my own human heart to take in just how beautiful and precious life can be.

These next few days, I plan on relishing and savoring our ability to change. I know my heart will be having a healthy workout. Tomorrow we celebrate the birthday of Martin Luther King. Then, the inauguration.

And now.... I'm going to watch Bruce Springsteen, Pete Seeger, and a whole bunch of others sing in front of the Lincoln Memorial on television, celebrating the unity of our nation. Even writing that has me shaking my head in wonder.

Martin had a dream. This week, we seem to be living it.