beads of contrition
 
a holy war
between
fear and deliverance
 
dreams of terror
demand propitiation
 
as dewdrops
on gardens of drought
grace is sufficient
 
 
© 2016 pab

Tonight is open mic at Mornin' Sunshine Coffee Shop. Last month this event was packed with people of all ages, standing room only! We shared a table with high schoolers, a few pre-schoolers ran off their sugar highs between parents in the front to friends in the back. It was a true community event, brought together by a love of live, in person music. Small towns like ours offer so many opportunities to do what you love with like-minded people. Sooner or later, those with shared interests find each other and create community events from book clubs to writing groups to quilters and knitters, to political action to dance troupes, to yoga and meditation practices, to hikers and bikers. The quantity of opportunities and events can be surprising and refreshing. For me, sometimes, the challenge is to find the balance between doing and just being, from becoming involved and invigorated to being over-extended and depleted. Especially since retirement, the satisfaction of just being usually outweighs the intrigue of too much doing. I crave solitude and time for my own creative development even as I enjoy savoring the unique offerings of others in this busy little town. A walk in the park, philosphic conversations with a friend, a pause at the coffee shop are ways to connect without a lot of pressure and fanfare. I'm loving this phase of my life, living in my own way, speaking in my own voice. How about you? I wrote the poem "speak now" on my birthday, reflecting upon what has been and what is still to come.

​speak now
 
I am speaking in my own tongue
my native language
the Ancestors have well prepared me
loved all my heartaches and stumbles
my victories
the insights gained
questions pursued
 
they took all those other dialects and dogmas
detours, hill climbs and wandering roads
preserved them all in strong trees,
roots, blossoms and songs of midnight
the blessings of rain, 
a time of gestation
 
for my resting, they led me gently
to the confluence
of many waters flowing 
​back to the sea 
 choosing right timing 
the Ancestors tell me I am ready now
to speak
  
   ©2016 pab  

The borderlands or the thin places, as they are called in Ireland and Scotland, are the places where the sky and the land meet, the places of water and mist, and the spaces between the the realms of the living and the spirit world.  Yesterday, I did a poetry reading and book signing at Black Hills Books and Treasures here in Hot Springs along with another author, Randy Luillan, a novelist.  Though our styles are different, our content and expression of our inner and outer landscapes and journeys, have much in common. In the moments after our readings, the audience of about 18 inviduals, spoke about journeys and insights, regrets and dreams that haunt, and adventures still to come. We created a lovely circle of connection of old and new friends. It was a very rich afternoon.  

This morning, reflecting, I thought of borderlands, of the places that I love, the cleansing and renewal that repeats throughout our lives. The borderlands tug at us and redeem us, in ways we could not have expected or predicted. Borderlands are beckoning me now and I won't turn away.

borderlands
 
​
in the borderlands, the thin places,
waves crash upon the shoreline
weaving fingers of quiet ripples
into the cove, staying there
in tide pools teeming with life
 
the borderlands welcome the mist
that lives in shadows, that clings
high up in cedar branches
and shrouds the face of the mountain
in heavy damp mystery
 
in the mist voices of heron and raven
and owl, disembodied spirits of
ancestors, fragments of long-forgotten
dreams and unanswered questions
call out their stories
 
the thin places, the mist, the stories
expose old habits laden with fear
and hesitation, dragging leaden feet
and weary hearts in their wake
like old wooden boats
 
the mist, always true to itself,
will rise, will fade, will transform
the waiting into what is next
leaving openings in the thin places,
the borderlands of fingers of hope
 
- © 14 march 2016 pab -

February seemed more than 29 days long this year. Some overcast days, lots of wind, snow and fog; all typical of winter in western South Dakota. And, as if to distract and tease us, green shoots poke up through the snow, the mulch of leaves, the dry grass, and valiantly, quietly displace the gloom of winter. Buds have been showing on trees since early February. It's as if the life that's waiting keeps whispering, "Soon, soon, " and we believe it! We hold on and soon we notice that warmer days are, indeed, more frequent each week. Tomorrow temps will be in the 70s and will remain higher than usual for most of March. We who have learned the fickleness of Mother Nature in March in the Dakotas, keep reminding each other that the snows that usually are measured in feet accompanied by blizzard winds, will likely be upon us before the first days of April. Meanwhile, we rest, we dream, we find blessings hidden in quiet places. 

the silence of one
  
there is so much opening
inside the harmonies of the spheres
inhabited by ancestors and unicorns and angels
where sun reflects through prisms of rain
scent of earth and life prevails

​only on this hidden path
will stories be heard
stories to be held in reverence
always revealing themselves,
without words,
to the listener who enters
 sacred chambers
  
 - © 2016 pab -