Reckoning.
a big one of those,
query unkept promises,
tossed to winds, let them spread.
Listen to the
sound of smoke,
whispers so soft you
feel the right time of light.
Settle into flow
what tickles our floor,
waterfall, stream, or a dam,
closer to who knows, father of us.
Now, a breath
we stand before
patterns in the sand
for a view of what’s ahead.
by decree you and me
in our home until every
last cup is cleaned, every last
weed pulled, protected by mulch,
observe it all from behind our fence.
Months, sequestered, exercise, books, sleep
late, good talk, we won’t walk out the door, to surf,
we will watch from a distance, keep hospitals
from two solid seniors taking up space
where there is none. We’re game
giving it our all, food for
days to weeks
We found 99% alcohol at ACE hardware, picked up aloe vera gel from Oceana Market, and we had both Ancient Robbers and Theives from our essential oil stash. I watched a short you tube video and I was off and running.
Mix 2/3 cup alcohol with 1/3 cup aloe vera gel, add essential oil to the tune of 6-9 drops, and wisk it away with a wisk or a fork, but I’ll tell you that my aloe vera didn’t mix so well. Might have been the xanthan gum or the irish moss, but I ended up using a strainer, and filled up three little spray bottles, salvaged from the ruins of spray bottles living in bins, scattered around the hose, like precious jewels.
The robbers and theives made this concoction to mediate coming in contact with bodies who’d died of the plague.
The stuff smells of lemon, cloves, eucalyptus and more. It’s great in a mister, and it’ll remind you not to touch your face.
Stay safe. Wash your hands. Spray this hand sanitizer onto your hands and when the alcohol dries, smell you hands, get the Theives and Robbers into your system.
Mist it into your home.
one armed catch
fearful of crashing
overthrown, I reach
kingdom of heaven on earth
a growing edge
freedom, wild spaces
barely touching the ground
words of wisdom make it whole
virus the forefront
my goodness what a mess
recognize error, repair with
strength of a thousand horses pounding
lay down a bed of rose petals
chances we took to belong and sustain
free me a space for a nice walk in the woods
Show me your hand, let me feel your worry lines
Last year I took a class called Flash Memoir, from Osher Life Long Learning in San Francisco. We were taught, by author Diane Frank, how to shine a bright light on a precious moment from our life. I wrote several short passages and one of them was published this month in Worm Wood Press Media.
The piece I submitted was Turn to the Sea and it was paired with a lovely coastal image by an artist I have yet to meet, Wendy Setzer.
You can see read the poem and gaze at Wendy’s art right here.
It is my turn to give back
to those who have given
to those who still give
to those who do
their best and
make the world
a little better place
I embrace the feminine spirit
with an old friend, Paige
my son’s early mentor
a healer, an artist
guided by winds
and wild sage
paints from the
heart of an angel
The last few days have seen lots of quiet little waves. This morning I woke to a bit of thunder and saw waves breaking at the point. I had an hour. Surf was bigger than I like so I grabbed my camera and got a few shots. Enjoy a minute of today’s fine footed friends.
crowds cheer another sun setting
somewhere past the town of Jerome
people over friendly, seeking
something lost
ghosts clammor
bardello lady saves change
who gets a piece of her pie
their slice of the dream
sleeping in beds by the shift
closer to the surgeon’s house
suffering smells sink
deep in their chests
wicked city sitting high on the hill
while another source of money
down in the valley
franchise of energy worshipers
into the mountains
narrow dusty roads
parallax of the mind’s own tricks
sharing a moment with the ancient ones
I’ll tell you the truth
it’s a powerful vision
up close they shape shift
out of time and trouble
I was baptised at the First Baptist Church of Whittier when I was twelve years old. I did it to make my parents happy. It did. I really didn’t know what I was doing then, taking Christ as my personal savior, and for the longest time, while I’ve had an affinity for Christ, I didn’t relate to the personal savior aspect. I see Christ dying on the cross, resurrecting, and having everlasting life as a metaphor for the notion that we do not die and simply cease to exist, but manifest in a different plane, with different attributes, or simply change state and our consciousness has a different point of view.
But then I saw the crucifix on the grounds of the Sanctuary of Our Lady of Fatima, in Fatima, Portugal. It’s a gargantuan cross (122 feet) with a long lean Christ hanging lifeless, dead at the hands of his own, and I started to cry. The only way to stop was to turn away.
Not everyone likes this crucifix, angular and stark, but it carried great power for me, walking toward it, the cross blocking the setting sun. I tried to reconcile my feelings about how a man who did so much for so many ended up on a cross with nails driven through his hands and feet, and left to die in a public display of disdain and power. I could not.
I wasn’t on a conscious pilgrimage during our trip, but by the time we returned home, I remembered many interesting experiences around spiritual places.
