Knowing what you want
seems to be all there is.
If you know that, then
you can be simple like creation, and
the way opens before you.

All these years my feminine
had revealed itself as prey.
Now, on the other side of being
devoured and spit out,
I am seeing.
My wild senses are awakening
and are sloughing off the old skin of "nice".
I have seen myself before
walk up to the trap
pry open the metal teeth
stick my ankle in
to help another save face.
This is not what true Nature teaches us.

Back to the pawing
and sniffing of air,
Back to intuitive body stretches
and alertness in the wild.
Looking out is not wrong.
Reading the winds
eyeing the signals,
Intuiting danger is our gift.
Be wise and understanding.

I have always seemed to know
that my dog is my greatest teacher
and now I'm sure of it,
Along with the rest of the created world.

Steady like the river
Moving, grounded, flowing.
I AM (and god is)
Loving mirrors
of reflected natures.
We are.

Now

This spot.
Don't wander away from it
This bud of all that is real and creative,
this pulsing of tails wagging and smoke rising,
and of "how you fold your clothes."
It's happening.
Stay-
this cradle of neurons and your blessed body
this riverbed that holds all manners of flowing
and all manners of drowning
Stay here
or stay hungry.
You are alive,
at home in the universe,
and that is good.
You cannot lose your way from Life.
it is your DNA.
Your very breath feeds it,
so pay each one attention.
The salmon know-
and how they sparkle just so-
Fins and scales and flesh on the table.
It is not horror to their fish eyes.
Where is God-?
This question changes my body.
It responds in the hollowed out way
that my mind cannot face just yet.
But here we are,
in the bud of the cradle of the spot
that simply breathes and knows...
L  i   f   e

I keep thinkin about
that great cloud of witnesses
they say we are surrounded by.
Belonging must be my strongest hunger
and I notice it most as i count years down
of family members growing older.
It makes sense that we are born into
already created units of people
since Belonging seems to shout so loud.
What doesn't make sense is death.
A shrinking family.
My own belonging feels unstable.
But hope flickers when
in my mind-
like mirrors reflecting mirrors-
I see All who've gone before
surrounding surrounding surrounding
Me.
Farmers and journeyers and laborers and poets
Who I came from and who I will return to.
I don't even know them
but there's something about belonging to another
that opens the way for Perfect love.
I don't even know you and I love you.
I don't even know you and I love you.