All In

I had to open up my journal from Tipi Camp tonight to remind myself that I was actually there.  It's been less than two weeks since my return home and my silent mornings and asana filled days feel ridiculously far from my present state.  Exhaustion overwhelms me.  I will stop right there. 

But I seem to have maintained a bit of a stillness inside. It certainly isn't pure, it certainly isn't unwavering, but it's like a deep calm was ignited on the shores of that lake.  I want to maintain that stillness.  My mantra for now.

Solomon's stillness is in a state of flux as he started kindergarten on Tuesday.  He had a long, long day and was definitely full of all sorts of questions.  I spied on him from my upstairs window at work and my was it wild to see him, one of the smallest in a sea of huge children racing around.  Tonight he belly laughed from his raw little core while I read Captain Underpants.  His belly laugh is one of the most beautiful things on earth.

And then there's little missy third grade.  Today she sang her Matilda song acapella for her whole class.  She has been practicing this little number incessantly, like really, at the top of her lungs, in the basement, in the living room, on the swing, to the trees, incessantly for the past few weeks.  It's all she wants to do.  Sing.  It's pretty damn awesome, British accent and all (though I will say last night, after a very long first day of school, followed by ballet class and a very late return home, it was pretty hard to stomach yet another rendition, especially as she really just sings the same song over and over again).  Holy awesome, that girl.  Full of her own special spice. 

So here we are.  Again.  Our little world has turned big, full of faces and noises, school bells and Spanish verbs.  I am sending myself big doses of energy and strength.  I am sending myself deep, healing breaths.  I am elevating my feet and drinking lemon tea, honoring the fullness of this life. 

Tipi Camp, a third year

You may feel like a garden of flowers right now,

living in abundance, living intensely, living in totality.

Kootenai Lake, Silent Morning

A cool, clear morning

fingers numb from the lake

the way she opens herself to me

so soft and vast

red and silver and rust pebbles

an old blanket on my shoulders

a terrecotta mug of chai and

the quiet lap of waves

She too takes just what she needs

melds with the breeze

blows and glimmers

flight and majesty

open yourself to me.

 

Offerings
 
Now the smoke has settled
long and light beyond
the lake, like a soft white

veil, soothing and ancient.
My body is soft and strong,
rubbed and stretched and

held.  Laughter and chatter
meld with the soft lap of waves,
the continuous calm of

life on retreat.  This is part of
me now, these shores
and their silent mornings,

three kinds of tea all day
and so many shades of green
spread across my plate,

offerings of nourishment,
offerings of kindness,
of non-doing.

All I must do is show up,
work internally, quietly,
with strength.  All I have to do

is listen and see.  Lift the judgement,
soften the gaze and lead
from my heart.  

Integration
 
This morning the smoke
has smoothed into
a low cloud

stories and memories like
long stretches of congestion,
of hazy light, fill the

sacred space and I am
alive and awake in my
own gorgeous humanness

the still is still
inside of me

the sound of stones
beneath my feet,
the shining surface of lake

integration is everything

the eagle and the swan
the dragonfly and serpent
all these strange creatures

that land here on this page

my belly is hungry again
and my body fills with
greens and reds

like a strange and ravenous animal
my aspirations scattered and
radiant, raw like these mountains

raw like this heart when
she's alone, no tugging
of shirtsleeves,

no asking for more,
they need so much from me
and I spin with them,

spin and spiral and give
like some wild fountain
give like

a tremendous tree, until
that unexpected summer
storm and I land,

precarious, the roof caves
in and inside,
the children scream and cry

judgements are harsh rain,
judgements and blame and
need are rolled into

an iron ball, hurled
towards the grand house,
hurled and the bees

land and buzz, their venom
so twitchy and alive,
their anger palpable

and they said they were
all gone

and they land on bits of
eggs and parsley,
on almonds and mangoes

quick to balance my shit out

quick to remind that pestilence
and disease lurk in
dark corners,

that even with bliss and
a silence that soothes the lake

the mind darts and flies,
predicts and solves

like those tulle wings,
that incessant buzz.