Sagrada Famila (Sacred Family) is difficult to describe. It is old, it is new, and like the medieval cathedrals Notre Dame and Chartres, it is being build over generations. It required my full attention.
The cathedral sprouts from the ground in the middle of Barcelona, Spain. It’s got a McDonalds, a Five Guys, and a Starbucks right across the street, which I found both disturbing and amazing that those three companies could pull off that venue.
There are stories of Christ’s life carved around the outside of the cathedral. The final cathedral tower will be the Christ tower, supported by four internal pillars, Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John. Due to complete in 2026.
Late afternoon light streamed through the cathedral, setting the place aglow. My wife went in ahead of me, to get our audio tours. She came out in tears, and simply said, “The Light.”
The ceiling felt familiar, like I’d seen it in a science fiction movie, where people from all walks of life live together in peace and harmony. It gave me hope.
We sat in the nave, to meditate and pray, but it was difficult to stay in that little space when this enormous sanctuary was all around and it looked like Christ was coming in on a parachute.
There is so much color and structure to the inside of this cathedral, yet no statues, other than Christ on the cross.
Architect Antoni Gaudi designed the cathedral. His work can be seen all over Barcelona. A whimsical style and from what I can gather, structurally brilliant. After Gaudí’s death in 1926 the construction was continued by architects and craftsmen who had worked with him, according to his plans and plaster models.
The story of Christ’s birth is told on the oldest side of the cathedral. It is adorned by an enormous supporting cast of story-telling statuary.
The story of his death is told on the newest side of the cathedral. More modern, more angular.
I began a series of blog posts about our trip to Barcelona, Lisbon and the island of Madeira with a post called Why I’m Tired. I hope you’ve enjoyed these images and thoughts as much as I have getting them down. Photos shot with iPhone 8plus and edited in Snapseed.
It’s evening and the tunes are starting to flow through the cool night air. A sparkling sound from the big thumping Sonos speaker gets my head in the game, gets my fingers to moving, and finds a beat that is hard to ignore. Some kind of lethargy has taken hold, and a bit of real-time fatigue, set in motion by a 24 day trip to Europe where we toured Barcelona, Lisbon, and the island of Madeira. If I’m honest I’d say the biggest trouble is that I’ve shed my jet lag but left my heart and a large dollop of my energy nine hours away. Maybe getting it down on paper with a few photos to support, I’ll be able to return to my bay area digs, heart, bones, and spirit.
Last year my wife and I started reading Dan Brown’s book Origin, and while I found the premise interesting I did not find reading it particularly rewarding. The story had its engaging moments, especially the artificial intelligence bits. I didn’t finish it. On return from our adventure one of my friends asked how I enjoyed Barcelona given that I’d read Origin, and I was clueless about her meaning. She said the book is, at least in part, set in Spain. I had not noticed that.
We already bought the book from Audible so I downloaded it and started at the beginning. The opening scene is at Montserrat (serrated edge) monastary, where we traveled to view the black Madonna. Now I have a book to read, but this time with a bit more attention.
We took the metro to the train and rode north out of Barcelona through small cities and farmland, toward a towering mountain, with steep crags at it’s pinnacle.
There are two stops for Montserrat (serrated edge) train station. We took the first for the gondola. The second, I believe, is serviced by a tram that rides a track up the mountain. I’m not positive, but there may be a walking option. The station was the launching point for the gondola that moved us up to the monastery in about 5 minutes. It’s steep, but follows the contour of the land so is never that far from the ground, but looking back down into the valley, it’s a long ways. We were there in October. It was cool on the mountain, but overall, the temperatures were quite mild throughout our trip. Not so, I hear, in the summer months.
When we entered the grounds I was trying to imagine how they built this place. It’s work getting things up the mountain now, but around 1025 AD? It’s a long way from anywhere, and it’s up a mountain. Would be fascinating to go back in time and be a fly on the wall, to see them making measurements, cutting stone, hauling heavy materials up a steep, rocky mountain.
Note the people standing above and to the left of the crucifix. We stood in line for our turn to get there and see the Black Madonna. As we stood in a slow moving line along the inside wall of the cathedral we could look out into the sanctuary and get an up-close viewing of the architecture. Our Donna, below, with the Black Madonna.
There’s a beautiful entry with expansive views over the valley below. We heard about a series of hikes that are available, but that will have to wait for another day.
Outside the cathedral the sun was getting low in the sky, casting long shadows across the valley below where we’d catch our train back to Barcelona.
The ride down was quick and easy. Our car was full and it rode quite a bit lower than a fairly empty car that we pass on our decent.
I’m still a little tired, but I’ll renew myself and talk about Christ in our travels.
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